The ruddy cow-puncher grinned. He had passed through the world of woman with but few delays, rejoicing in informal and transient entanglements, and he welcomed the turn which the conversation seemed now to be taking. “If you’ll give me her name and address,” said he, with the future entirely in his mind. “Why, Laramie!” and the Governor feigned surprise. “Say, Doc,” said Lin, uneasily, “none of ’em ’ain’t married me since I saw you last.” “Then she hasn’t written from Laramie?” said the hilarious Governor; and Mr. McLean understood and winced in his spirit deep down. “Gee whiz!” went on Barker. “I’ll never forget you and Lusk that day!” [Illustration: Border] But the mask fell now. “You’re talking of his wife, not mine,” said the cow-puncher, very quietly, and smiling no more; “and, Doc, I’m going to say a word to yu’, for I know yu’ve always been my good friend. I’ll never forget that day myself—but I don’t want to be reminded of it.” “I’m a fool, Lin,” said the Governor, generous instantly. “I never supposed—” “I know yu’ didn’t. Doc. It ain’t you that’s the fool. And in a way—in a way—” Lin’s speech ended among his crowding memories, and Barker, seeing how wistful his face had turned, waited. “But I ain’t quite the same fool I was before that happened to me,” the cow-puncher resumed, “though maybe my actions don’t show to be wiser. I know that there was better luck than a man like me had any call to look for.” [Illustration: Border] The sobered Barker said, simply, “Yes, Lin.” He was set to thinking by these words from the unsuspected inner man. [Illustration: Border]