Thus did Separ’s vigilante take possession and vindicate Lin’s knowledge of his kind.  It was not three days until the Virginian, that lynx observer, fixed his grave eyes upon McLean “‘Neighbor’ is as cute a name for a six-shooter as ever I heard,” said he.  “But she’ll never have need of your gun in Separ—­only to shoot up peaceful playin’-cyards while she hearkens to your courtin’.”

That was his way of congratulation to a brother lover.  “Plumb strange,” he said to me one morning after an hour of riding in silence, “how a man will win two women while another man gets aged waitin’ for one.”

“Your hair seems black as ever,” said I.

“My hopes ain’t so glossy any more,” he answered.  “Lin has done better this second trip.”

“Mrs. Lusk don’t count,” said I.

“I reckon she counted mighty plentiful when he thought he’d got her clamped to him by lawful marriage.  But Lin’s lucky.”  And the Virginian fell silent again.

Lucky Lin bestirred him over his work, his plans, his ranch on Box Elder that was one day to be a home for his lady.  He came and went, seeing his idea triumph and his girl respected.  Not only was she a girl, but a good shot too.  And as if she and her small, neat home were a sort of possession, the cow-punchers would boast of her to strangers.  They would have dealt heavily now with the wretch who should trifle with the water-tank.  When camp came within visiting distance, you would see one or another shaving and parting his hair.  They wrote unnecessary letters, and brought them to mail as excuses for an afternoon call.  Honey Wiggin, more original, would look in the door with his grin, and hold up an ace of clubs.  “I thought maybe yu’ could spare a minute for a shootin’-match,” he would insinuate; and Separ now heard no more objectionable shooting than this.  Texas brought her presents of game—­antelope, sage-chickens—­ but, shyness intervening, he left them outside the door, and entering, dressed in all the “Sunday” that he had, would sit dumbly in the lady’s presence.  I remember his emerging from one of these placid interviews straight into the hands of his tormentors.

“If she don’t notice your clothes, Texas,” said the Virginian, “just mention them to her.”

“Now yer’ve done offended her,” shrilled Manassas Donohoe.  “She heard that.”

“She’ll hear you singin’ sooprano,” said Honey Wiggin.  “It’s good this country has reformed, or they’d have you warblin’ in some dance-hall and corrupt your morals.”

“You sca’cely can corrupt the morals of a soprano man,” observed the Virginian.  “Go and play with Billy till you can talk bass.”