Then there had been the last lecture, when Mr. God gave them a little talk on the aims of the company and ended his address with a delicate plea for—well, for what? Sobriety and morality, probably. What he said was, “I need hardly add that we assume that every girl is a _lady_, in the best sense of the word....” They had giggled at that, all the way back to the apartment. It _was_ fun, the whole idea; tearing over the countryside all day and not knowing every evening where you would be the next night. Flo was tired, that was all: it would pass—— “We might cut up tonight,” she said aloud. “There’s a new movie isn’t there? Or would you like to hire a car and go out of town somewhere? Come on, let’s do that.” “Don’t be an idiot,” Flo grumbled. “It costs too much. I don’t know if I’ll last till next pay day as it is. I tell you, though, we might get dressed up and eat at the hotel instead of fixing something here.” “Yes, that wouldn’t be bad. Is there any hot water? Oh, wait a minute.” The phone was ringing: she ran to answer it and called back, “Flo, it’s Tom and he says it’s going to be moonlight. He and Wally want us to go up the canyon for a picnic. Should I tell him we’ll fix the supper?” Flo frowned, as usual, and protested. “But there’s nothing in the house....” “Now, don’t be that way. We can send for something. It’ll do us good. Come on.” “Oh, all right. Who’s going?” “Just us and the cowboys. Tom says he can have the horses here by seven. Hurry and make up your mind, he’s waiting.” “It’s all right with me.” She hesitated, struggling with her woe, then hurried into the kitchen and started to slice bread. They were well on the way by the time the moon appeared over a dip in the range of hills to the east. The night air was warm; in the moonlit darkness their shadows were grotesquely different in size. Tom’s hat was the largest thing about him; it swept in a beautiful curve above his sharp face. He rode ahead of the others, glancing around to talk to Flo, who followed stiff and a little ill at ease in the saddle, perpetually thinking and talking of her horse. Gin and Wally rode side by side, but Wally was immense and the horse he rode was also immense: when Gin said anything to him she had to look up. She didn’t say much: Wally was in a reminiscent mood and kept the conversation going without any help. “I mind at one of the shows at Cheyenne,” he said, “the judges was just beginning to catch on the wild cow milking trick. I won out because they caught everybody else.” “What is the trick? I never heard of it.”