“Great guns! Did I forgit to tell you? Williston’s got the stomach-ache to beat the band and Mary’s got to physic him up ’gin to-morrer. We’ve got to git him on that stand if it takes the hull Three Bars to hol’ him up and the gal a pourin’ physic down him between times. Yep, Ma’am. He was pizened. You see, everybody that ate any meat last night was took sick with gripin’ cramps, yep; but Williston he was worse’n all, he bein’ a hearty eater. He was a stayin’ in town over night on this preliminary business, and Dick Gordon he was took, too, but not so bad, bein’ what you might call a light eater. The Boss and me we drove home after all, though we’d expected to stay for supper. The pesky coyotes got fooled that time. Yep, Ma’am, no doubt about it in the world. Friends o’ Jesse’s that we ain’t able to lay hands on yit pizened that there meat. Yep, no doubt about it. Dick was in an awful sweat about you. Was bound he was a comin’ after you hisself, sick as he was, when we found Mary was off the count. So then the Boss was a comin’ and they fit and squabbled for an hour who could be best spared, when I, comin’ in, settled it in a jiffy by offerin’ my services, which was gladly accepted. When there’s pizenin’ goin’ on, why, the Boss’s place is hum. And nothin’ would do but the Boss’s own particular outfit. He never does things by halves, the Boss don’t. So I hikes home after it and then hikes here.” “I am very grateful to him, I am sure,” murmured Louise, smiling. And Jim, daring to look upon her smiling face, clear eyes, and soft hair under the jaunty French sailor hat, found himself wondering why there was no woman at the Three Bars. With the swift, half-intuitive thought, the serpent entered Eden. CHAPTER VI “NOTHIN’ BUT A HOSS THIEF, ANYWAY” The island teemed with early sunflowers and hints of goldenrod yet to come. The fine, white, sandy soil deadened the sound of the horses’ hoofs. They seemed to be spinning through space. Under the cottonwoods it grew dusky and still. At the toll house a dingy buckboard in a state of weird dilapidation, with a team of shaggy buckskin ponies, stood waiting. Jim drew up. Two men were lounging in front of the shanty, chatting to the toll-man. “Hello, Jim!” called one of them, a tall, slouching fellow with sandy coloring. “Now, how the devil did you git so familiar with my name?” growled Jim. “The Three Bars is gettin’ busy these days,” spoke up the second man, with an insolent grin. “You bet it is,” bragged Jim. “When the off’cers o’ the law git to sleepin’ with hoss thieves and rustlers, and take two weeks to arrest a bunch of ’em, when they know prezactly where they keep theirselves, and have to have special deputies app’inted over ’em five or six times and then let most o’ the bunch slip through their fingers, it’s time for some one to git busy. And when Jesse Black and his gang are so desp’rit they pizen the chief witnesses—” A gentle pressure on his arm stopped him. He turned inquiringly.