“Oh, I didn’t mean to buy a carriage! We’re going to win it—over at Dawn—at the fair—it’s the prize for the roping match.” “Hold on a minute.” Hank tightened one arm around her, and with the other reached down into the mail sack where, after some fumbling, he brought out a folded handbill. “Seems to me I saw something of that sort in here,” he said. Within the last few months, Lame Jones County had been organized; it had now a county seat of its own, in the little new cow-town of Dawn, much nearer to the Three Sorrows than Mesquite; they were celebrating with a county fair, with all the usual cattle country contests and the approved cattle country prizes. The sheet was unfolded in front of them both. Hilda instantly began to read: “The Committee will spare no pains—” while Hank was running a finger slowly down the line of prizes offered. It was well that Buckskin knew the way, for he got no more guidance. The traveling forefinger reached the prize offered the successful contestant in the roping match. Hank’s bearded lips moved: “M-m-m, ‘cushions and cover genu-wine leather,’” he muttered. “You was about right, Pettie.” “Well, then, we can get it, can’t we?” she reiterated her demand as he let her down carefully by one hand at the door-stone. “Why, you see, Pettie, it’s a prize; and I don’t know for sure yet whether we’re prize-winners or not.” “Yes—course it’s a prize.” Hilda looked up at him impatiently, fairly dancing where she stood. “That’s what I told you at first. For the best roper. And Shorty’s the best roper.” “Yes,” assented Hank thoughtfully. “Shorty’s pretty good.” “Uncle Hank! Shorty’s the best roper in Lame Jones County—bar none—if old Snake does say it. And Shorty’s ours.” The old man looked at the great black eyes, glowing with excitement, the flushed cheeks, the parted, tremulous lips; and he sighed a little. “All right, sister. We’ll do the best we can; but don’t let it get in the way of your supper.” “I won’t, Uncle Hank.” Hilda shook her head earnestly. She was answering words he hadn’t spoken; she understood quite as well as though he had said aloud, “And don’t talk any more about it to-night,” and she assured him again, “I won’t.” He rode away to the corral to put up Buckskin, and Hilda hurried upstairs. He hadn’t laid a command upon her; but she answered to what she knew to be his wish with a zealous and adorned obedience: clean frock, smoothly combed curls, perfectly cleaned finger nails, a composed countenance. When she had accomplished all this she flew downstairs to watch for his return from the corral. She hastened the serving of the supper, giving Sam Kee to understand by means of a hint so broad that it was almost a fib that Uncle Hank was already in the house.