d. "I reckon," he said, "I couldn't be so good if I
wasn't bad onced in a while."

"Why, there's a skunk," said I, noticing the pretty little animal
trotting in front of us at the edge of the thickets.

"Oh, where is it? Don't let me see it!" screamed Molly. And at this
deeply feminine remark, the Virginian looked at her with such a smile
that, had I been a woman, it would have made me his to do what he
pleased with on the spot.

Upon the lady, however, it seemed to make less impression. Or rather, I
had better say, whatever were her feelings, she very naturally made no
display of them, and contrived not to be aware of that expression which
had passed over the Virginian's face.

It was later that these few words reached me while I was fishing alone:
"Have you anything different to tell me yet?" I heard him say.

"Yes; I have." She spoke in accents light and well intrenched. "I wish
to say that I have never liked any man better than you. But I expect
to!"

He must have drawn small comfort from such an answer as that. But he
laughed out indomitably: "Don't yu' go betting on any such expectation!"
And then their words ceased to be distinct, and it was only their two
voices that I heard wandering among the windings of the stream.

XXII. "WHAT IS A RUSTLER?"

We all know what birds of a feather do. And it may be safely surmised
that if a bird of any particular feather has been for a long while
unable to see other birds of its kind, it will flock with them all the
more assiduously when they happen to alight in its vicinity.

Now the Ogdens were birds of Molly's feather. They wore Eastern, and not
Western, plumage, and their song was a different song from that which
the Bear Creek birds sang. To be sure, the piping of little George
Taylor was full of hopeful interest; and many other strains, both
striking and melodious, were lifted in Cattle Land, and had given
pleasure to Molly's ear. But although Indians, and bears, and mavericks,
make worthy themes for song, these are not the only songs in the world.
Therefore the Eastern warblings of the Ogdens sounded doubly sweet to
Molly Wood. Such words as Newport, Bar Harbor, and Tiffany's thrilled
her exceedingly. It made no difference that she herself had never been
to Newport or Bar Harbor, and had visited Tiffany's more often to admire
than to purchase. On the contrary, this rather added a dazzle to the
music of the Ogdens. And Molly, whose Eastern song had been