He shook his head gayly. “I’m ce’tainly going to disappoint y’u some. Your enterprising punchers may collect me yet, but not alive, I reckon.” “I’ll give them strict orders to bring you in alive.” “Did you ever want the moon when y’u was a little kid?” he asked. “We’ll see, Mr. Outlaw Bannister.” He laughed softly, in the quiet, indolent fashion that would have been pleasant if it had not been at her. “It’s right kind of you to take so much interest in me. I’d most be willing to oblige by letting your boys rope me to renew this acquaintance, ma’am.” Then, “I get out here Miss Messiter,” he added. She stopped on the instant. Plainly she could not get rid of him too soon. “Haven’t you forgot one thing?” she asked, ironically. “Yes, ma’am. To thank you proper for what y’u did for me.” He limped gingerly down from the car and stood with his hand on one of the tires. “I have been trying to think how to say it right; but I guess I’ll have to give it up. All is that if I ever get a chance to even the score—” She waved his thanks aside impatiently “I didn’t mean that. You have forgotten to take my purse.” His gravity was broken on the instant, and his laughter was certainly delightfully fresh. “I clean forgot, but I expect I’ll drop over to the ranch for it some day.” “We’ll try to make to make you welcome, Mr. Bannister.” “Don’t put yourself out at all. I’ll take pot-luck when I come.” “How many of you may we expect?” she asked, defiantly. “Oh, I allow to come alone.” “You’ll very likely forget.” “No, ma’am, I don’t know so many ladies that I’m liable to such an oversight. “I have heard a different story. But if you do remember to come, and will let us know when you expect to honor the Lazy D, I’ll have messengers sent to meet you.” He perfectly understood her to mean leaden ones, and the humorous gleam in his eye sparkled in appreciation of her spirit. “I don’t want all that fuss made over me. I reckon I’ll drop in unexpected,” he said. She nodded curtly. “Good-bye. Hope your ankle won’t trouble you very much.” “Thank y’u, ma’am. I reckon it won’t. Good-bye, Miss Messiter.” Out of the tail of her eye she saw him bowing like an Italian opera singer, as impudently insouciant, as gracefully graceless as any stage villain in her memory. Once again she saw him, when her machine swept round a curve and she could look back without seeming to do so, limping across through the sage brush toward a little hillock near the road. And as she looked the bare, curly head was inclined toward her in another low, mocking bow. He was certainly the gallantest vagabond unhanged. CHAPTER IV. AT THE LAZY D RANCH