tirrup; in this
posture he remained, forgetful of his intention to mount, while his
mare began to circle and he had to hop along to keep pace with her, his
eyes upon the startled occupant of the bed beyond Helen's. He had had
barely more than time to note the evident discrepancy in ages which
naturally should have started his mind down a new channel for the
explanation of the true relationship, when the revolver clutched
tightly in unaccustomed fingers went off with an unexpected roar. Dust
spouted up a yard beyond the feet of the man who held it. The horse
plunged, the stranger went up into the saddle like a flash, and the man
dropped his gun to his blanket and muttered in the natural bewilderment
of the moment:

'It--it went off by itself! The most amazing----'

The rider brought his prancing horse back and fought with his facial
muscles for gravity; the light in his eyes was utterly beyond his
control.

'I'd better be going off by myself somewhere,' he remarked as gravely
as he could manage, 'if you're going to start shooting a man up just
because he calls before breakfast.'

With a face grown a sick white, the man in bed looked helplessly from
the stranger to his daughter and then to the gun.

'I didn't do a thing to it,' he began haltingly.

'You won't do a thing to yourself one of these fine days.' remarked the
horseman with evident relish, 'if you don't quit carrying that sort of
life-saver. Come over to the ranch and I'll swap you a hand-axe for
it.'

Helen sniffed audibly and distastefully. Her first impression of the
stranger had been more correct than are first impressions nine times
out of ten; he was as full of impudence as a city sparrow. She had sat
up 'looking like a fright'; her father had made himself ridiculous; the
stranger was mirthfully concerned with the amusing possibilities of
both of them.

Suddenly the tall man, smitten by inspiration, slapped his thigh with
one hand, while with the other he curbed rebellion in his mare and
offered the explosive wager:

'I'll bet a man a dollar I've got your number, friends. You are
Professor James Edward Longstreet and his little daughter Helen! Am I
right?'

'You are correct, sir,' acknowledged the professor a trifle stiffly.
His eye did not rise, but clung in a fascinated, faintly accusing way
to the gun which had betrayed him.

The stranger nodded and then lifted his hat for the ceremony while he
presented himself.

'Name of Howa