cowboy, aren't you?" was the disconcerting question that accompanied
the bread.

"Well, I--er--I punch cows," he admitted guardedly, his gaze elsewhere
than on her face.

"I _knew_ you were a cowboy, the moment you entered the door! I could
tell by the tan and the straight, elastic walk, and the silk
handkerchief knotted around your throat in that picturesque fashion.
(Oh, I'm older than you, and dare speak as I think!) I've read a great
deal about cowboys, and I do admire you all as a type of free,
great-hearted, noble manhood!"

Andy looked exactly as if someone had caught him at something
exceedingly foolish. He tried to sugar his coffee calmly, and so sent
it sloshing all over the saucer.

"Do you live near here?" she asked next, beaming upon him in the
orthodox, motherly fashion.

"Yes, ma'am, not very near," he was betrayed into saying--and she
might make what she could of it. He had not said "ma'am" before since
he had gone to school.

"Oh, I've heard how you Western folks measure distances," she teased.
"About how many miles?"

"About twenty."

"I suppose that is not far, to you knights of the plains. At home it