"Why, Saunders,--what is it? That's Rally! Were you going to meet Uncle
Walter?"
"No, Miss. I'm in a hurry. Just hand over that letter that young Collie
give to you at the ranch. I want it. I mean business."
"You want the letter? What do you mean? What right have you--"
"No right. Only I want it. I don't want to make trouble."
"You! A Western man, and speak that way to a woman! Saunders, I'm
ashamed to think you ever worked for us."
"Oh, I know you got nerve. But I'm in a hurry. Hand it over. Then you
can call me anything you like."
"I shall not hand it over."
"All right. I got to have it."
The girl, her gray eyes blazing with indignation, backed away as he
strode toward her. "You'd dare, would you?" And as Saunders laughed she
cut him across the face with her quirt.
His face, streaked with the red welt of the rawhide, grew white as he
controlled his anger. He leaped at her and had his hands on her when she
struck him again with all her strength. He staggered back, his hand to
his eyes.
A wild rush of hoofs, a shock, a crash, and he was beneath the plunging
feet of the Yuma colt. The pony flashed past, her head jerking up.
Louise saw Collie leap to the ground and come running back.
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