On the return trip, we got the ambulance off before sunrise, expecting to halt and breakfast again at the Arroyo Seco.  Aaron Scales and Dan Happersett acted as couriers to Miss Jean’s conveyance, while the rest dallied behind, for there was quite a cavalcade of young folks going a distance our way.  This gave Uncle Lance a splendid chance to quiz the girls in the party.  I was riding with a Miss Wilson from Ramirena, who had come up to make a visit at a near-by ranch and incidentally attend the dance at Shepherd’s.  I admit that I was a little too much absorbed over another girl to be very entertaining, but Uncle Lance helped out by joining us.  “Nice morning overhead, Miss Wilson,” said he, on riding up.  “Say, I’ve waited just as long as I’m going to for that invitation to your wedding which you promised me last summer.  Now, I don’t know so much about the young men down about Ramirena, but when I was a youngster back on the Colorado, when a boy loved a girl he married her, whether it was Friday or Monday, rain or shine.  I’m getting tired of being put off with promises.  Why, actually, I haven’t been to a wedding in three years.  What are we coming to?”

[Illustration:  We got the ambulance off before sunrise]

On reaching the road where Miss Wilson and her party separated from us, Uncle Lance returned to the charge:  “Now, no matter how busy I am when I get your invitation, I don’t care if the irons are in the fire and the cattle in the corral, I’ll drown the fire and turn the cows out.  And if Las Palomas has a horse that’ll carry me, I’ll merely touch the high places in coming.  And when I get there I’m willing to do anything,—­give the bride away, say grace, or carve the turkey.  And what’s more, I never kissed a bride in my life that didn’t have good luck.  Tell your pa you saw me.  Good-by, dear.”

On overtaking the ambulance in camp, our party included about twenty, several of whom were young ladies; but Miss Jean insisted that every one remain for breakfast, assuring them that she had abundance for all.  After the impromptu meal was disposed of, we bade our adieus and separated to the four quarters.  Before we had gone far, Uncle Lance rode alongside of me and said:  “Tom, why didn’t you tell me you was a fiddler?  God knows you’re lazy enough to be a good one, and you ought to be good on a bee course.  But what made me warm to you last night was the way you built to Esther McLeod.  Son, you set her cush about right.  If you can hold sight on a herd of beeves on a bad night like you did her, you’ll be a foreman some day.  And she’s not only good blood herself, but she’s got cattle and land.  Old man Donald, her father, was killed in the Confederate army.  He was an honest Scotchman who kept Sunday and everything else he could lay his hands on.  In all my travels I never met a man who could offer a longer prayer or take a bigger drink of whiskey.  I remember the