to choose from. There's the Sweet Young Things, that faint away at
sight of a six-shooter, and squawk and catch at your arm if they see a
garter snake, and blush if you happen to catch their eye suddenly, and
cry if you don't take off your hat every time you see them a mile off."
Chip held out his cup for Patsy to refill.

"Yeah--I've run up against that brand--and they're sure all right. They
suit ME," remarked Cal.

"That don't seem to line up with the doctor's diploma," commented Weary.

"Well, she's the other kind then--and if she is, the Lord have mercy on
the Flying U! She'll buy her some spurs and try to rope and cut out
and help brand. Maybe she'll wear double-barreled skirts and ride a
man's saddle and smoke cigarettes. She'll try to go the men one better
in everything, and wind up by making a darn fool of herself. Either
kind's bad enough."

"I'll bet she don't run in either bunch," began Weary. "I'll bet she's
a skinny old maid with a peaked nose and glasses, that'll round us up
every Sunday and read tracts at our heads, and come down on us with both
feet about tobacco hearts and whisky livers, and the evils and devils
wrapped up in a cigarette paper. I seen a woman doctor, once--she was
stopping at the T Down when I was line-riding for them--and say, she was
a holy fright! She had us fellows going South before a week. I
stampeded clean off the range, soon as my month was up."

"Say," interrupted Cal, "don't yuh remember that picture the Old Man
got last fall, of his sister? She was the image of the Old Man--and
mighty near as old."