"Don't know no one that would quite fill the bill," grinned Cinnabar Joe. "Hey, Win," cut in Tex, "how would I do? I'm capable of some things--sometimes. I've got Cinnabar, here, for a witness that upon certain occasions I've be'n sober. I understand the cow business or old Dad Colston wouldn't of made me foreman--an' tomorrow, everyone here's goin' to be witnesses that I'm married! How about it--don't that fill the bill?" Endicott laughed: "I guess that fills the bill, Tex," he said. "You're hired!" "But--what outfit did you buy, Win?" "The Y Bar," answered Endicott, "and Colston told me that if I couldn't find you for foreman, I'd sure be out of luck." "The Y Bar!" Tex reached over and grasped Endicott's hand. "Boss--you've got the best outfit in Montana!" "Not--boss--Tex. What you meant was 'Partner.' You see I forgot to mention that the man who accepted the position would have to accept a half-interest in the outfit--his time and his experience--against my money." A dead silence followed the words--a silence broken a moment later by the sound of Janet, sobbing softly against her father's shoulder--and by the big Scotchman's rumbling words: "Theer, theer, wee lassie--theer, theer." AN EPILOGUE The ceremony that took place the following afternoon in the McWhorter cabin was impressive in its extreme simplicity. At the conclusion of the wedding feast, McWhorter arose, passed into his own room, and returned a moment later with a bottle of wine, which he held to the sunlight: "'Tis auld," he said, reverently, "an' of famous vintage. Its mate was drunk years ago at my ain' weddin' in Sco'lan'. I ha' saved this--for _hers_." Very carefully he broke the seal, and withdrew the cork, and poured a little of the precious liquid into each thick glass: "We will drink," he said, solemnly, "to the health an' prosperity of--my children!" They drank, and the old Scotchman divided the remaining wine as before. "An' now, Meester Endicott can ye not propose us a toast?" Endicott rose and allowed his eyes to travel slowly over the upturned faces about him. He began to speak: "Here we are--we and our women--a cattleman, and a sheep-man; a minister of the gospel, and a horse-thief; an ex-bartender, a half-breed, and a Harvard man who until a year ago was of the strictest and most hide-hound sect of the New Englanders--and as Cass Grimshaw so aptly phrased it yesterday--'We are all friends together.' Let us drink--to the wonderful free-masonry of the cow-country!"