all th' danged fightin' yer lookin' fer afore ye puts Santa Fe
behind ye--an' I'm bettin' we'll all show our trails a hull lot worse
afore we git through ter Bent's. Come on; Turley's ranch is a long ways
off. If yer itchin' ter try that repeatin' rifle ye'll shore git th'
chance ter, later."

Hank grinned guiltily and while he was not thoroughly convinced of the
soundness of their flight, so far as his outward appearances showed, he
grunted a little but pushed on and joined his partner. In a few minutes
he grinned again.

"I ain't never had th' chanct ter try fer six plumb-centers without
takin' th' rifle from my shoulder," he remarked. "Jest wait till I take
this hyar Colt up in th' Crow country!" He chuckled with anticipated
pleasures and then glanced sidewise at his partner. "Say, Tom," he said,
reminiscently; "who air th' three other best men yer gal was thinkin'
of, back thar in that little clearin'?"

"What you mean?" demanded Tom, whirling in his saddle, his face flushing
under its tan. "An' she ain't my gal, neither."

Hank chirped and twittered a bit. "Then who's is she?"

"Don't know; but she won't like bein' called mine. Ye oughtn't call her
that."

"Not even atween us two?"

"Not never, a-tall."

"That so?" muttered Hank, a vague plan presenting itself to his mind, to
be considered and used later. "Huh! I must be gittin' old an'
worthless," he mourned. "I been readin' signs fer more'n thirty year,
an' I ain't never read none that war airy plainer, arter them thievin'
'Rapahoes turned tail an' lit out. Anyhow, I reckon mebby yer safe if ye
keep on _thinkin'_ that she's yer gal." He scratched his chin. "But who
war th' other three?"

"Why, I do remember her saying something like that," confessed Tom
slowly, tingling as his memory hurled the whole scene before him.
"Reckon she meant Uncle Joe an' her father."

"That accounts fer two o' 'em," said Hank, nodding heavily; "but who in
tarnation is th' third?"

"Don't know," grunted Tom.

"Huh! Bet he's that stuck-up, no-'count doctor feller. Yeah; that's who
it is." He glanced slyly at his frowning friend. "Told ye I war gettin'
old an' worthless. Gosh! an' she's goin' all th' rest o' th' way ter
Santer Fe with him!" He slapped his horse and growled in mock anxiety.
"We better git a-goin' an' not loaf like we air. Santer Fe's a long ways
off!"

Two miles further on they turned up a little branch of the stream and
Hank, stopping his horse, threw u