“Lin,” I began, slowing my horse, “you must not think about what I said.”

“I’m thinkin’ of pleasanter subjects,” said he, and slowed his own horse.

“Oh, look here!” I exclaimed.

“Well?” said he.  He allowed his horse to come within about ten yards.

“Astonishment makes a man say anything,” I proceeded.  “And I’ll say again you’re too good for her—­and I’ll say I don’t generally believe in the wife being older than the husband.”

“What’s two years?” said Lin.

I was near screeching out again, but saved myself.  He was not quite twenty-five, and I remembered Mrs. Taylor’s unprejudiced computation of the biscuit-shooter’s years.  It is a lady’s prerogative, however, to estimate her own age.

“She had her twenty-seventh birthday last month,” said Lin, with sentiment, bringing his horse entirely abreast of mine.  “I promised her a bear-skin.”

“Yes,” said I, “I heard about that in Buffalo.”

Lin’s face grew dusky with anger.  “No doubt yu’ heard about it,” said he.  “I don’t guess yu’ heard much about anything else.  I ain’t told the truth to any of ’em—­but her.”  He looked at me with a certain hesitation.  “I think I will,” he continued.  “I don’t mind tellin’ you.”

He began to speak in a strictly business tone, while he evened the coils of rope that hung on his saddle.

“She had spoke to me about her birthday, and I had spoke to her about something to give her.  I had offered to buy her in town whatever she named, and I was figuring to borrow from Taylor.  But she fancied the notion of a bear-skin.  I had mentioned about some cubs.  I had found the cubs where the she-bear had them cached by the foot of a big boulder in the range over Ten Sleep, and I put back the leaves and stuff on top o’ them little things as near as I could the way I found them, so that the bear would not suspicion me.  For I was aiming to get her.  And Miss Peck, she sure wanted the hide for her birthday.  So I went back.  The she-bear was off, and I crumb up inside the rock, and I waited a turruble long spell till the sun travelled clean around the canyon.  Mrs. Bear come home though, a big cinnamon; and I raised my gun, but laid it down to see what she’d do.  She scrapes around and snuffs, and the cubs start whining, and she talks back to ’em.  Next she sits up awful big, and lifts up a cub and holds it to her close with both her paws, same as a person.  And she rubbed her ear agin the cub, and the cub sort o’ nipped her, and she cuffed the cub, and the other cub came toddlin’, and away they starts rolling all three of ’em!  I watched that for a long while.  That big thing just nursed and played with them little cubs, beatin’ em for a change onced in a while, and talkin’, and onced in a while she’d sit up solemn and look all around so life-like that I near busted.  Why, how was I goin’ to spoil that?  So I come away, very quiet, you bet! for I’d have hated to have Mrs. Bear notice me.  Miss Peck, she laughed.  She claimed I was scared to shoot.”