nning. "I reckon
he ain't got nothing to do with it?"

The young woman blushed. "I hope not," she said in a low voice.

"We're goin' to eat pretty soon," said the young man. "I reckon that
rattler didn't take your appetite?"

Ferguson flushed. "It was plum rediculous, me bein' hooked by a
rattler," he said. "An' I've lived among them so long."

"I reckon you let him get away?" questioned the young man evenly.

"If he's got away," returned Ferguson, his lips straightening with
satisfaction, "he's a right smart snake."

He related the incident of the attack, ending with praises of the young
woman's skill.

The young man smiled at the reference to his sister. "She's studied
medicine--back East. Lately she's turned her hand to writin'. Come
out here to get experience--local color, she calls it."

Ferguson sat back in his chair, quietly digesting this bit of
information. Medicine and writing. What did she write? Love stories?
Fairy tales? Romances? He had read several of these. Mostly they
were absurd and impossible. Love stories, he thought, would be easy
for her. For--he said, mentally estimating her--a woman ought to know
more about love than a man. And as for anything being impossible in a
love story. Why most anything could happen to people who are in love.

"Supper is ready," he heard her announce from within.

Ferguson preceded the young man at the tin wash basin, taking a fresh
towel that the young woman offered him from the doorway. Then he
followed the young man inside. The three took places at the table, and
Ferguson was helped to a frugal, though wholesome meal.

The dusk had begun to fall while they were yet at the table, and the
young woman arose, lighting a kerosene lamp and placing it on the
table. By the time they had finished semi-darkness had settled.
Ferguson followed the young man out to the chairs on the porch for a
smoke.

They were scarcely seated when there was a clatter of hoofs, and a pony
and rider came out of the shadow of the nearby cottonwood, approaching
the cabin and halting beside the porch. The newcomer was a man of
about thirty-five. The light of the kerosene lamp shone fairly in his
face as he sat in the saddle, showing a pair of cold, steady eyes and
thin, straight lips that were wreathed in a smile.

"I thought I'd ride over for a smoke an' a talk before goin' down the
crick to where the outfit's workin'," he said to the young man. And
now his eye