care that cook again," then seeing that she was about to object, he
added, "nor any other cook."

"And you'll promise not to spoil any more tins, or terrorize that poor
outfit, or burn any more corrals, and everything like that?" she asked
quickly, for she detected a trace of seriousness in his face and wished to
drive home her advantage. If she could get a serious promise from him she
would rest content, for she knew he would keep his word.

He thought for an instant and then turned a smiling face to her. Seeing
veiled entreaty in her eyes, he suddenly felt a quiet gladness steal over
him. Perhaps she really cared about his welfare, after all, though he
dared not hope for that. He grew serious, and when he spoke she knew that
he had given his word.

"I promise not to take the initiative in any warfare, nor to harass the
Cross Bar-8 unless they force me to in self-defense," he replied.

She hid her elation, for she had gained the point her brother had failed
to win, and did not wish to risk anything by showing her feelings. As
if to reward him for yielding to her, she led the conversation from the
personal grounds it had assumed and cleverly got him to talk about the
country and everything pertaining to it.

He was thoroughly at ease now, and for an hour held them interested by
his knowledge of the trails and the natural phenomena. He told them of
cattle herding, its dangers and sports; and his description of a stampede
was masterly. He recounted the struggles of the first settlers with
the Indians, and even quite extensively covered the field of practical
prospecting, lightening his story with naive bits of humor and witty
personal opinions which had them laughing heartily. It was not long before
they forgot that they were entertaining, or, rather, being entertained by
an outlaw; and as for himself, it was the most pleasant evening he had
ever known. There was such an air of friendliness and they were so natural
and human that he was stimulated to his best efforts; the barriers had
been broken down.

"Oh, James says that you are a wonderful shot!" cried Helen, interrupting
his description of a shooting match at a cowboy carnival he had once
attended in a northern town. "He says that no man ever lived who could
hope to beat you with either rifle or revolver, six-shooter, as he calls
it. Won't you let me see you shoot, some day?"

He laughed deprecatingly: "You ask the sheriff to shoot for you," he
responded. "He