“Looks like a low-down trick we’re to blame for,” resumed Tex, seriously shaking his hawk-like head. “Heah we reads in a Kansas City paper aboot a school teacher wantin’ a job out in dry Arizonie. An’ we ups an’ writes her an’ gets her ararin’ to come. Then when she writes and tells us she’s _not over forty_—then we quits like yellow coyotes. An’ we four anyhow shook hands on never writin’ her again. Wal, somebody did, an’ I reckon you-all think me as big a liar as I think you. But thet ain’t the point. Heah’s another letter to Mister Owens an’ I’ll bet my saddle it means trouble. Shore I’m plumb afraid to read it.” “Say, give it to me,” demanded Andy. “I ain’t afraid of any woman.” Tex snatched the letter out of Andy’s hand. “Cowboy, you’re too poor educated to read letters from ladies,” observed Tex. “Gimme a knife, somebody ... Say, it’s all perfumed.” Tex impressively spread out the letter and read laboriously: Kansas City, Mo., June 15. Dear Mr. Owens: Your last letter has explained away much that was vague and perplexing in your other letters. It has inspired me with hope and anticipation. I shall not take time now to express my thanks, but hasten to get ready to go West. I shall leave tomorrow and arrive at Beacon on June 19, at 4:30 P.M. You see I have studied the time-table. Yours very truly, Jane Stacey. Profound silence followed Tex’s perusal of the letter. The cowboys were struck dumb. But suddenly Nevada exploded: “My Gawd, fellars, today’s the nineteenth!” “Wal, Springer needs a schoolmarm at the ranch,” finally spoke up the practical Andy. “There’s half a dozen kids growin’ up without any schoolin’, not to talk about other ranches. I heard the boss say this hisself.” “Who the mischief did it?” demanded Tex, in a rage with himself and his accomplices. “What’s the sense in hollerin’ aboot thet now?” returned Nevada. “It’s done. She’s comin’. She’ll be on the Limited. Reckon we’ve got five hours. It ain’t enough. What’ll we _do_?” “I can get awful drunk in thet time,” contributed Panhandle, nonchalantly. “Ahuh! An’ leave it all to us,” retorted Tex, scornfully. “But we got to stand pat on this heah deal. Don’t you know this is Saturday an’ thet Springer will be in town?” “Aw, confound it! We’re all goin’ to get fired,” declared Panhandle. “Serves us right for listenin’ to you, Tex. We can all gamble this trick hatched in your head.” “Not my haid more’n yours or anybody,” returned Tex, hotly. “Say, you locoed cow-punchers,” interposed Nevada. “What’ll we do?” “We’ll have to tell Springer.” “But Tex, the boss’d never believe us about not follerin’ the letters up. He’ll fire the whole outfit.” “But he’ll have to be told somethin’,” returned Panhandle stoutly.