“There’s cert’nly a right smart o’ difference between men and women,” he observed. “You’re quite sure?” she retorted. “Ain’t it fortunate?--that there’s both, I mean.” “I don’t know about fortunate. Machinery could probably do all the heavy work for us without your help.” “And who’d invent the machinery?” She laughed. “We shouldn’t need the huge, noisy things you do. Our world would be a gentle one.” “Oh, my gracious!” “What do you mean by that?” “Oh, my gracious! Get along, Monte! A gentle world all full of ladies!” “Do you call men gentle?” inquired Molly. “Now it’s a funny thing about that. Have yu’ ever noticed a joke about fathers-in-law? There’s just as many fathers--as mothers-in-law; but which side are your jokes?” Molly was not vanquished. “That’s because the men write the comic papers,” said she. “Hear that, Monte? The men write ’em. Well, if the ladies wrote a comic paper, I expect that might be gentle.” She gave up this battle in mirth; and he resumed:-- “But don’t you really reckon it’s uncommon to meet a father-in-law flouncin’ around the house? As for gentle--Once I had to sleep in a room next a ladies’ temperance meetin’. Oh, heavens! Well, I couldn’t change my room, and the hotel man, he apologized to me next mawnin’. Said it didn’t surprise him the husbands drank some.” Here the Virginian broke down over his own fantastic inventions, and gave a joyous chuckle in company with his sweetheart. “Yes, there’s a big heap o’ difference between men and women,” he said. “Take that fello’ and myself, now.” “Trampas?” said Molly, quickly serious. She looked along the road ahead, and discerned the figure of Trampas still visible on its way to town. The Virginian did not wish her to be serious--more than could be helped. “Why, yes,” he replied, with a waving gesture at Trampas. “Take him and me. He don’t think much o’ me! How could he? And I expect he’ll never. But yu’ saw just now how it was between us. We were not a bit like a temperance meetin’.” She could not help laughing at the twist he gave to his voice. And she felt happiness warming her; for in the Virginian’s tone about Trampas was something now that no longer excluded her. Thus he began his gradual recital, in a cadence always easy, and more and more musical with the native accent of the South. With the light turn he gave it, its pure ugliness melted into charm. “No, he don’t think anything of me. Once a man in the John Day Valley didn’t think much, and by Cañada de Oro I met another. It will always be so here and there, but Trampas beats ’em all. For the others have always expressed themselves--got shut of their poor opinion in the open air.”