“Cal's too dangerous. He'd have the old girl dead in love before he got her over the first ridge, with them blue eyes and that pretty smile of his'n. It's up to you, Splinter--Old Man said so.” “She'll be dead safe with Chip. HE won't make love to her,” retorted Cal. “Wonder how old she is,” repeated Jack Bates, half emptying the syrup pitcher into his plate. Patsy had hot biscuits for supper, and Jack's especial weakness was hot biscuits and maple syrup. “As to her age,” remarked Shorty, “it's a cinch she ain't no spring chicken, seeing she's the Old Man's sister.” “Is she a schoolma'am?” Happy Jack's distaste for schoolma'ams dated from his tempestuous introduction to the A B C's, with their daily accompaniment of a long, thin ruler. “No, she ain't a schoolma'am. She's a darn sight worse. She's a doctor.” “Aw, come off!” Cal Emmett was plainly incredulous. “That's right. Old Man said she's just finished taking a course uh medicine--what'd yuh call that?” “Consumption, maybe--or snakes.” Weary smiled blandly across the table. “She got a diploma, though. Now where do you get off at?” “Yeah--that sure means she's a doctor,” groaned Cal. “By golly, she needn't try t' pour any dope down ME,” cried a short, fat man who took life seriously--a man they called Slim, in fine irony. “Gosh, I'd like to give her a real warm reception,” said Jack Bates, who had a reputation for mischief. “I know them Eastern folks, down t' the ground. They think cow-punchers wear horns. Yes, they do. They think we're holy terrors that eat with our six-guns beside our plates--and the like of that. They make me plum tired. I'd like to--wish we knew her brand.” “I can tell you that,” said Chip, cynically. “There's just two bunches to choose from. There's the Sweet Young Things, that faint away at sight of a six-shooter, and squawk and catch at your arm if they see a garter snake, and blush if you happen to catch their eye suddenly, and cry if you don't take off your hat every time you see them a mile off.” Chip held out his cup for Patsy to refill. “Yeah--I've run up against that brand--and they're sure all right. They suit ME,” remarked Cal. “That don't seem to line up with the doctor's diploma,” commented Weary. “Well, she's the other kind then--and if she is, the Lord have mercy on the Flying U! She'll buy her some spurs and try to rope and cut out and help brand. Maybe she'll wear double-barreled skirts and ride a man's saddle and smoke cigarettes. She'll try to go the men one better in everything, and wind up by making a darn fool of herself. Either kind's bad enough.”