“Have you had an accident? Are you hurt?” asked the man, jumping off his horse and mechanically slinging the bridle-rein over his left arm, as Olive noted with some self-reproach. She told him what had happened, and she saw a smile creep round his mouth and light up his blue eyes. “That is easily remedied. I feared you must have been thrown,” said he. “Just mount my horse. He’s quiet. I’ll take you home.” “But the saddle,” said Olive looking very anxiously at that burden. “Oh! that’s nothing,” said the stranger. “I’ll carry it on my arm.” “You must not dream of such a thing. I could not think of allowing it. You are very kind, I am sure, but if you would take up the saddle in front of you that is all I want. The saddle is the only difficulty. I can walk quite well. I live in that house over there on the brow of the bluff. It is not far, but I could not carry that terrible saddle.” “Why, that’s Perfection City, where the Communists live,” said he, looking at her curiously. “Yes, I live there,” replied Olive with a slight blush, noting the look. “And are you a communist, if I may presume to ask the question?” queried the stranger. “My husband was one of the founders of the—the—of Perfection City,” said Olive, valiantly determined to defend the absent. “But you are not one of the original members. You are surely a new-comer. I know most of them, by sight at all events.” “I am Mrs. Weston,” replied Olive with dignity. The stranger again took off his hat, as if this were an introduction. “I have seen your husband then, a magnificent specimen of manhood, to judge from the only example I had of his physical strength.” Olive felt at once mollified. Meanwhile, the stranger had shortened the stirrup-leathers of his horse, and turning to Olive he said, “And now, Mrs. Weston, allow me to give you a hand up to mount you on my big horse. He is quite gentle and I will hold the bridle.” Olive hesitated. “I don’t like to take your horse,” she said. “If you would be so kind as to leave the saddle——” “No, no, you must not deprive me of the pleasure of your company,” interposed the stranger. “We will manage the saddle all right. Just spring up. Your riding-habit is admirably adapted for prairie life, and the prettiest I ever saw. Pardon my bluntness, but I am so little used to society, I fear I am very rough.” “You don’t fear anything of the sort,” replied Olive quickly. “You are perfectly aware that your manners are infinitely superior to the article in general use hereabouts.” The man laughed pleasantly at this sally. “Well, let me amend my pleading,” said he, “and say, it is so long since I met a lady in these wilds, and that is true enough, Heaven knows!” Olive mounted the big horse with the dextrous help of his hand and signed to him to give her the saddle.