"Well," he replied, stoutly, "they may look kinder tame alongside of your Arizona lies, but--" "Oh, Mr. Lightfoot, _do_ tell me all about it!" broke in Kitty, with an alluring smile. "Colorado is an awfully wild country, isn't it? And did you ever have any adventures with bears?" "Bears!" exclaimed Bill contemptuously. "Bears! Huh, we don't take no more account of ordinary bears up in Coloraydo than they do of coons down here. But them big silver-tips--ump-um--excuse _me_!" He paused and swaggered a little on the precarious support of his cracker box. "And yet, Miss Bunnair," he said, lowering his voice to a confidential key, "I slept a whole night with one of them big fellers and never turned a hair. I could've killed him the next day, too, but I was so grateful to him I spared his life." This was the regular "come-on" for Lightfoot's snow-storm story, and Creede showed his white teeth scornfully as Bill leaned back and began the yarn. "You see, Miss Bunnair," began the Colorado cowboy, rolling his eyes about the circle to quell any tendency to give him away, "Coloraydo is an altogether different country from this here. The mountains is mighty steep and brushy, with snow on the peaks, and the cactus ain't more 'n a inch high out on the perairie. But they's plenty of feed and water--you betcher life I wisht I was back there now instead of fightin' sheep down here! The only thing aginst that country up there is the blizzards. Them storms is very destructive to life. Yes, ma'am. They's never any notice given but suddenly the wind will begin to blow and the cattle will begin to drift, and then about the time your horse is give out and your ears frozen it'll begin to snow!