“Tex, he jest ambled past us like we wasn’t gennelmen,” added Panhandle. “Never sheen us atall.” “No wonder, you drunken cow-punchers,” declared Tex, in disgust. “Now I tell you to clear out of heah.” “But pard, we just want shee you meet our Jane from Missouri,” replied Andy. Just then a shrill whistle announced the train. “You can sneak off now,” he went on, “an’ leave me to face the music. I always knew I was the only gentleman in Springer’s outfit.” The three cowboys did not act upon Tex’s sarcastic suggestion, but they hung back, looking at once excited and sheepish and hugely delighted. The long gray dusty train pulled into the station and stopped. There was only one passenger for Springer—a woman—and she alighted from the coach near where the cowboys stood waiting. She wore a long linen coat and a brown veil that completely hid her face. She was not tall and she was much too slight for the heavy valise the porter handed to her. Tex strode grandly toward her. “Miss—Miss Stacey, ma’am?” he asked, removing his sombrero. “Yes,” she replied. “Are you Mr. Owens?” Evidently the voice was not what Tex had expected and it disconcerted him. “No ma’am I—I’m not Mister Owens,” he said. “Please let me take your bag ... I’m Tex Dillon, one of Springer’s cowboys. An’ I’ve come to meet you—an’ fetch you out to the ranch.” “Thank you, but I—I expected to be met by Mr. Owens,” she replied. “Ma’am, there’s been a mistake—I’ve got to tell you—there ain’t any Mister Owens,” blurted out Tex, manfully. “Oh!” she said, with a little start. “You see, it was this way,” went on the confused cowboy. “One of Springer’s cowboys—not _me_—wrote them letters to you, signin’ his name Owens. There ain’t no such named cowboy in this county. Your last letter—an’ here it is—fell into my hands—all by accident. Ma’am, it sure was. I took my three friends heah—I took them into my confidence. An’ we all came down to meet you.” She moved her head and evidently looked at the strange trio of cowboys Tex had pointed out as his friends. They came forward then, but not eagerly, and they still held to each other. Their condition, not to consider their immense excitement, could not have been lost even upon a tenderfoot from Missouri. “Please return my—my letter,” she said, turning again to Tex, and she put out a small gloved hand to take it from him. “Then—there is no Mr. Frank Owens?” “No Ma’am, there isn’t,” replied Tex miserably, and waited for her to speak. “Is there—no—no truth in his—is there no school teacher wanted here?” she faltered. “I think so, Ma’am,” he replied. “Springer said he needed one. That’s what started the advertisement an’ the letters to you. You can see the boss an’—an’ explain. I’m sure it will be all right. He’s the grandest fellow. He won’t stand for no joke on a poor old schoolmarm.” In his bewilderment Tex had spoken his thoughts, and that last slip made him look more miserable than ever, and made the boys appear ready to burst.