“‘Poor old schoolmarm!’” echoed Miss Stacey. “Perhaps the deceit has not been wholly on one side.” Whereupon she swept aside the enveloping veil to reveal a pale and pretty face. She was young. She had clear gray eyes and a sweet, sensitive mouth. Little curls of chestnut hair straggled from under her veil. And she had tiny freckles. Tex stared at this apparition. “But you—you—the letter says she wasn’t over forty,” he ejaculated. “She’s not,” rejoined Miss Stacey, curtly. Then there were visible and remarkable indications of a transformation in the attitude of the cowboy. But the approach of a stranger suddenly seemed to paralyze him. This fellow was very tall. He strolled up to them. He was booted and spurred. He had halted before the group and looked expectantly from the boys to the young woman and back again. But on the moment the four cowboys appeared dumb. “Are—are you Mr. Springer?” asked Miss Stacey. “Yes,” he replied, and he took off his sombrero. He had a dark, frank face and keen eyes. “I am Jane Stacey,” she explained hurriedly. “I’m a school teacher. I answered an advertisement. And I’ve come from Missouri because of letters I received from a Mr. Frank Owens, of Springer’s Ranch. This young man met me. He has not been very—explicit. I gather that there is no Mr. Owens—that I’m the victim of a cowboy joke ... But he said that Mr. Springer won’t stand for a joke on a poor old schoolmarm.” “I sure am glad to meet you, Miss Stacey,” responded the rancher, with the easy western courtesy that must have been comforting to her. “Please let me see the letters.” She opened a hand-bag, and searching in it presently held out several letters. Springer never even glanced at his stricken cowboys. He took the letters. “No, not that one,” said Miss Stacey, blushing scarlet. “That’s one I wrote to Mr. Owens, but didn’t mail. It’s—hardly necessary to read that.” While Springer read the others she looked at him. Presently he asked for the letter she had taken back. Miss Stacey hesitated, then refused. He looked cool, serious, business-like. Then his keen eyes swept over the four cowboys. “Tex, are you Mister Frank Owens?” he queried sharply. “I—shore—ain’t,” gasped Tex. Springer asked each of the other boys the same question and received decidedly maudlin but negative answers. Then he turned again to the girl. “Miss Stacey, I regret to say that you are indeed the victim of a low-down cowboy trick,” he said. “I’d apologize for such heathen if I knew how. All I can say is I’m sorry.” “Then—then there isn’t any school to teach—any place for me—out here?” she asked, and there were tears in her eyes. “That’s another matter,” he replied, with a winning smile. “Of course there’s a place for you. I’ve wanted a school teacher for a long time. Some of the men out at the ranch have kids an’ they sure need a teacher.”