“I stepped up to her, with my hat in my hand.  ‘Miss Andree,’ says I (she was Jonesy’s sisters child), ’if you come along with me I’ll guarantee you a safe journey.  If any harm reaches you it will be after one of the liveliest times in the history of the Territory.’

“At this she laughed.  ‘Very well,’ says she, ’I’ll chance it, Mr. Red.’

“‘His name ain’t Red,’ puts in Darragh, solemn.  ’His name’s Saunders.  We call him Red becus uf his hair.’

“‘I’m sure I beg your pardon,’ says Miss Loys, all of a fluster.

“‘That’s all right, ma’am; no damage done at all,’ says I.  ’It’s useless for me to try to conceal the fact that my hair is a little on the auburn.  You mustn’t mind what Darragh says.  We’ve had a good deal of hot weather lately and his brains have gone wrong.  Now hop in and we’ll touch the breeze,’ So I piled her trunk in and away we flew.

“Bud and Dandy were a corking little team.  They’d run the whole distance from the railway to the ranch if you’d let ’em—­and I never interfered.  A straight line and the keen jump hits me all right when I’m going some place, although I can loaf with the next man on occasion.  So we missed most of the gulleys.

“The ponies were snorting and pulling grass, the buckboard bouncing behind ’em like a rubber ball, and we were crowding into the teeth of the northwest wind, which made it seem as if we were travelling 100 per cent. better than a Dutch clock would show.

“‘Goodness gracious!’ says the girl, ’do you always go like this in this country?  And aren’t there any roads?’

“‘Why, no,’ says I.  ‘Hike!’ and I snapped the blacksnake over the ponies’ ears, and they strung themselves out like a brace of coyotes, nearly pulling the buckboard out from under us.  ‘Sometimes we travel like this,’ I says.  ’And as for roads, I despise ’em.  You’re not afraid, are you?’

“‘Indeed I’m not.  I think it’s glorious.  Might I drive?’

“‘If I can smoke,’ says I, ‘then you can drive.’  I’d heard about young women who’d been brought up so tender that tobacker smoke would ruin their morals or something, and I kind of wondered if she was that sort.

“‘That’s a bargain,’ says she prompt.  ’But how you’re going to light a cigar in this wind I don’t see.’

“‘Cigarette,’ says I.  ’And if you would kindly hold my hat until I get one rolled I’ll take it kind of you.’

“‘But what about the horses?’ says she.

“’Put your foot on the lines and they’ll make.  That’s the main and only art of driving on the prairie—­not to let the lines get under the horses’ feet—­all the rest is just sit still and look at the scenery.’

“She held my hat for a wind-break, and I got my paper pipe together.  And then—­not a match.  I searched every pocket.  Not a lucifer.  That is more of what I got for being funny and changing my clothes.  And then she happened to think of a box she had for travelling, and fished it out of her grip.