“What was you doing at the Taylors’ yourself?” demanded Lin.

“Visitin’ Miss Wood,” answered the Virginian, with entire ease.  For he also knew when to employ the plain truth as a bluff.  “You’d ought to write to Tommy’s mother, Lin, and tell her what a dare-devil her son is gettin’ to be.  She would cut off his allowance and bring him home, and you would have the runnin’ all to yourself.”

“I’ll fix him yet,” muttered Mr. McLean.  “Him and his wars.”

With that he rose and left us.

The next afternoon he informed me that if I was riding up the creek to spend the night he would go for company.  In that direction we started, therefore, without any mention of the Taylors or Miss Peck.  I was puzzled.  Never had I seen him thus disconcerted by woman.  With him woman had been a transient disturbance.  I had witnessed a series of flighty romances, where the cow-puncher had come, seen, often conquered, and moved on.  Nor had his affairs been of the sort to teach a young man respect.  I am putting it rather mildly.

For the first part of our way this afternoon he was moody, and after that began to speak with appalling wisdom about life.  Life, he said, was a serious matter.  Did I realize that?  A man was liable to forget it.  A man was liable to go sporting and helling around till he waked up some day and found all his best pleasures had become just a business.  No interest, no surprise, no novelty left, and no cash in the bank.  Shorty owed him fifty dollars.  Shorty would be able to pay that after the round-up, and he, Lin, would get his time and rustle altogether some five hundred dollars.  Then there was his homestead claim on Box Elder, and the surveyors were coming in this fall.  No better location for a home in this country than Box Elder.  Wood, water, fine land.  All it needed was a house and ditches and buildings and fences, and to be planted with crops.  Such chances and considerations should sober a man and make him careful what he did.  “I’d take in Cheyenne on our wedding-trip, and after that I’d settle right down to improving Box Elder,” concluded Mr. McLean, suddenly.

His real intentions flashed upon me for the first time.  I had not remotely imagined such a step.

“Marry her!” I screeched in dismay.  “Marry her!”

I don’t know which word was the worse to emphasize at such a moment, but I emphasized both thoroughly.

“I didn’t expect yu’d act that way,” said the lover.  He dropped behind me fifty yards and spoke no more.

Not at once did I beg his pardon for the brutality I had been surprised into.  It is one of those speeches that, once said, is said forever.

But it was not that which withheld me.  As I thought of the tone in which my friend had replied, it seemed to me sullen, rather than deeply angry or wounded—­resentment at my opinion not of her character so much as of his choice!  Then I began to be sorry for the fool, and schemed for a while how to intervene.  But have you ever tried intervention?  I soon abandoned the idea, and took a way to be forgiven, and to learn more.