"Well, one morning--it was a cold, raw day in April--I left Billings with my coach full of people, most of whom were goin' through to Helena, although I only drove as far as Bozeman, just as I do now. I had nine passengers, all told, and among the number was an old ranchman named Kyle Barton, and his handsome daughter. I tell you, she was a stunner; her hair was as black as a crow, and her bright black eyes sparkled like diamonds. I knew 'em both pretty well, for the old man owned a ranch out near Bozeman, and was as fine a man as ever stood six feet in his boots. The young woman was a fiery little beauty, and as hard to manage as a three-year-old colt. The old man and his daughter had been on a trip to the East, and were now returning home again, after bein' away several months. Well, the young woman, as I have said, for all she was as pretty as a picture, had a devilish wicked look in her flashing black eyes, that made a fellow kind 'o wilt when she looked him square in the face. "The young woman took her seat on the inside, while the old man, who was hardy and tough as a pine knot, took his place on the outside, right where you are sittin' now. It was pretty cold, and we had to bundle up pretty well, but the old man didn't mind it a bit. He smoked his pipe and passed his bottle--thankee', yes, sir, I don't care if I do--and we were enjoying of ourselves amazin'. "We journeyed along all day," continued the driver, as he handed the bottle back, and wiped his lips with the sleeve of his coat, "and nothin' happened to hinder or delay us in the least. Instead of gittin' warmer as the day wore on, it kept gittin' a dern sight colder, until along about four o'clock in the afternoon, when it began to snow, and by early dark, it was hard at it, a regular December snow-storm, with a drivin' wind that cut our faces tremendous. This bothered us a good deal, for the snow being wet and sticky, would ball up on the horses' feet so that they could hardly stand, and we just poked along our way at a gait not a bit faster than a slow walk. We couldn't get along any faster, and it was no use a-beatin' the poor critters, for they was a-doin' all in their power, and a-strainin' every nerve to keep a-movin'. "The old ranchman was a good-hearted, sociable old fellow, and he didn't seem to mind the storm a bit. As we plodded along he talked about his cattle ranch, the price of cattle, and what profit he had made that year. It was along after dinner, and we had both been strikin' the bottle pretty regular, although the cold was so great we could hardly feel it, when he fell to talkin' about himself and his daughter. We were the only two outside, and he became quite confidential like, and I pitied the old man, for he'd had a deal of trouble with the young spitfire inside.