“Trampas has been hyeh explainin’, has he?” said the Virginian with a grin. “Was that your victim’s name?” said Mr. Taylor, facetiously. “No, it wasn’t him that brought the news. Say, what did you do, anyway?” “So that thing has got around,” murmured the Virginian. “Well, it wasn’t worth such wide repawtin’.” And he gave the simple facts to Taylor, while I sat wondering at the contagious powers of Rumor. Here, through this voiceless land, this desert, this vacuum, it had spread like a change of weather. “Any news up your way?” the Virginian concluded. Importance came into Mr. Taylor’s countenance. “Bear Creek is going to build a schoolhouse,” said he. “Goodness gracious!” drawled the Virginian. “What’s that for?” Now Mr. Taylor had been married for some years. “To educate the offspring of Bear Creek,” he answered with pride. “Offspring of Bear Creek,” the Virginian meditatively repeated. “I don’t remember noticin’ much offspring. There was some white tail deer, and a right smart o’ jack rabbits.” “The Swintons have moved up from Drybone,” said Mr. Taylor, always seriously. “They found it no place for young children. And there’s Uncle Carmody with six, and Ben Dow. And Westfall has become a family man, and--” “Jim Westfall!” exclaimed the Virginian. “Him a fam’ly man! Well, if this hyeh Territory is goin’ to get full o’ fam’ly men and empty o’ game, I believe I’ll--” “Get married yourself,” suggested Mr. Taylor. “Me! I ain’t near reached the marriageable age. No, seh! But Uncle Hughey has got there at last, yu’ know.” “Uncle Hughey!” shouted Mr. Taylor. He had not heard this. Rumor is very capricious. Therefore the Virginian told him, and the family man rocked in his saddle. “Build your schoolhouse,” said the Virginian. “Uncle Hughey has qualified himself to subscribe to all such propositions. Got your eye on a schoolmarm?” V. ENTER THE WOMAN “We are taking steps,” said Mr. Taylor. “Bear Creek ain’t going to be hasty about a schoolmarm.” “Sure,” assented the Virginian. “The children wouldn’t want yu’ to hurry.” But Mr. Taylor was, as I have indicated, a serious family man. The problem of educating his children could appear to him in no light except a sober one. “Bear Creek,” he said, “don’t want the experience they had over at Calef. We must not hire an ignoramus.” “Sure!” assented the Virginian again. “Nor we don’t want no gad-a-way flirt,” said Mr. Taylor. “She must keep her eyes on the blackboa’d,” said the Virginian, gently. “Well, we can wait till we get a guaranteed article,” said Mr. Taylor. “And that’s what we’re going to do. It can’t be this year, and it needn’t to be. None of the kids is very old, and the schoolhouse has got to be built.” He now drew a letter from his pocket, and looked at me. “Are you acquainted with Miss Mary Stark Wood of Bennington, Vermont?” he inquired. I was not acquainted with her at this time.