es Sutherland with that instinctive,
womanly tact, which whips recalcitrant talkers into line like a deft
driver reining up kicking colts. "All men should be warranted safe, not
to go off."

"Unless there's a fair target," and the priest looked us over
significantly and laughed. If he felt a gentle pull on the rein, he
yielded not a jot. Unluckily there are no curb-bits for hard-mouthed
talkers.

"Rufus, I don't see that ye wear a ticket warranting ye'll not go off,"
he added merrily. Red became redder on two faces, and hot, hotter with
at least one temper.

"And womankind?" I managed to blurt out, trying to second her efforts
against our tormentor. "What guarantee against dangers from them? The
pulpit silenced--though that's a big contract--mankind labeled, what for
women?"

"Libeled," she retorted. "Men say we don't hit straight enough to be
dangerous."

"The very reason ye are dangerous," the priest broke in. "Ye aim at a
head and hit a heart! Then away ye go to Gretna Green--och! It's
Pembina, I mean! Marry, my children----" and he paused.

"Marry!--What?" I shouted. Thereupon Frances Sutherland broke into peals
of laughter, in which I could see no reason, and Father Holland winked.

"What's wrong with ye?" asked the priest solemnly. "Faith, 'tis no
advice I'm giving; but as I was remarking, marry, my children, I'd
sooner stand before a man not warranted safe than a woman, who might
take to shying pretty charms at my head! Faith, me lambs, ye'll learn
that I speak true."

As Mr. Jack MacKenzie used to put it in his peppery reproof, I always
did have a knack of tumbling head first the instant an opportunity
offered. This time I had gone in heels and all, and now came up in as
fine a confusion as any bashful bumpkin ever displayed before his lady.
Frances Sutherland had regained her composure and came to my rescue with
another attempt to take the lead from the loquacious churchman.

"I'm so grateful to you for arranging this trip," and she turned
directly to me.

"Hm-m," blurted Father Holland with unutterable merriment, before I
could get a word in, "he's grateful to himself for that same thing.
Faith! He's been thankin' the stars, especially Venus, ever since he got
marching orders!"

"How did you reach Fort Gibraltar?" she persisted.

"Sans boots and cap," I promptly replied, determined to be ahead of the
interloper.

"Sans heart, too," and the priest flicked my broncho with his whip and
knocked