limit. You did right. I thank you heartily.
Still"--and she mused--"you can't always depend on your fists alone. You
carry no weapon, neither knife nor gun?"

"I never have needed either," said I. "My teaching has been that a man
should be able to rely upon his fists."

"Then you'd better get 'heeled,' as we say, when you reach Benton. Fists
are a short-range weapon. The men generally wear a gun somewhere. It is
the custom."

"And the women, too, if I may judge," I smiled.

"Some of us. Yes," she repeated, "you're likely to do well, out here, if
you'll permit me to advise you a little."

"Under your tutelage I am sure I shall do well," I accepted. "I may call
upon you in Benton? If you will favor me with your address----?"

"My address?" She searched my face in manner startled. "You'll have no
difficulty finding me; not in Benton. But I'll make an appointment with
you in event"--and she smiled archly--"you are not afraid of strange
women."

"I have been taught to respect women, madam," said I. "And my respect is
being strengthened."

"Oh!" I seemed to have pleased her. "You have been carefully brought up,
sir."

"To fear God, respect woman, and act the man as long as I breathe," I
asserted. "My mother is a saint, my father a nobleman, and what I may have
learned from them is to their credit."

"That may go excellently in the East," she answered. "But we in the West
favor the Persian maxim--to ride, to shoot, and to tell the truth. With
those three qualities even a tenderfoot can establish himself."

"Whether I can ride and shoot sufficient for the purpose, time will show,"
I retorted. "At least," and I endeavored to speak with proper emphasis,
"you hear the truth when I say that I anticipate much pleasure as well as
renewed health, in Benton."

"Were we by ourselves we would seal the future in another 'smile'
together," she slyly promised. "Unless that might shock you."

"I am ready to fall in with the customs of the country," I assured. "I
certainly am not averse to smiles, when fittingly proffered."

So we exchanged fancies while the train rolled over a track remarkable for
its smoothness and leading ever onward across the vast, empty plains bare
save for the low shrubs called sage-brush, and rising here and there into
long swells and abrupt sandstone pinnacles.

We stopped near noon at the town of Cheyenne, in Wyoming Territory.
Cheyenne, once boasting the title (I was told) "The Magic City of the