Chapter 1. Grit
_ CHAPTER I. GRIT
"Mormon" Peters carefully shifted his weighty bulk in the chair that he dared not tilt, gazing dreamily at the saw-toothed mountains shimmering in the distance, sniffing luxuriously the scent of sage.
"They oughter spell Arizona with three ‘C‘s,‘" he said.
"Why?" asked Sandy Bourke, wiping the superfluous oil from the revolver he was meticulously cleaning.
"‘Count of Climate, Cactus, Cattle--an‘ Coyotes."
"Makin‘ four, ‘stead of three," said the managing partner of the Three Star Ranch.
Came a grunt from "Soda-Water" Sam as he put down his harmonica on which he had been playing The Cowboy‘s Lament, with variations.
"Huh! You got no more eddication than a horn-toad, an‘ less common sense. You don‘t spell Arizony with a ‘C.‘ You can‘t. ‘Cordin‘ to yore argymint you should spell Africa with a ‘Z‘ ‘cause they raise zebras there, ‘stead of mustangs. Might make it two ‘R‘s,‘ ‘count of rim-rock an‘--an‘ revolvers."
Mormon snorted.

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