I rode up here prepared to get sinfully jagged--and here I've got to go on a still hunt for water with a chill to it--or maybe buttermilk.

Pete, do you know what I think of you and your joint ?" "I told you I don't wanta know.

Some folks ain't never satisfied.

A fellow that's rode thirty or forty miles to get here, on a day like this, had oughta be glad to get anything that looks like beer." "Is that so ?" Grant walked purposefully down to the front of the store, where Pete was fumbling behind the rampart of crude pigeonholes which was the post-office.

"Let me inform you, then, that--" There was a swish of skirts upon the rough platform outside, and a young woman entered with the manner of feeling perfectly at home there.
She was rather tall, rather strong and capable looking, and she was bareheaded, and carried a door key suspended from a smooth-worn bit of wood.
"Don't get into a perspiration making up the mail, Pete," she advised calmly, quite ignoring both Grant and the Indian.