collar. The custom that desperadoes and gun-fighters had of cutting a
notch on their guns for every man killed was one of which the mere
mention made my gorge rise.

At the edge of town Blome doffed his sombrero again, said "_Adios_," and
rode on ahead of us. And it was then I was hard put to it to keep track
of the queries, exclamations, and other wild talk of two very much
excited young ladies. I wanted to think; I _needed_ to think.

"Wasn't he lovely? Oh, I could adore him!" rapturously uttered Miss
Sally Langdon several times, to my ultimate disgust.

Also, after Blome had ridden out of sight, Miss Sampson lost the evident
effect of his sinister presence, and she joined Miss Langdon in paying
the rustler compliments, too. Perhaps my irritation was an indication of
the quick and subtle shifting of my mind to harsher thought.

"Jack Blome!" I broke in upon their adulations. "Rustler and gunman. Did
you see the notches on his gun? Every notch for a man he's killed! For
weeks reports have come to Linrock that soon as he could get round to it
he'd ride down and rid the community of that bothersome fellow, that
Texas Ranger! He's come to kill Vaughn Steele!"




Chapter 7

DIANE AND VAUGHN