"'Why, no,' says I. 'Hike!' and I snapped the blacksnake over the
ponies' ears, and they strung themselves out like a brace of
coyotes, nearly pulling the buckboard out from under us.
'Sometimes we travel like _this_,' I says. 'And as for roads, I
despise 'em. You're not afraid, are you?'

"'Indeed I'm not. I think it's glorious. Might I drive?'

"'If I can smoke,' says I, 'then _you_ can drive.' I'd heard about
young women who'd been brought up so tender that tobacker smoke
would ruin their morals or something, and I kind of wondered if she
was that sort.

"'That's a bargain,' says she prompt. 'But how you're going to
light a cigar in this wind I don't see.'

"'Cigarette,' says I. 'And if you would kindly hold my hat until I
get one rolled I'll take it kind of you.'

"'But what about the horses?' says she.

"'Put your foot on the lines and they'll make. That's the main and
only art of driving on the prairie--not to let the lines get under
the horses' feet--all the rest is just sit still and look at the
scenery.'

"She held my hat for a wind-break, and I got my paper pipe
together. And then--not a match. I searched every pocket. Not a
lucifer. That is more of what I got for being funny and changing