My long reflection on the month’s happenings and possibilities was brought to an end by the disappearance of Miss Sampson and Sally.

My employer looked worried.  Sally was in a regular cowgirl riding costume, in which her trim, shapely figure showed at its best, and her face was saucy, sparkling, daring.

“Good morning, Russ,” said Miss Sampson and she gazed searchingly at me.  I had dropped off the fence, sombrero in hand.  I knew I was in for a lecture, and I put on a brazen, innocent air.

“Did you break your promise to me?” she asked reproachfully.

“Which one?” I asked.  It was Sally’s bright eyes upon me, rather than Miss Sampson’s reproach, that bothered me.

“About getting drunk again,” she said.

“I didn’t break that one.”

“My cousin George saw you in the Hope So gambling place last night, drunk, staggering, mixing with that riffraff, on the verge of a brawl.”

“Miss Sampson, with all due respect to Mr. Wright, I want to say that he has a strange wish to lower me in the eyes of you ladies,” I protested with a fine show of spirit.

“Russ, were you drunk?” she demanded.

“No.  I should think you needn’t ask me that.  Didn’t you ever see a man the morning after a carouse?”

Evidently she had.  And there I knew I stood, fresh, clean-shaven, clear-eyed as the morning.

Sally’s saucy face grew thoughtful, too.  The only thing she had ever asked of me was not to drink.  The habit had gone hard with the Sampson family.

“Russ, you look just as—­as nice as I’d want you to,” Miss Sampson replied.  “I don’t know what to think.  They tell me things.  You deny.  Whom shall I believe?  George swore he saw you.”

“Miss Sampson, did I ever lie to you?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Then I looked at her, and she understood what I meant.

“George has lied to me.  That day at Sanderson.  And since, too, I fear.  Do you say he lies?”

“Miss Sampson, I would not call your cousin a liar.”

Here Sally edged closer, with the bridle rein of her horse over her arm.

“Russ, cousin George isn’t the only one who saw you.  Burt Waters told me the same,” said Sally nervously.  I believed she hoped I was telling the truth.

“Waters!  So he runs me down behind my back.  All right, I won’t say a word about him.  But do you believe I was drunk when I say no?”

“I’m afraid I do, Russ,” she replied in reluctance.  Was she testing me?

“See here, Miss Sampson,” I burst out.  “Why don’t you discharge me?  Please let me go.  I’m not claiming much for myself, but you don’t believe even that.  I’m pretty bad.  I never denied the scraps, the gambling—­all that.  But I did do as Miss Sally asked me—­I did keep my promise to you.  Now, discharge me.  Then I’ll be free to call on Mr. Burt Waters.”

Miss Sampson looked alarmed and Sally turned pale, to my extreme joy.