not slept for a week, a saturnine cattleman in from the mesas, and two
visiting ladies from an adjacent town comprised the tale of guests that
morning. As Bartley came in the guests glanced at him curiously. They
had heard of the misunderstanding at the Blue Front.

Cheyenne immediately rose and offered Bartley a chair at his table. The
two women, alone at their table, immediately became subdued and
watchful. They were gazing their first upon an author. Wishful had made
the fact known, with some pride. The ladies, whom Cheyenne designated as
"cow-bunnies,"---or wives of ranchers,--were dressed in their "best
clothes," and were trying to live up to them. They had about finished
breakfast, and shortly after Bartley was seated they rose. On their way
out they stopped at Cheyenne's table.

"Don't forget to stop by when you ride our way," said one of the women.

Bartley noticed the toil-worn hands, and the lines that hard work and
worry had graven in her face. Her "best clothes" rather accentuated
these details. But back of it all he sensed the resolute spirit of the
West, resourceful, progressive, large-visioned.

"Meet Mr. Bartley," said Cheyenne unexpectedly.

Which was just what the two women had been itching to do. Bartley rose
and shook hands with them.

"A couple of lady friends of mine," said Cheyenne when they had gone.

Cheyenne made no mention of the previous evening's game, or its climax.
Yet Bartley had gathered from Wishful that Panhandle Sears and Cheyenne