“Cyarpets used to begin with a C in my spelling-book, but saddles got off right foot fust with a S,” suggested Mac amiably. “He was ce’tainly trying to tree his saddle among the C’s. He was looking awful loving at a Turkish rug. Reckon he thought it was a saddle-blanket,” derided Denver cheerfully. “Huh! Y’u’re awful smart, Denver,” retaliated Reddy, his complexion matching his hair. “Y’u talk a heap with your mouth. Nobody believes a word of what y’u say.” Denver relaxed into a range song by way of repartee: “I want mighty bad to be married, To have a garden and a home; I ce’tainly aim to git married, And have a gyurl for my own.” “Aw! Y’u fresh guys make me tired. Y’u don’t devil me a bit, not a bit. Whyfor should I care what y’u say? I guess this outfit ain’t got no surcingle on me.” Nevertheless, he made a hurried end of his breakfast and flung out of the tent. “Y’u boys hadn’t ought to wound Reddy’s tender feelings, and him so bent on matrimony!” said Denver innocently. “Get a move on them fried spuds and sashay them down this way, if there’s any left when y’u fill your plate, Missou.” Nor was Reddy the only young man who had dreams those days at the Lazy D. Cupid must have had his hands full, for his darts punctured more than one honest plainsman’s heart. The reputation of the young women at the Lazy D seemed to travel on the wings of the wind, and from far and near Cattleland sent devotees to this shrine of youth and beauty. So casually the victims drifted in, always with a good business excuse warranted to endure raillery and sarcasm, that it was impossible to say they had come of set purpose to sun themselves in feminine smiles. As for Nora, it is not too much to say that she was having the time of her life. Detroit, Michigan, could offer no such field for her expansive charms as the Bighorn country, Wyoming. Here she might have her pick of a hundred, and every one of them picturesquely begirt with flannel shirt, knotted scarf at neck, an arsenal that bristled, and a sun-tan that could be achieved only in the outdoors of the Rockies. Certainly these knights of the saddle radiated a romance with which even her floorwalker “gentleman friend” could not compete. CHAPTER X. A SHEPHERD OF THE DESERT It had been Helen Messiter’s daily custom either to take a ride on her pony or a spin in her motor car, but since Bannister had been quartered at the Lazy D her time had been so fully occupied that she had given this up for the present. The arrival of Nora Darling, however, took so much work off her hands that she began to continue her rides and drives.