"Don't get funny. Who did Bob see?"

"Brother-in-law. Yours, not mine. Jessie's tin god. If he's there yet, I bid
for an invite to the 'swatfest.' Or maybe"--a horrible possibility forced
itself upon Pink--"maybe you'll kill the fattest maverick and fall on his
neck--"

"The maverick's?" Rowdy's brows were rather pinched together, but his tone
told nothing.

"Naw; Harry Conroy's a fellow's liable to do most any fool thing when he's
got schoolma'amitis."

"That so?"

Pink snorted. The possibility had grown to black certainty in his mind. He
became suddenly furious.

"Lord! I hope some kind friend'll lead me out an' knock me in the head, if
ever I get locoed over any darned girl!"

"Same here," agreed Rowdy, unmoved.

"Then your days are sure numbered in words uh one syllable, old-timer,"
snapped Pink.

Rowdy leaned and patted him caressingly upon the shoulder--a form of irony
which Pink detested. "Don't get excited, sonny," he soothed. "Did you fetch
your gun?"