He paused, frowning gloomily into the fire. "Say," he said, his
voice breaking a little, "d'ye ever hear anything from Miss Bonnair?"

For a moment Hardy was silent. Then, reading what was in his partner's
heart, he answered gently:

"Not a word, Jeff."

The big cowboy sighed and grinned cynically.

"That was a mighty bad case I had," he observed philosophically. "But
d'ye know what was the matter with me? Well, I never tumbled to it
till afterward, but it was jest because she was like Sallie--talked
like her and rode like her, straddle, that way. But I wanter tell you,
boy," he added mournfully, "_Sal_ had a heart."

He sank once more into sombre contemplation, grumbling as he nursed
his wounds, and at last Hardy asked him a leading question about
Sallie Winship.

"Did I ever hear from 'er?" repeated Creede, rousing up from his
reverie. "No, and it ain't no use to try. I wrote to her three times,
but I never got no answer--I reckon the old lady held 'em out on her.
She wouldn't stand for no bow-legged cowpuncher--and ye can't blame
her none, the way old man Winship used to make her cook for them
_rodeo_ hands--but Sallie would've answered them letters if she'd got
'em."

"But where were they living in St. Louis?" persisted Hardy. "Maybe you
got the wrong address."

"Nope, I got it straight--Saint Louie, Mo., jest the way you see it in
these money-order catalogues."

"But didn't you give any street and number?" cried Hardy, aghast.
"Why, for Heaven's sake, Jeff, there are half a million people in St.
Louis--she'd never get it in the world."

"No?" inquired Creede apathetically. "Well, it don't make no
difference, then. I don't amount to a dam', anyhow--and this is no
place for a woman--but, by God, Rufe, I do git awful lonely when I
see you writin' them letters to the boss. If I only had somebody that
cared for me I'd prize up hell to make good. I'd do anything in God's
world--turn back them sheep or give up my six-shooter, jest as she
said; but, nope, they's no such luck for Jeff Creede--he couldn't make
a-winnin' with a squaw."

"Jeff," said Hardy quietly, "how much would you give to get a letter
from Sallie?"

"What d'ye mean?" demanded Creede, looking up quickly. Then, seeing
the twinkle in his partner's eye, he made a grab for his money. "My
whole wad," he cried, throwing down the roll. "What's the deal?"

"All right," answered Hardy, deliberately counting out the bills,
"there's the ante--a hund