u can tackle
some of Dad's tobacco. I guess it's awful strong but it will make
smoke--clouds of it!"

She turned and led the way to the house and as the Texan followed his
eyes rested with a suddenly awakened interest upon the girl. "Curious
she'd think of me not havin' a smoke," he thought, as his glance strayed
from the shapely ankles to the well-rounded forearms from which the
sleeves of her grey flannel shirt had been rolled back, and then to the
mass of jet black hair that lay coiled in thick braids upon her head. He
was conscious that a feeling of contentment--a certain warm glow of
well-being pervaded him, and he wondered vaguely why this should be.

"Come right on in," she called over her shoulder as she entered the
door. "I'll have things ready in a jiffy?" As she spoke, she slid a lid
from the top of the stove, jammed in a stick of firewood, set the
coffee-pot directly on to the fire, and placed a frying pan beside it.
From a nail she took a slab of bacon and sliced it rapidly. In the
doorway the Texan stood watching, in open admiration, the swift, sure
precision of her every move. She glanced up, a slice of bacon held above
the pan, and their eyes met. During a long moment of silence the man's
heart beat wildly. The girl's eyes dropped suddenly: "Crisp, or limber?"
she asked, and to the cowboy's ears, the voice sounded even richer and
deeper of tone than before.

"Limber, please." His own words seemed to boom harshly, and he was
conscious that he was blushing to the ears.

The girl laid the strips side by side in the pan and crossed swiftly to
a cupboard. The next moment she was pouring something from a bottle into
a glass. She returned the bottle and, passing around the table, extended
the half-filled tumbler. The liquid in it was brown, and to the man's
nostrils came the rich bouquet of good whisky. He extended his hand,
then let it drop to his side.

"No, thanks," he said, "none for me."

She regarded him in frank surprise. "You don't drink?" she cried.
"Why--oh, I'm glad! I hate the stuff! Father--sometimes--Oh, I hate it!
But, a cowboy that don't drink! I thought they all drank!"

The Texan stepped to her side and, reaching for the glass, set it gently
upon the table. As his hand touched hers a thrill shot through his
veins, and with it came a sudden longing to take the hand in his own--to
gather this girl into his arms and to hold her tight against his wildly
throbbing heart. The next moment he