"Yes. Why?"
"The boys allow you hadn't oughter have done it." Then, to place
the responsibility properly on shoulders broader than his own, he
added: "That's what Judd says."
"And who is Judd?"
"Judd, he's the foreman of the Lazy D."
Below them appeared the corrals and houses of a ranch nestling in
a little valley flanked by hills.
"This yere's the Lazy D," announced the youth, with pride, and in
the spirit of friendliness suggested a caution. "Judd, he's some
peppery. You wanter smooth him down some, seeing as he's riled up
to-day."
A flicker of steel came into the blue eyes. "Indeed! Well, here
we are."
"If it ain't Reddy, AND the lady with the flying machine,"
murmured a freckled youth named McWilliams, emerging from the
bunkhouse with a pan of water which had been used to bathe the
wound of one of the punctured combatants.
"What's that?" snapped a voice from within; and immediately its
owner appeared in the doorway and bored with narrowed black eyes
the young woman in the machine.
"Who are you?" he demanded, brusquely.
"Your target," she answered, quietly. "Would you like to take
another shot at me?"
The freckled lad broke out into a gurgle of laughter, at which
the black, swarthy man beside him wheeled round in a rage.
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