“Oh, shucks, that ain’t nothin’. They’s a heap o’ women marry men they don’t love. They git to lovin’ ’em afterwards, though.” “But you don’t love me.” “I shore do, Chita. I’ve allus loved you.” “Well, you’ve managed to hide it first rate,” she observed. “They didn’t never seem no chance, ’til now,” he explained; “but you got a lot o’ horse sense, an’ I reckon you kin see as well as me thet it would be the sensible thing to do. You caint marry nothin’ but a cow man, an’ they ain’t no other cow man thet I knows of thet would be much of a improvement over me. You’ll larn to love me, all right. I ain’t so plumb ugly, an’ I won’t never beat you up.” Wichita laughed. “You’re sure tootin’, ‘Smooth,’” she said. “There isn’t a man on earth that’s ever going to try to beat me up, more than once.” Kreff grinned. “You don’t hev to tell me that, Chita,” he said. “I reckon that’s one o’ the reasons I’m so strong fer you—you shore would make one grand woman fer a man in this country.” “Well, ‘Smooth,’ as a business proposition there is something in what you say that it won’t do any harm to think about, but as a proposal of marriage it hasn’t got any more bite to it than a white pine dog with a poplar tail.” “But you’ll think it over, Chita?” he asked, drawing a sack of Durham and a package of brown papers from his shirt pocket. “You dropped something, ‘Smooth,’” she said, gesturing toward the ground at his feet. “You pulled it out of your pocket with the makings.” He looked down at a bit of paste board, at one half of a playing card that had been torn in two—one half of the jack of spades. Chapter Seventeen Cheetim Strikes =I=T was night. The oil lamps were burning brightly in the barroom of the Hog Ranch. The games were being well patronized. The girls were circulating among the customers, registering thirst. It looked like a large night. In the back room two men, seated at opposite sides of a table, were conversing in low tones. A bottle, two glasses, and a mutilated jack of spades lay between them. One of the men was Cheetim, the other was Kreff. “How much longer does thet feller think we kin hold them critters without hevin’ every galoot in the Territory ridin’ onto ’em an’ blowin’ the whole business?” demanded Kreff. “I been tellin’ him to see you,” said Cheetim. Kreff pushed the jack of spades across the table to the other man. “You take this,” he said. “You see him oftener than I do. Don’t turn this over to him ’til you git the money, but tell him that ef he don’t get a hump on hisself we’ll drive the bunch north an’ sell ’em up there. They can’t stay around here much longer—the girl’s wise now thet somethin’s wrong. Two of the hands has told her they been missin’ stock lately.” Cheetim sat in silence, thinking. Slowly he filled Kreff’s glass and poured another drink for himself. “Here’s how!” he said and drank. “How!” replied Kreff. “I been thinkin’,” said Cheetim.