An engrossing tale of a ranch-feud between "gunfighters" in Idaho.
elle. Belle Delavan. Well, I came to Jumpoff because--I meant to jump. Yes, I'll marry you--and the Lord have mercy on you, Tom Lorrigan, if I live to regret it."
"Amen. Same to you," grinned Tom. "It's an even break, anyway. They don't claim I'm sprouting wings. They say I've got split hoofs in my boots instead of feet, and wear my ears pointed at the top. But--but no girl has got any loop on me. I've been straight, as far as women goes. That's my record up to the present. If you can stand for a little drinkin' and gamblin' and shootin'--"
Belle waved aside his self-depreciation. Young Tom was a handsome devil, and his eyes were keen and clear and looked right into her own, which was sufficient evidence of good faith for any woman with warm blood in her body.
"Tom Lorrigan, I've eaten just three soda crackers, six marshmallows and one orange since yesterday noon," said she irrelevantly. "I can't be emotional when I'm half starved. Is there any place where I can get a piece of bread or so
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