If she could mitigate his hatred of Mormons, or at
least keep him from killing more of them, not only would she be
saving her people, but also be leading back this bloodspiller to
some semblance of the human.
"Mornin', ma'am," he said, black sombrero in hand.
"Lassiter I'm not an old woman, or even a madam," she replied,
with her bright smile. "If you can't say Miss Withersteen--call
me Jane."
"I reckon Jane would be easier. First names are always handy for
me."
"Well, use mine, then. Lassiter, I'm glad to see you. I'm in
trouble."
Then she told him of Judkins's return, of the driving of the red
herd, of Venters's departure on Wrangle, and the calling-in of
her riders.
"'Pears to me you're some smilin' an' pretty for a woman with so
much trouble," he remarked.
"Lassiter! Are you paying me compliments? But, seriously I've
made up my mind not to be miserable. I've lost much, and I'll
lose more. Nevertheless, I won't be sour, and I hope I'll never
be unhappy--again."
Lassiter twisted his hat round and round, as was his way, and
took his time in replying.
"Women are strange to me. I got to back-trailin' myself from them
long ago. But I'd like a game woman. Might I ask, seein' as how
you take this trouble, if you're goin' to fight?"
"Fight! How? Even if I would, I haven't a friend except that boy
who doesn't dare stay in the village.
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