ce met and parried her tormentor, but her
brother never tired of his hobby while there was a third person to
listen.

Though an unlettered man, Lance Lovelace had been a close observer of
humanity. The big book of Life had been open always before him, and he
had profited from its pages. With my advent at Las Palomas, there were
less than half a dozen books on the ranch, among them a copy of Bret
Harte's poems and a large Bible.

"That book alone," said he to several of us one chilly evening, as we
sat around the open fireplace, "is the greatest treatise on humanity
ever written. Go with me to-day to any city in any country in
Christendom, and I'll show you a man walk up the steps of his church
on Sunday who thanks God that he's better than his neighbor. But you
needn't go so far if you don't want to. I reckon if I could see myself,
I might show symptoms of it occasionally. Sis here thanks God daily that
she is better than that Barnes girl who cut her out of Amos Alexander.
Now, don't you deny it, for you know it's gospel truth! And that book
is reliable on lots of other things. Take marriage, for instance. It is
just as natural for men and women to mate at the proper time, as it is
for steers to shed in the spring. But there's no necessity of making all
this fuss about it. The Bible way discounts all these modern methods.
'He took unto himself a wife' is the way it describes such events. But
now such an occurrence has to be announced, months in advance. And after
the wedding is over, in less than a year sometimes, they are glad to
sneak off and get the bond dissolved in some divorce court, like I did
with my second wife."

All of us about the ranch, including Miss Jean, knew that the old
ranchero's views on matrimony could be obtained by leading up to the
question, or differing, as occasion required. So, just to hear him talk
on his favorite theme, I said: "Uncle Lance, you must recollect this is
a different generation. Now, I've read books"--

"So have I. But it's different in real life. Now, in those novels you
have read, the poor devil is nearly worried to death for fear he'll not
get her. There's a hundred things happens; he's thrown off the scent
one day and cuts it again the next, and one evening he's in a heaven of
bliss and before the dance ends a rival looms up and there's hell to
pay,--excuse me, Sis,--but he gets her in the end. And that's the way it
goes in the books. But getting down to actual cases--wh