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 "Ride around the house," he said, giving her a straight, meaning look. She nodded again, going on.

Rawlins went up the creek to unsaddle Graball and turn him out in a hobble, seeing no remote exigency that would impel him to desert his homestead now. He was exhilarated by his recovery from his dazed oppression of spirits. He looked back from new altitudes at the numbed, shocked man who had usurped his proper place for a little while, thinking there was nothing to equal cold water to right a man up when staggering around from a nervous jolt like that. If he had been entirely himself, judging another in a fix like his own, he would have said that water was very good in its way, but it was nothing compared to the sharp prod of a woman's scorn.

That was a pretty decent sort of sheriff, a sheepman kind of sheriff. Whatever influence Senator Galloway had in politics generally around there, his foot must have slipped in the election of that man. So Rawlins thought that morning, when the sheriff arrived in quick time after Edith's summons, the coroner coming along more deliberately with a proper conveyance for carrying off the wreckage of the fight.

That was about all there was to it, the sheriff said, looking with keen interest at the double rope around the house, with the outrunning lariats lying as they had been cast off. If a gang of cusses came to shoot a man's home up he'd be a damn fool if he didn't shoot back. Rawlins had done a man's job, and that was about all there was to it, as far as the sheriff could see.

All of which was a great relief and cheer to Rawlins.