Miss Satterly hastily drew her mouth into a thin, untempting, red
streak, for she had not seen Weary Davidson, on an average, twice a
week for the last four months for nothing. He was not the man to bluff.

"Of course," she said resentfully, "you can make fun of it--but all the
same, it's better than nothing. It answers the purpose."

Weary turned his head till he could look straight into her eyes--a
thing he seemed rather fond of doing, lately. "What purpose? It sure
isn't ornamental; it's a little the hardest looker I ever saw in the
shape of a gun. And it won't scare anything. If you want a gun, why,
take one that can make good. You can have mine; just watch what a
different effect it has."

He reached backward and drew a shining thing from his pocket, flipped
it downward--and the effect was unmistakably different. The gopher
leaped and rolled backward and then lay still, and Miss Satterly gave a
little, startled scream and jumped quite off the doorstep.

"Don't yuh see? You couldn't raise any such a dust with yours. If yuh
pack a gun, you always want to pack one that's ready and willing to do
business on short notice. I'll let yuh have this, if you're sure it's
safe with yuh. I'd hate to have you shooting yourself accidental."

Weary raised innocent eyes to her face and polished the gun caressingly
with his handkerchief. "Try it once," he urged.

The schoolma'am was fond of boasting that she never screamed at
anything. She had screamed just now, over a foolish little thing, and
it goes without saying she was angry with the cause. She did not sit