“Oh—­eh—­knew him when I was a boy—­eh—­Munchausen.”

Mr. Moffat drew in his head violently, with an exclamation nearly profane, yet before he could speak Miss Spencer intervened.

“Munchausen!  Why, Mr. McNeil, you surely do not intend to question the truth of Mr. Moffat’s narrative?”

The foreman’s eyes twinkled humorously, but the lines of his face remained calmly impassive.  “My—­eh—­reference,” he explained, gravely, “was—­eh—­entirely to the—­eh—­local color, the—­eh—­expert touches.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, miss.  It’s—­eh—­bad taste out here to—­eh—­doubt anybody’s word—­eh—­publicly.”

Moffat stirred uneasily, his hand flung behind him, but McNeil was gazing into the lady’s fair face, apparently unconscious of any other presence.

“But all this time you have not favored me with any of your own adventures, Mr. McNeil.  I am very sure you must have had hundreds out on these wide plains.”

The somewhat embarrassed foreman shook his head discouragingly.

“Oh, but I just know you have, only you are so modest about recounting them.  Now, that scar just under your hair—­really it is not at all unbecoming—­surely that reveals a story.  Was it caused by an Indian arrow?”

McNeil crossed his legs, and wiped his damp forehead with the back of his hand.  “Hoof of a damn pack-mule,” he explained, forgetting himself.  “The—­eh—­cuss lifted me ten feet.”

Moffat laughed hoarsely, but as the foreman straightened up quickly, the amazed girl joined happily in, and his own face instantly exhibited the contagion.

“Ain’t much—­eh—­ever happens out on a ranch,” he said, doubtfully, “except dodgin’ steers, and—­eh—­bustin’ broncoes.”

“Your blame mule story,” broke in Moffat, who had at last discovered his inspiration, “reminds me of a curious little incident occurring last year just across the divide.  I don’t recall ever telling it before, but it may interest you, Miss Spencer, as illustrative of one phase of life in this country.  A party of us were out after bear, and one night when I chanced to be left all alone in camp, I did n’t dare fall asleep and leave everything unguarded, as the Indians were all around as thick as leaves on a tree.  So I decided to sit up in front of the tent on watch.  Along about midnight, I suppose, I dropped off into a doze, for the first thing I heard was the hee-haw of a mule right in my ear.  It sounded like a clap of thunder, and I jumped up, coming slap-bang against the brute’s nose so blamed hard it knocked me flat; and then, when I fairly got my eyes open, I saw five Sioux Indians creeping along through the moonlight, heading right toward our pony herd.  I tell you things looked mighty skittish for me just then, but what do you suppose I did with ’em?”

“Eh—­eat ’em, likely,” suggested McNeil, thoughtfully, “fried with plenty of—­eh—­salt; heard they were—­eh—­good that way.”