French stares, burning Spanish glances--gantlets which any
American girl had to run abroad. Compared with foreign eyes the
eyes of these cowboys were those of smiling, eager babies.

"Haw, haw!" roared Stillwell. "Florence, you jest hit the nail
on the haid. Cowboys are all plumb flirts. I was wonderin' why
them boys nooned hyar. This ain't no place to noon. Ain't no
grazin' or wood wuth burnin' or nuthin'. Them boys jest held up,
throwed the packs, an' waited fer us. It ain't so surprisin' fer
Booly an' Ned--they're young an' coltish--but Nels there, why,
he's old enough to be the paw of both you girls. It sure is
amazin' strange."

A silence ensued. The white-haired cowboy, Nels, fussed
aimlessly over the camp-fire, and then straightened up with a
very red face.

"Bill, you're a dog-gone liar," he said. "I reckon I won't stand
to be classed with Booly an' Ned. There ain't no cowboy on this
range thet's more appreciatin' of the ladies than me, but I shore
ain't ridin' out of my way. I reckon I hev enough ridin' to do.
Now, Bill, if you've sich dog-gone good eyes mebbe you seen
somethin' on the way out?"

"Nels, I hevn't seen nothin'," he replied, bluntly. His levity
disappeared, and the red wrinkles narrowed round his searching
eyes.

"Jest take a squint at these hoss tracks," said Nels, and he drew
Stillwell a few paces aside and pointed to large hoofprints in