ips in the presence of strangers.
Monty had developed more than one singular and hitherto unknown trait
since his supremacy at golf had revealed his possibilities. He was
as sober and vain and pompous about his capacity for lying as about
anything else. Some of the cowboys were jealous of him because he held
the attention and, apparently, the admiration of the ladies; and Nels
was jealous, not because Monty made himself out to be a wonderful
gun-man, but because Monty could tell a story. Nels really had been the
hero of a hundred fights; he had never been known to talk about them;
but Dorothy's eyes and Helen's smile had somehow upset his modesty.
Whenever Monty would begin to talk Nels would growl and knock his pipe
on a log, and make it appear he could not stay and listen, though he
never really left the charmed circle of the camp-fire. Wild horses could
not have dragged him away.

One evening at twilight, as Madeline was leaving her tent, she
encountered Monty. Evidently, he had way-laid her. With the most
mysterious of signs and whispers he led her a little aside.

"Miss Hammond, I'm makin' bold to ask a favor of you," he said.

Madeline smiled her willingness.

"To-night, when they've all shot off their chins an' it's quiet-like,
I want you to ask me, jest this way, 'Monty, seein' as you've hed more
adventures than all them cow-punchers put together, tell us about the
most turrible time you ever hed.' Will you ask me, Miss Hammond, jest
kinda sincere like?"

"Certainly I will, Monty," she replied.

His dark, seared face had no more warmth than a piece of cold, volcanic
rock, which it resembled. Madeline appreciated how monstrous Dorothy
found this burned and distorted visage, how deformed the little man
looked to a woman of refined sensibilities. It was difficult for
Madeline to look into his face. But she saw behind the blackened mask.
And now she saw in Monty's deep eyes a spirit of pure fun.

So, true to her word, Madeline remembered at an opportune moment, when
conversation had hushed and only the long, dismal wail of coyotes broke
the silence, to turn toward the little cowboy.

"Monty," she said, and paused for effect--"Monty, seeing that you have
had more adventures than all the cowboys together, tell us about the
most terrible time you ever had."

Monty appeared startled at the question that fastened all eyes upon him.
He waved a deprecatory hand.

"Aw, Miss Hammond, thankin' you all modest-like