owner appeared in the doorway and bored with narrowed black eyes
the young woman in the machine.

"Who are you?" he demanded, brusquely.

"Your target," she answered, quietly. "Would you like to take
another shot at me?"

The freckled lad broke out into a gurgle of laughter, at which
the black, swarthy man beside him wheeled round in a rage. "What
you cacklin' at, Mac?" he demanded, in a low voice.

"Oh, the things I notice," returned that youth jauntily, meeting
the other's anger without the flicker of an eyelid.

"It ain't healthy to be so noticin'," insinuated the other.

"Y'u don't say," came the prompt, sarcastic retort. "If you're
such a darned good judge of health, y'u better be attending to
some of your patients." He jerked a casual thumb over his
shoulder toward the bunks on which lay the wounded men.

"I shouldn't wonder but what there might be another patient for
me to attend to," snarled the foreman.

"That so? Well, turn your wolf loose when y'u get to feelin' real
devilish," jeered the undismayed one, strolling forward to assist
Miss Messiter to alight.

The mistress of the Lazy D had been aware of the byplay, but she