"Oh, what a terrible scene!" To all this I paid scant attention. I heard her, as she sat composedly, scarcely panting. The little pistol had disappeared. "The play has been made, ladies and gentlemen," she said. And to me: "Thank you. Yes," she continued, with a flash of lucent eyes and a dimpling smile, "Jim has lost his whiskey and has a chance to sober up. He'll have forgotten all about this before we reach Benton. But I thank you for your promptness." "I didn't want you to shoot him," I stammered. "I was quite able to tend to him myself. Your pistol is loaded?" "To be sure it is." And she laughed gaily. Her lips tightened, her eyes darkened. "And I'd kill him like a dog if he presumed farther. In this country we women protect ourselves from insult. I always carry my derringer, sir." The brakeman returned with a broom, to sweep up the chips of broken bottle. He grinned at us. "There's no wind in him now," he communicated. "Peaceful as a baby. We took his gun off him. I'll pass the word ahead to keep him safe, on from Cheyenne." "Please do, Jerry," she bade. "I'd prefer to have no more trouble with him, for he might not come out so easily next time. He knows that." "Surely ought to, by golly," the brakeman agreed roundly. "And he ought to know you go heeled. But that there tanglefoot went to his head. Looks now as if he'd been kicked in the face by a mule. Haw haw! No offense, friend. You got me plumb buffaloed with that fivespot o' yourn." And finishing his job he retired with dust-pan and broom. "You're going to do well in Benton," she said suddenly, to me, with a nod. "I regret this scene--I couldn't help it, though, of course. When Jim's sober he has sense, and never tries to be familiar." She was amazingly cool under the epithets that he had applied. I admired her for that as she gazed at me pleadingly. "A drunken man is not responsible for words or actions, although he should be made so," I consoled her. "Possibly I should not have struck him. In the Far West you may be more accustomed to these episodes than we are in the East." "I don't know. There is a limit. You did right. I thank you heartily. Still"--and she mused--"you can't always depend on your fists alone. You carry no weapon, neither knife nor gun?" "I never have needed either," said I. "My teaching has been that a man should be able to rely upon his fists." "Then you'd better get 'heeled,' as we say, when you reach Benton. Fists are a short-range weapon. The men generally wear a gun somewhere. It is the custom." "And the women, too, if I may judge," I smiled. "Some of us. Yes," she repeated, "you're likely to do well, out here, if you'll permit me to advise you a little." "Under your tutelage I am sure I shall do well," I accepted. "I may call upon you in Benton? If you will favor me with your address----?"