“I never happened to meet him, so far as my knowledge goes.” “He’s a young man, and rather good lookin’; more weak than really mean, I should say; and goin’ to the dogs fast, last accounts I had of him.” “I never heard of him.” She brushed her lap again, as if there were more crumbs in it, and looked down, as if taking time to gather her thoughts, or think of more questions. Finally she rose, shaking out her skirt. “Now, if you don’t ’bject, I’d like fer ye to give me a lift on yer hoss, if he’ll kerry double. It’s askin’ a good deal, I know, but----” “I shall be happy to let you ride on my horse, and I will walk; or you may mount behind my saddle, if that pleases you.” She laughed then, cackling out in the manner that had first attracted him. It was not musical, nor even suggestive of good humor, though the woman apparently meant that it should suggest the last. “I’m Pizen Jane, of Cinnabar,” she said again, “and I hope you won’t rue the day when you fust met me. You won’t, if you’re straight. But if you’re not reelly Buffler Bill, but the fake that mebbe ye aire, you’ll not think meetin’ me was good fer yer health.” Then she seemed to feel that this was harsh, when the things he had done for her were considered. “I reckon I’d ought to beg yer pardon,” she said apologetically. “If I say things you don’t like, fergit ’em. I’m loose-jawed, and my tongue wags sometimes like a splinter in a windstorm. But if you understood the things that’s made me what I am, you wouldn’t think it a mite strange if I was tryin’ to shoot yer head off, instead of talkin’ ca’m to you. You desarve it, if the things I’ve heerd about ye aire true.” “I hope to merit your good opinion,” said the scout, much amused by the freedom with which she “wagged” her tongue. “You’ll git it, if ye desarve it; and if ye don’t desarve it, then you’ll git what you do desarve; and don’t you fail to recklect that! Fer I’m Pizen Jane, of Cinnabar.” “It seems a strange name,” he said, bringing up his horse. “Well, I’m Pizen, to some people, ’cause I stand fer my rights and don’t let nobody tromp on me. I’m Pizen to men who don’t do right, you bet! And I’ll tell ye now, what mebbe I’d ought to keep to myself, that I’m on the warpath, and that I’m standin’ ready to shoot full of holes a certain man as soon as I meet him. Rejoice that you ain’t him.” “You don’t seem so very warlike,” said the scout, smiling at her. “I don’t mind telling you that.” “That’s a compliment, I s’pose? Well, I don’t desarve it.” She looked the horse over critically. “Aire you goin’ right on through the mountains?” “Yes.” “It’s nigh two days’ journey!” “Yes, I know it.” “And this trail is filled with road agents, they say; road agents that lay fer everything that comes along, and shoots men as if they wasn’t more than wolves.” “Yes, it’s a dangerous trail.” “What if you’re held up?” “I shall defend myself; but I’m trusting not to be.”