of the
plains had appraised them all before his eyes dismissed her from his
consideration and began a casual inspection of the other passengers.

Inside of half an hour he had made himself persona grata to everybody
in the car except his dark-eyed neighbor across the way. That this
dispenser of smiles and cigars decided to leave her out in the
distribution of his attentions perhaps spoke well for his discernment.
Certainly responsiveness to the geniality of casual fellow passengers
did not impress Mr. Collins as likely to be an outstanding, quality in
her. But with the drummer from Chicago, the young mining engineer going
to Sonora, the two shy little English children just in front of him
traveling to meet their father in California, he found intuitively
common ground of interest. Even Major Mackenzie, the engineer in charge
of the large irrigation project being built by a company in southern
Arizona, relaxed at one of the plainsman's humorous tales.

It was after Collins had half-depopulated the car by leading the more
jovial spirits back in search of liquid refreshments that an urbane
clergyman, now of Boston but formerly of Pekin, Illinois, professedly
much interested in the sheriff's touch-and-go manner as presumably quite
characteristic of the West, dropped into the vacant seat beside Major
Mackenzie.

"And who might our energetic friend be?" he asked, with an ingratiating
smile.

The young woman in front of them turned her head ever so slightly to
listen.

"Val Collins is his name," said the major. "Sometimes called 'Bear-trap
Collins.' He has always lived on the frontier. At least, I met him
twelve years ago when he was riding mail between Aravaipa and Mesa. He
was a boy then, certainly not over eighteen, but in a desperate fight
he had killed two men who tried to hold up the mail. Cow-puncher,
stage-driver, miner, trapper, sheriff, rough rider, politician--he's
past master at them all."

"And why the appellation of 'Bear-trap,' may I ask?" The smack of pulpit
oratory was not often missing in the edifying discourse of the Reverend
Peter Melancthon Brooks.

"Well, sir, that's a story. He was trapping in the Tetons about five
years ago thirty miles from the nearest ranch-house. One day, while
he was setting a bear-trap, a slide of snow plunged down from the tree
branches above and freed the spring, catching his hand between its jaws.
With his feet and his other hand he tried to open that trap for four
ho