Gary chose a magazine that had a complete novel by an author whose work he liked. He stretched himself out on his back on the bunk, crossed his feet, wriggled his shoulders into a comfortable position just under Monty’s only pillow, and in two sentences was away back in Texas after a mysterious gang of cattle rustlers. CHAPTER NINETEEN “HAVE YUH-ALL GOT A GUN?” He was still hot on the trail and expecting every moment to have his horse shot from under him, when Monty pulled open the door and walked in upon him, swearing affectionately. Gary sat up, turned down a corner of the page to mark his place, and reached for his smoking material. “Golly grandma, I meant to have supper ready!” he exclaimed. “But I got to reading and forgot all about eating.” “How yuh-all been making out?” Monty wanted to know. “Going to catch a ride back to town?” Gary licked the cigarette paper and shook his head while he pressed it into place. “No, the action is just beginning to get snappy now,” he said. “Meanin’ what?” Monty paused in the act of lifting a stove lid. “Meaning that I just put on a fight scene, and ran the heavy clean out of the cañon as per usual.” “Yeah?” Monty’s tone betrayed a complete lack of understanding. “You bet. Never saw a leading man get licked, did you? I’m starring in this piece--so naturally I just _had_ to put the heavy on the run.” “What’s a heavy?” “The villain. Pat Connolly went and had another impulse. She let the place on shares to a gink that I’ll bet has done time. He had every mark of a crook, and he had the darndest holdup game you ever saw. Pat Connolly doesn’t know anything at all about ranches. She went and----” “Pat Connolly--_she_?” Monty was dipping cold water into the coffeepot, and he spilled a cupful. “Er--yes.” Gary reddened a bit. “She’s a girl all right. Finest in the world. Patricia Connolly’s her name, and if I can pull her clear on this damned Johnnywater investment and remain on speaking terms with Pat, I expect she’ll become Mrs. Marshall. She’s not at all like other girls, Monty. Pat’s got brains. A crackerjack stenographer and bookkeeper. Got a man-sized job with the Consolidated Grain and Milling Company in the city. You may have heard of them.” “Sure,” said Monty. “Sent there once for some oil cakes to winter my she stock on. Costs too much, though. A cow ain’t worth what it costs to feed one through the winter. What about this feller yuh run off?” Gary got up and began helping with the supper while he told all about James Blaine Hawkins and his AGREEMENT OF CONTRACT.