“How's that?” he wanted to know, when he had made sure that her feet--such tiny feet--were well covered. He thought it lucky that she did not ride astride, after the manner of the latter-day young woman, because then he could not have covered her so completely. “Hold on! That windy side's going to make trouble.” He unbuckled the strap he wore to hold his own coat snug about him, and put it around the girl's slim waist, feeling idiotically happy and guilty the while. “It don't come within a mile of you,” he complained; “but it'll help some.” Sheltered in the thick folds of the Navajo, she laughed, and the sound of it sent the blood galloping through Rowdy Vaughan's body so that he was almost warm. He went and scraped the snow out of his saddle, and swung up, feeling that, after all, there are worse things in the world than being lost and hungry in a blizzard, with a sweet-voiced, bright-eyed little schoolma'am who can laugh like that. “I don't want to have you think I may be a bold, bad robber-man,” he said, when they got going again. “My name's Rowdy Vaughan--for which I beg your pardon. Mother named me Rowland, never knowing I'd get out here and have her nice, pretty name mutilated that way. I won't say that my behavior never suggested the change, though. I'm from the Horseshoe Bar, over the line, and if I have my way, I'll be a Cross L man before another day.” Then he waited expectantly. “For fear you may think I'm a--a robber-woman,” she answered him solemnly--he felt sure her eyes twinkled, if only he could have seen them--“I'm Jessie Conroy. And if you're from over the line, maybe you know my brother Harry. He was over there a year or two.” Rowdy hunched his shoulders--presumably at the wind. Harry Conroy's sister, was she? And he swore. “I may have met him,” he parried, in a tone you'd never notice as being painstakingly careless. “I think I did, come to think of it.” Miss Conroy seemed displeased, and presently the cause was forthcoming. “If you'd ever met him,” she said, “you'd hardly forget him.” (Rowdy mentally agreed profanely.) “He's the best rider in the whole country--and the handsomest. He--he's splendid! And he's the only brother I've got. It's a pity you never got acquainted with him.” “Yes,” lied Rowdy, and thought a good deal in a very short time. Harry Conroy's sister! Well, she wasn't to blame for that, of course; nor for thinking her brother a white man. “I remember I did see him ride once,” he observed. “He was a whirlwind, all right--and he sure was handsome, too.” Miss Conroy turned her face toward him and smiled her pleasure, and Rowdy hovered between heaven and--another place. He was glad she smiled, and he was afraid of what that subject might discover for his straightforward tongue in the way of pitfalls. It would not be nice to let her know what he really thought of her brother. “This looks to me like a lane,” he said diplomatically. “We must be getting somewhere; don't you recognize any landmarks?”