he assailed, his
unfinished nose and chin giving him a pathetic, whipped puppy look.
"Sho! I was just looking up saddles. Can't a fellow buy a new saddle
without asking leave of Denver?"

"Cyarpets used to begin with a C in my spelling-book, but saddles got
off right foot fust with a S," suggested Mac amiably.

"He was ce'tainly trying to tree his saddle among the C's. He was
looking awful loving at a Turkish rug. Reckon he thought it was a
saddle-blanket," derided Denver cheerfully.

"Huh! Y'u're awful smart, Denver," retaliated Reddy, his complexion
matching his hair. "Y'u talk a heap with your mouth. Nobody believes a
word of what y'u say."

Denver relaxed into a range song by way of repartee:

"I want mighty bad to be married, To have a garden and a home; I
ce'tainly aim to git married, And have a gyurl for my own."

"Aw! Y'u fresh guys make me tired. Y'u don't devil me a bit, not a bit.
Whyfor should I care what y'u say? I guess this outfit ain't got no
surcingle on me." Nevertheless, he made a hurried end of his breakfast
and flung out of the tent.

"Y'u boys hadn't ought to wound Reddy's tender feelings, and him so bent
on matrimony!" said Denver innocently. "Get a move on them fried spuds
and sashay them down this way, if there's any left when y'u fill your
plate, Missou."

Nor was Reddy the only young man who had dreams those days at the Lazy
D. Cupid must have had his hands full, for his darts punctured more than
one honest plainsman's heart. The reputation of the young women at the
Lazy D seemed to travel on the wings of the wind, and from far and near
Cattleland sent devotees to this shrine of youth and beauty. So casually
the victims drifted in, always with a good business excuse warranted to
endure raillery and sarcasm, that it was impossible to say they had come
of set purpose to sun themselves in feminine smiles.

As for Nora, it is not too much to say that she was having the time of
her life. Detroit, Michigan, could offer no such field for her expansive
charms as the Bighorn country, Wyoming. Here she might have her pick
of a hundred, and every one of them picturesquely begirt with flannel
shirt, knotted scarf at neck, an arsenal that bristled, and a sun-tan
that could be achieved only in the outdoors of the Rockies. Certainly
these knights of the saddle radiated a romance with which even her
floorwalker "gentleman friend" could not compete.

CHAPTER 10. A SHEPHERD OF THE DESERT

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