He helped her into a chair in the little teashop on the corner. She was shaking and he ordered tea.
“Is she all right?” asked the wizened waitress, a white-haired lady of indeterminate age, who fluttered anxiously around them.
“She will be,” he said and leaned across to look at her.
Julia brought her eyes up and a fleeting smile crossed her face. Outside, the would-be assailant had already made himself scarce. “We should inform the sheriff,” she said in a tired, frightened voice.
“I think I recognised him.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Who is he?”
“One of the cowboys from the Rancine spread. Name of Harrowby.”
“Then at least we can get the sheriff to ride on out there, confront him.”
“Yeah, we could, but I’ve left there now. I was working for ‘em, and I needed the job, but their m
