long ride across the desert.

Came supper and Texas simultaneously, the cow-puncher's face
scrubbed to an apple shine. At the last moment Collins defaulted,
his nerve completely gone. Since, however, he was a thrifty soul,
he sold his place to Soapy for ten dollars, and proceeded to
invest the proceeds in an immediate drunk.

During the first ten minutes of supper Miss Messiter did not
appear, and the two guardians who flanked her chair solicitously
were the object of much badinage.

"She got one glimpse of that red haid of Tex and the pore lady's
took to the sage," explained Yorky.

"And him scrubbed so shiny fust time since Christmas before the
big blizzard," sighed Doc Rogers.

"Shucks! She ain't scared of no sawed-off, hammered-down runt
like Texas, No, siree! Miss Messiter's on the absent list 'cause
she's afraid she cayn't resist the blandishments of Soapy. Did
yo' ever hear about Soapy and that Caspar hash slinger?"

"Forget it, Slim," advised Soapy, promptly. He had been engaged
in lofty and oblivious conversation with Texas, but he did not
intend to allow reminiscences to get under way just now.

At this opportune juncture arrived the mistress of the "gasoline
bronc," neatly clad in a simple white lawn with blue trimmings.
She looked like a gleam of sunshine in her fresh, sweet youth;