"Now, if I had only known it was against the law. My thick haid's
always roping trouble for me," the plainsman confided to the
Pullman conductor, with twinkling eyes.

That official unbent. "Talking about thick heads, I'm glad my
porter has one. If it weren't iron-plated and copper-riveted he'd
be needing a doctor now, the way you stood him on it."

"No, did I? Ce'tainly an accident. The nigger must have been in
my way as I climbed into the car. Took the kink out of his hair,
you say? Here, Sam!" He tossed a bill to the porter, who was
rolling affronted eyes at him. "Do you reckon this is big enough
to plaster your injured feelings, boy?"

The white smile flashed at him by the porter was a receipt for
indemnity paid in full.

Sheriff Collins' perception of his neighbor across the aisle was
more frank in its interest than the girl's had been of him. The
level, fearless gaze of the outdoors West looked at her
unabashed, appreciating swiftly her points as they impinged
themselves upon his admiration. The long, lithe lines of the
slim, supple body, the languid grace missing hauteur only because
that seemed scarce worth while, the unconscious pride of self
that fails to be offensive only in a young woman so well equipped
with good looks as this one indubitably was the rider of the
plains had appraised them all before his eyes dismissed her from
his consideration and began a casual inspection of the other
passengers.