“Mr. Williston informed, did he not?” “Williston? Oh, yes, he informed, but he’d never ’a’ done it if it hadn’t ’a’ been for the Boss. The ol’ jellyfish wouldn’t ’a’ had the nerve to inform without backin’, as sure as a stone wall. The Boss is a doin’ this, I tell you, Miss. But Williston’s a goin’ on the stand to-morrer all right, and so am I.” The two cowboys at the corner table had long since finished their supper. They now lighted bad-smelling cigars and left the room. To Louise’s great relief, Munson rose, too. He was back very soon with a neat little runabout and a high-spirited team of bays. “Boss’s private,” explained Jim with pride. “Nothin’ too good for a lady, so the Boss sent this and me to take keer o’ it. And o’ you, too, Miss,” he added, as an afterthought. He held the lines in his brown, muscular hands, lovingly, while he stowed away Louise’s belongings and himself snugly in the seat, and then the blood burned hot and stinging through his bronzed, tough skin, for suddenly in his big, honest, untrained sensibilities was born the consciousness that the Boss would have stowed away the lady first. It was an embarrassing moment. Louise saved the day by climbing in unconcernedly after him and tucking the linen robe over her skirt. “It will be a dusty drive, won’t it?” she asked, simply. “Miss, you’re a—dandy,” said Jim as simply. As they drove upon the pontoon bridge, Louise looked back at the little town on the bluffs, and felt a momentary choking in her throat. It was a strange place, yet it had tendrils reaching homeward. The trail beyond was obscurely marked and not easy to discern. She turned to her companion and asked quickly: “Why didn’t Mary come?”