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All the cow-punchers liked the new girl up there, said gossip. She was a great addition to society. Reported to be more companionable than the school-marm, Miss Molly Wood, who had been raised too far east, and showed it. Vermont, or some such dude place. Several had been in town buying presents for Miss Katie Peck. Tommy Postmaster had paid high for a necklace of elk-tushes the government scout at McKinney sold him. Too bad Miss Peck did not enjoy good health. Shorty had been in only yesterday to get her medicine again. Third bottle. Had I heard the big joke on Lin McLean? He had promised her the skin of a big bear he knew the location of, and Tommy got the bear.

Two days after this I joined one of the roundup camps at sunset. They had been working from Salt Creek to Bear Creek, and the Taylor ranch was in visiting distance from them again, after an interval of gathering and branding far across the country. The Virginian, the gentle-voiced Southerner, whom I had last seen lingering with Miss Wood, was in camp. Silent three-quarters of the time, as was his way, he sat gravely watching Lin McLean. That person seemed silent also, as was not his way quite so much.

“Lin,” said the Southerner, “I reckon you’re failin’.”

Mr. McLean raised a sombre eye, but did not trouble to answer further.

“A healthy man’s laigs ought to fill his pants,” pursued the Virginian. The challenged puncher stretched out a limb and showed his muscles with young pride.

“And yu’ cert’nly take no comfort in your food,” his ingenious friend continued, slowly and gently.

“I’ll eat you a match any day and place yu’ name,” said Lin.

“It ain’t sca’cely hon’able,” went on the Virginian, “to waste away durin’ the round-up. A man owes his strength to them that hires it. If he is paid to rope stock he ought to rope stock, and not leave it dodge or pull away.”

“It’s not many dodge my rope,” boasted Lin, imprudently.

“Why, they tell me as how that heifer of the Sidney-Nebraska brand got plumb away from yu’, and little Tommy had to chase afteh her.”

Lin sat up angrily amid the laughter, but reclined again. “I’ll improve,” said he, “if yu’ learn me how yu’ rope that Vermont stock so handy. Has she promised to be your sister yet?” he added.

“Is that what they do?” inquired the Virginian, serenely. “I have never got related that way. Why, that’ll make Tommy your brother-in-law, Lin!”

And now, indeed, the camp laughed a loud, merciless laugh.

But Lin was silent. Where everybody lives in a glass-house the victory is to him who throws the adroitest stone. Mr. McLean was readier witted than most, but the gentle, slow Virginian could be a master when he chose.

“Tommy has been recountin’ his wars up at the Taylors’,” he now told the camp. “He has frequently campaigned with General Crook, General Miles, and General Ruger, all at onced. He’s an exciting fighter, in conversation, and kep’ us all scared for mighty nigh an hour. Miss Peck appeared interested in his statements.”

“What was you doing at the Taylors’ yourself?” demanded Lin.

“Visitin’ Miss Wood,” answered the Virginian, with entire ease. For he also knew when to employ the plain truth as a bluff. “You’d ought to write to Tommy’s mother, Lin, and tell her what a dare-devil her son is gettin’ to be. She would cut off his allowance and bring him home, and you would have the runnin’ all to yourself.”

“I’ll fix him yet,” muttered Mr. McLean. “Him and his wars.”

With that he rose and left us.

The next afternoon he informed me that if I was riding up the creek to spend the night he would go for company. In that direction we started, therefore, without any mention of the Taylors or Miss Peck. I was puzzled. Never had I seen him thus disconcerted by woman. With him woman had been a transient disturbance. I had witnessed a series of flighty romances, where the cow-puncher had come, seen, often conquered, and moved on. Nor had his affairs been of the sort to teach a young man respect. I am putting it rather mildly.