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muster.
    “I see.” She covered her lower face with her handkerchief.
    “No, you don’t see at all, for I have not begun to apprise you of the actions of that . . . that . . .” A shaking finger pointed at the quilt-covered child. Only her shoes peeked out from under the blanket. “That hoyden,” he snarled from between teeth clamped on the stupendous cigar. His checkered vest wore the dusting of ashes from more than one of the smelly smokes.
    Ruby rose to her full five feet five inches, squared her shoulders under the shawl she’d donned to keep off the chill, and faced her attacker. She glared at the bowler hat still perched on his head, fanned the smoke that he’d expelled in her face and now billowed around her head, and leaned slightly forward.
    “I don’t know who you are, mister, and the thought of pursuing any sort of acquaintance makes me want to call for the conductor, but let me tell you this, my sister is not a hoyden, and whatever she has done to affront you cannot begin to compare to the effect you are having on me. Now, you will speak to me in a gentlemanly way and start with minding the manners that I am sure your mother, God rest her soul, tried to instill in you. Your hat, sir—and I use the term lightly.”
    “Ah, I . . .” He jerked the hat off his head and held it with one hand.
    “And I am sure she would not approve of you accosting a lady with that noxious weed hanging out of your mouth.” The words could have set fire to the tip of said cigar had it been necessary.
    With his cigar now clenched between two fingers of the hand also holding his hat, he started again, disgruntlement bristling from his walrus mustache and gray-shot beard. “That . . . that . . .”
    “Child.”
    “That child was . . . I was sound asleep, minding my own business—” He hawked and spat a glob on the floor— “when . . .”
    Ruby closed her eyes, at the same moment putting a hand to her throat. “I am sure there are spittoons for such as that”—she shuddered—“oral excrement, and I demand that you use one. I can tolerate your crudity no longer. I will speak with my sister to ascertain her part in this.”
    “You are dismissing me?” His voice skidded on gravel and cracked midword.
    “Yes, she is.” A male voice, steely with menace, coming from the regions of the roof of the car whipped Ruby’s attention toward her left.
    Her rude assailant turned as well. “Why . . . why, you . . . you are butting into business that is none of—”
    “Anytime I see someone mistreat a lady, I make it my business.”
    Ruby catalogued her would-be rescuer in a swift glance. Dark hair that swept back from a broad forehead bisected by a line dividing tan from white skin, eyes that flashed daggers or perhaps arrows. Nose, cheeks, and chin seemed carved in stone, and his mustache brushed the top of chiseled lips. Shoulders that reached from seat to seat filled out the black coat that hung open to reveal a gold watch fob dangling flat in the loop from pocket to pocket. If this was what she’d heard called cowboy, no wonder the Indians always lost.
    He flicked a glance her way as if asking if she was all right, and she nodded in return.
    “Thank you, sir, but I believe I am capable of handling this gen—” She started to say gentleman, but changed her mind since he in no wise resembled any of the gentlemen she had ever known and finished, “—ruffian.”
    “As you say, miss.” But instead of leaving, he took a step forward, his gaze never leaving that of the loudmouth.
    The offensive man took one step back, then another. “This ain’t over yet.”
    “Oh, I think it is.” His voice kept an even beat, reminding Ruby of Mrs. Brandon when she was making a point with one of her children over a behavior that had been less than mannerly.
    Ruby watched as the gentleman stalked the scoundrel with an easy grace that made her think of the cat she used to watch on the prowl for bird or mouse. At a sound from the