"'Listen,' I says: 'You believe I'm your friend, don't you? And you believe anything I tell you is from the heart out and will probably have a grain of sense in it. Well, here is an inspired thought: Women won't ever dress modestly like men do because men don't want 'em to. I never saw a man yet that did if he'd tell the truth, and so this here dark city stranger won't be any exception. Now, then, what do we see on Saturday next? Why, we see this here gay throng sally forth for Stender's Spring, the youth and beauty of Red Gap, including Mr. D., with his nice refined odour of Russia leather and bank bills of large size--from fifties up--that haven't been handled much. The crowd is of all sexes, technically, like you might say; a lot of nice, sweet girls along but dressed to be mere jolly young roughnecks, and just as interesting to the said stranger as the regular boys that will be present--hardly more so. And now, as for poor little meek you--you will look wild and Western, understand me, but feminine; exactly like the coloured cigarette picture that says under it "Rocky Mountain Cow Girl." You will be in your pretty tan skirt--be sure to have it pressed--and a blue-striped sport bloose that I just saw in the La Mode window, and you'll get some other rough Western stuff there, too: a blue silk neckerchief and a natty little cow-girl sombrero--the La Mode is showing a good one called the La Parisienne for four fifty-eight--and the daintiest pair of tan kid gauntlets you can find, and don't forget a pair of tan silk stockings--' "'They won't show in my riding boots,' says Hetty, looking as if she was coming to life a little. "'Tush for the great, coarse, commonsense riding boots,' I says firmly; 'you will wear precisely that neat little pair of almost new tan pumps with the yellow bows that you're standing in now. Do you get me?' "'But that would be too dainty and absurd,' says Hetty. "'Exactly!' I says, shutting my mouth hard. "'Why, I almost believe I do get you,' says she, looking religiously up into the future like that lady saint playing the organ in the picture. "'Another thing,' I says: 'You are deathly afraid of a horse and was hardly ever on one but once when you were a teeny girl, but you do love the open life, so you just nerved yourself up to come.' "'I believe I see more clearly than ever,' says Hetty. She grew up on a ranch, knows more about a horse than the horse himself does, and would be a top rider most places, with the cheap help we get nowadays that can hardly set a saddle.