"Bully for Donald!"

"Thar ain't no flies on him, boys, is thar?"

"Warn't it neat?"

"Knocked him out in one round, too!" The scene was a saloon in Montana.
Six men were gathered round a table playing poker. The light was dim,
the liquor was villainous, and the air was dense with tobacco smoke. It
was a cowboy party, and one of the cowboys was Donald Morrison. He had
adopted the free life of the Western prairies. He had learned to ride
with the grace and shoot with the deadly skill of an Indian.

'Twas a rough life, and he knew it. He mixed but little with the "Boys,"
but the latter respected him for his manly qualities. He was utterly
without fear. Courage is better than gold on the plains of Montana. He
took to the life, partly because it was wild and adventurous, partly
because he found that he could save money at it. The image of Minnie
never grew dim in his heart, and he looked forward to a modest little
home in his native village, graced and sweetened by the presence of a
true woman.

On this night he had yielded to the persuasion of a few of the boys, and
went with them to "Shorty's" saloon for a game of "keerds."

"Shorty" had a pretty daughter, who was as much out of place amid her
coarse surroundings as violets in a coal mine.

She was quite honest, and she served her father's customers with
modesty. Kitty--that was her name--secretly admired the handsome Donald,