"No danger of that with this old nag. He's tough as a mule," Ashton assured her, though he followed her example by pulling his mount in to a walk. "A mule knows enough to balk when he's got enough," she informed him. He did not reply. With the lessening of his excitement habit sent his hand to his open packet of cigarettes. He had not smoked since before shooting the calf. As they came down into the shallow valley between the foot of the mesa and a parallel line of low rocky hills he could wait no longer. His lighter was already half raised to the gilt-tipped cigarette when it was checked by etiquette. He bowed to the girl as a matter of form. "Ah, pardon me--if you have no objections," he said. "I have," was her unexpected reply. "Er--what?" he asked, his finger on the spring of the lighter. "You inquired if I have any objections," she answered. "I told you the truth. I dislike cigarettes most intensely." "But--but--" he stammered, completely taken aback, "don't your cowboys all smoke?" "Not cigarettes--where I ever see them," she said. "And cigars or pipes?" he queried. "One has to concede something to masculine weakness," she sighed. "Unfortunately I have no cigars with me, not even at my camp, and a pipe is so slow," he complained. "Oh, pray, do not deprive yourself on my account," she said. "You'll find the cut between those two hills about as short a way to your camp as this one, if you prefer your cigarettes to my company." "Crool maid!" he reproached, not altogether jestingly. He even looked across at the gap through the hills to which she was pointing. Then he saw the disdain in her blue eyes. He took the cigarette from his lips, eyed it regretfully, and flung it away with a petulant fillip. "There!" he said. Meeting her amused smile, he added in the injured tone of a spoiled child. "You don't realize what a compliment that is." "What?--abstaining for a half hour or so? If I asked you to break off entirely, and you did it, I would consider that a real compliment." "I should say so!" "But I am by no means sure that I would care to ask you," she bantered. "You're not? Why, may I inquire?" "I do not like to make useless requests." "Useless!" he exclaimed, his self-esteem stung by her raillery. "Do you think I cannot quit smoking them?" "I think you do not care to try." Impulsively he snatched out a package of his expensive cigarettes and tossed it over his shoulder. Another and another and still others followed in rapid succession, until he had exhausted his supply. "How's that?" he demanded her approval. "Well, it's not so bad for a start-off," she answered with an absence of enthusiasm that dashed him from his pose of self-abnegation. "You don't realize what that means," he complained. "It means, jilt Miss Nicotine in haste, and repent at leisure." "You're ragging me! You ought to be particularly nice to me. I did it for you." "Thanks awfully. But I didn't ask you to do it, you know."