He did not intend to smile, but just a hint of it leaped to his eyes.  She flushed angrily, suspecting that he was mocking her, and swung her pony toward town.

On the way she shot a brace of ducks for the sake of appearances.  The country was a paradise for the hunter.  On the river could be found great numbers of ducks, geese, swans, and pelicans.  Of quail and prairie chicken there was no limit.  Thousands of turkeys roosted in the timber that bordered the streams.  There were times when the noise of pigeons returning to their night haunt was like thunder and the sight of them almost hid the sky.  Bands of antelope could be seen silhouetted against the skyline.  As for buffalo, numbers of them still ranged the plains, though the day of their extinction was close at hand.  No country in the world’s history ever offered such a field for the sportsman as the Southwest did in the days of the first great cattle drives.

Miss Bertie Lee dismounted at a store which bore the sign

Snaith & McROBERT
General Merchandise

Though a large building, it was not one of the most recent in town.  It was what is known as a “dugout” in the West, a big cellar roofed over, with side walls rising above the level of the ground.  In a country where timber was scarce and the railroad was not within two hundred miles, a sod structure of this sort was the most practicable possible.

The girl sauntered in and glanced carelessly about her.  Two or three chap-clad cowboys were lounging against the counter watching another buy a suit of clothes.  The wide-brimmed hats of all of them came off instantly at sight of her.  The frontier was rampantly lawless, but nowhere in the world did a good woman meet with more unquestioning respect.

“What’s this hyer garment?” asked the brick-red customer of the clerk, holding up the waistcoat that went with the suit.

“That’s a vest,” explained the salesman.  “You wear it under the coat.”

“You don’t say!” The vaquero examined the article curiously and disdainfully.  “I’ve heard tell of these didoes, but I never did see one before.  Well, I’ll take this suit.  Wrap it up.  You keep the vest proposition and give it to a tenderfoot.”

No cowpuncher ever wore a waistcoat.  The local dealers of the Southwest had been utterly unable to impress this fact upon the mind of the Eastern manufacturer.  The result was that every suit came in three parts, one of which always remained upon the shelf of the store.  Some of the supply merchants had several thousand of these articles de luxe in their stock.  In later years they gave them away to Indians and Mexicans.

“Do you know where Jack Goodheart is?” asked Lee of the nearest youth.

“No, ma’am, but I’ll go hunt him for you,” answered the puncher promptly.

“Thank you.”

Ten minutes later a bronzed rider swung down in front of the Snaith home.  Miss Bertie Lee was on the porch.