together as only
youth may talk with youth, when Romance lights the trail, when the heart
speaks from itself to heart in sympathy. Yet their chat was not without
humor or they would not have been Pete and Andy.

"You always was a wise one," asserted Andy; "pickin' out a professional
nurse for _your_ girl ain't a bad idee."

"I had a whole lot to do with pickin' her out, didn't I?"

"Well, you can't make me believe that she did the pickin', for you was
tellin' me she had good eyes."

"I reckon it was the Doc that did the pickin',"' suggested Pete.

"Well, I suppose the next thing you'll be givin' the preacher a chanct."

"Nope. Next thing I'll be givin' Miss Gray a chanct to tell me I'm a
doggone idiot--only she don't talk like that."

"Then it'll be because she don't know you like I do. But you're lucky--
No tellin'--" Andy climbed down from the bars.

"No tellin' what?" queried Pete.

"No tellin' you how much I sure want you to win, pardner--because you
know it."

Pete leapt from the top rail square on to Andy, who, taken off his guard,
toppled and fell. They rolled over and over, not even trying to miss the
puddle of water beside the drinking-trough. Andy managed to get his free
hand in the mud and thought of feeding some of it to Pete, but Pete was
too quick for him, squirming loose and making for the bunkhouse at top
speed.

Pete entrenched himself in the far corner of the room where Bill Haskins
was reading a novel,--exceedingly popular, if the debilitated condition
of the pages and covers were any criterion,--when Andy entered, holding
one hand behind him in a suspicious manner. Pete wondered what was
coming when it came. Andy swung his arm and plugged a fair-sized
mud-ball at Pete, which missed him and hit the innocent and unsuspecting
Bill on the ear, and stayed there. Bill Haskins, who was at the moment
helping the hero hold a spirited pair of horses while the heroine climbed
to a seat in the romantic buckboard, promptly pulled on the reins and
shouted "Whoa!" and the debilitated novel came apart in his hands with a
soft, ripping sound. It took Bill several seconds to think of something
to say, and several more to realize just what had happened. He opened
his mouth--but Andy interrupted with "Honest, Bill, I wasn't meanin' to
hit you. I was pluggin' at Pete, there. It was his fault; he went and
hid out behind you. Honest, Bill--wait and I'll help you dig that there
mud out of your ear