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 was dubious of the propriety of putting it on, even if he had a gun to grace it. He thought he'd put it out of sight in the suitcase, which MacKinnon had sent in the wagon, and leave it there until he had lawful need of it in a business where he might shoot without regret if he must shoot at all.

He was greatly surprised to find his gun in the holster. So, that girl Zora hadn't thrown it away at all; she'd had it stuck around her somewhere all the time. She had given it to that old Shad fellow, and he had sneaked it back.

Bill was glad to have the old gun back again, although there seemed to be something of belittlement in the act of restoration. It was as if his unsophistication had been brought up with derision before his face. Stringing him along that way, with his gun stuck around her all the time!

She had treated him like a boy, going on the presumption that he was too green to suspect her, and too timid to take her by the neck and make her give it back. He grew hot under the collar at the unavoidable admission that both her conclusions were true.

He was green, and he was soft. But he would ripen and grow hard, hard as they made them, so hard they could cut their on him if they tried to bite through his rind. He felt resentful and injured, where he knew he should have been humble and grateful.

That redheaded girl had saved his life, and he wasn't man enough to admit it without a grudge; she had given his gun back that way to save his feelings, and he was