Ben laughed with some acidity.
"Me? I couldn't go in business with a peanut-man. I haven't got the dinero. If I was to go off sudden, there'd be eighty dollars, one sorrel horse, a pair of blankets and a pet coyote to divide among my heirs."
"Laws, honey," declared Mrs. Blafcely easily, "like as not pap will take you in for nothin'. If he won't,"—she smiled mysteriously—"I'll put my mind to it and will some good to you."
"Wish somebody'd will me something besides hard luck," Ben replied sourly. "All Las Rubertas has threatened to dry-gulch me for runnin' that greaser into the river."
"You'd ought to marry and settle down," said Mrs. Blakely pointedly, but a warning look from Edith stopped further suggestions along that line, so, suddenly mindful of the duties of a hostess, she commanded with dignity that daughter upon whom her glance happened to fall—"Carmencita, spat up a piller and lay down a little straw for Mr. Evans to spread his blankets. Clytie clean out the top burry drawer for Mr. Evans's gatherin's and git a cake of that perfumery soap. Undine,
