“I won’t shoot him,” observed Cimarron, after a profound pause; “no I won’t spring no gun on him, for that might prove disturbin’ to the public peace. Which I’ll merely burn him at the stake.” The sappy one was miles away from Dodge when these flame and fagot threats were formulated; and as he took pains to remain away thereafter, he gave Cimarron Bill scant chance to execute them. At long range, however, he continued to make his malignant influence felt. He sent for Miss Barndollar and told her that Rattlesnake’s one remaining hope was to have that mismanaged leg re-broken and re-set. Failing these measures, the sappy one gave it as his professional opinion that the leg would look like an interrogation point. As an upcome, Miss Barndollar came back weeping to Dodge. “But the laig’s O. K.,” remonstrated Rattlesnake Sanders, when Miss Barndollar unfurled to him the sappy one’s predictions. “It’s comin’ round as solid as a sod house.” “But you’ll do it to please me, Rattlesnake,” coaxed Miss Barndollar. “I’m a proud girl, an’ I don’t want to wed no gent with a laig like a corkscrew.” Rattlesnake was shaken by the tender persistency of Miss Barndollar. However, he said that he must see Cimarron Bill. “What do you think yourse’f, Cimarron?” asked Rattlesnake earnestly, when the worthy Cimarron had been rounded up by Jack for the conference. “That limb,” observed Cimarron, judgmatically, and cocking a wise eye like a crow looking into a jug, “that limb, as framed up, is a credit to us both. It’s simply aces before the draw! Don’t tech it.” “But Calamity allows she’ll throw me down about that weddin’.” Miss Barndollar was not in the room, and Cimarron took on a look of grim cunning. “Ev’ry cloud has a silver linin’,” remarked Cimarron, enigmatically. “Rattlesnake, this yere will turn out the luckiest laig you ever had.” Following these foggy announcements, Cimarron said that it would be a point of honour with him to prevent any intromission with the leg of Rattlesnake Sanders. “This offensive sawbones,” he explained, “publically allooded to me as a empirick. In so doin’ he compels me to go through the way I’m headed. I shall consider any attempt to break that laig again as an attack upon my character, an’ conduct myse’f accordin’ with a gun.” “That sounds on the level,” observed Rattlesnake to Miss Barndollar, who had come into the room in time to hear the ultimatum of Cimarron. “For us to go tamperin’ with this yere member that a-way, would be equiv’lent to castin’ aspersions on Cimarron.” “You never loved me!” murmured Miss Barndollar, beginning to cry. “Calamity!” exclaimed Rattlesnake, reproachfully. “You’re my soul!” “An’ yet,” she sobbed, rocking herself in her chair, “you refooses my least request! Is it love to ast me to go through life as the wife of a party with a game laig?” “But Calamity!” “I knows gents who’d break their hearts for me, let alone their laigs!”