ecollect, there's been cows hangin' around."

"Have you traveled any?"

"To Denver, Frisco, Kansas City. I was in Utah, once, lookin' over the
Mormons. They're a curious lot, ma'am. I never could see what on earth a
man wanted half a dozen wives for. One can manage a man right clever. But
half a dozen! Why, they'd be pullin' one another's hair out, fightin'
over him! One would be wantin' him to do one thing, an' another would be
wantin' him to do another. An' between them, the man would be goin' off
to drown himself."

"But a woman doesn't always manage her husband," she defended.

"Don't she, ma'am?" he said gently, no guile in his eyes. "Why, all the
husbands I've seen seemed to be pretty well managed. You can see samples
of it every day, ma'am, if you look around. Young fellows that have acted
pretty wild when they was single, always sort of steady down when they're
hooked into double harness. They go to actin' quiet an' subdued-like--like
they'd lost all interest in life. I reckon it must be their wives managin'
them, ma'am."

"It's a pity, isn't it?" she said, her chin lifting.

"The men seem to like it, ma'am. Every day there's new ones makin'
contracts for managers."

"I suppose _you_ will never sacrifice yourself?" she asked challengingly.

"It ain't time, yet, ma'am," he returned, looking straight at her, his
eyes narrowed, with little wrinkles in the corners. "I'm waitin' for you
to tell Masten that you don't want to manage him."

"We won't talk about that, please," she said coldly.

"Then we won't, ma'am."

She sat looking at him, trying to be coldly critical, but not succeeding
very well. She was trying to show him that there was small hope of him
ever realizing his desire to have her "manage" him, but she felt that she
did not succeed in that very well either. Perplexity came into her eyes
as she watched him.

"Why is it that you don't like Willard Masten?" she asked at length. "Why
is it that he doesn't like you?"

His face sobered. "I don't recollect to have said anything about Masten,
ma'am," he said.

"But you don't like him, do you?"

A direct answer was required. "No," he said simply.

"Why?" she persisted.

"I reckon mebbe you'd better ask Masten," he returned, his voice
expressionless. Then he looked at her with an amused grin. "If it's goin'
to take you any time to learn to shoot, I reckon we'd better begin."

She got up, went into the house for the pistol and cartridges, and