Inside of half an hour he had made himself persona grata to
everybody in the car except his dark-eyed neighbor across the
way. That this dispenser of smiles and cigars decided to leave
her out in the distribution of his attentions perhaps spoke well
for his discernment. Certainly responsiveness to the geniality of
casual fellow passengers did not impress Mr. Collins as likely to
be an outstanding, quality in her. But with the drummer from
Chicago, the young mining engineer going to Sonora, the two shy
little English children just in front of him traveling to meet
their father in California, he found intuitively common ground of
interest. Even Major Mackenzie, the engineer in charge of the
large irrigation project being built by a company in southern
Arizona, relaxed at one of the plainsman's humorous tales.

It was after Collins had half-depopulated the car by leading the
more jovial spirits back in search of liquid refreshments that an
urbane clergyman, now of Boston but formerly of Pekin, Illinois,
professedly much interested in the sheriff's touch-and-go manner
as presumably quite characteristic of the West, dropped into the
vacant seat beside Major Mackenzie.

"And who might our energetic friend be?" he asked, with an
ingratiating smile.

The young woman in front of them turned her head ever so slightly
to listen.

"Val Collins is his name," said the major. "Sometimes called
'Bear-trap Collins.' He has always lived on the frontier. At