They had about finished
breakfast, and shortly after Bartley was seated they rose. On their way
out they stopped at Cheyenne's table.
"Don't forget to stop by when you ride our way," said one of the women.
Bartley noticed the toil-worn hands, and the lines that hard work and
worry had graven in her face. Her "best clothes" rather accentuated
these details. But back of it all he sensed the resolute spirit of the
West, resourceful, progressive, large-visioned.
"Meet Mr. Bartley," said Cheyenne unexpectedly.
Which was just what the two women had been itching to do. Bartley rose
and shook hands with them.
"A couple of lady friends of mine," said Cheyenne when they had gone.
Cheyenne made no mention of the previous evening's game, or its climax.
Yet Bartley had gathered from Wishful that Panhandle Sears and Cheyenne
had an unsettled quarrel between them.
In the hotel office Cheyenne purchased cigars and proffered Bartley a
half-dozen. Bartley took one. Cheyenne seemed disappointed. When cigars
were going round, it seemed strange not to take full advantage of the
circumstance.
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