Supper was not a particularly cheery meal. Mintie, usually a nimble
talker, held her tongue. Ransom aired his pet grievance--the advent of
Easterners, who presumed to take up land which was supposed to belong
to, or at least go with, the old Spanish grants. Smoky and Mintie knew
well enough that the land was Uncle Sam's; but they knew also that
Ransom had run his cattle over it during five-and-twenty years. If
that didn't constitute a better title than a United States patent,
there was no justice anywhere. Smoky, filled with beans and bacon,
exclaimed vehemently--
"Shoot 'em on sight, that's what I say."
Mintie stared at his bright eyes and flushed cheeks.
"Do you allus mean jest what you say?" she inquired sarcastically.
"Wal," replied Smoky, more cautiously, "they ain't been monkeyin' with
me; but if they did----"
"If they did----?" drawled Mintie, with her elbows on the table and
her face between her hands.
"If they cut my fence as they've cut yours, and, after doo warnings,
kep' on trespassin' and makin' trouble, why then, by Gosh! I'd shoot.
Might give 'other feller a show, but there's trouble as only kin be
settled with shootin' irons.
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