I peeck them out weeth your name on.”

“Now there, Buffalo Bill, you mustn’t flatter me any more,” Cherry replied coquettishly.

“Oh, mees! Señor Buffalo Beel you call me. I have seen heem in the movies.”

Here he drew two guns with an exaggerated motion-picture-drama style. “A-ha! Veelian! Een my power at las’! A-ha! Your time ees come. I keel you!”

He brandished both guns in Cherry’s face. In alarm she slipped off the window seat to dodge behind a table.

“Lorenzo, you locoed cowpuncher, get on the job!” Mojave ordered forcibly. “Wess is comin’.”

Lorenzo evidently had respect for Mojave. Hurriedly sheathing his guns and picking up his sombrero, he recovered the two valises.

Meanwhile Cherry emerged from behind the table.

“Mees, Lorenzo will act for you again,” he announced grandly.

“Ye-es. Thanks. But please make it some place where I can dodge,” replied Cherry.

Lorenzo left the room, and Mojave, taking up his load, turned to Cherry.

“Miss Winters, don’t trust Lorenzo, or any of these other hombres. An’ perticular, don’t ride their horses. You’ll shore get throwed an’ mebbe killed. But my pet horse is shore gentle. I’ll take you ridin’ tomorrow.”

“I’d love to go with you,” returned Cherry.

Then Mojave made swift tracks after Lorenzo, just in time to escape being seen by a third cowboy, who entered from outside, carrying a trunk as if it had been a feather. He set it down. He was bareheaded, a blond young man, not bad-looking, in size alone guaranteed to command respect. And his costume struck a balance between that of Lorenzo and Mojave.

Cherry gazed at him and exclaimed: “Well, Tarzan in cowboy boots, no less!”

Wess stared, then walked in a circle to see who she meant. But as there was no other man present he seemed to divine the truth, and approached her straightaway.

“Wal, for gawd’s sake,” he broke out in slow sepulchral tones.

“Oh, yes, indeed, it’s you I mean,” Cherry returned, all smiles. “I’ll bet when your horse is tired you pick him up and carry him right home.”

“Wal, for gawd’s sake!” ejaculated Wess exactly as before.

“Are there any more verses to that song?”

“Wal…for gawd’s sake!”

“Third and last, I hope.”

“First time I ever seen an angel or heered one talk,” he declared.

“Please don’t call me an angel. Angels are good. I’m not. I’m wild. That’s why I’ve been dragged out West. Ask Dad, he knows. Say, that reminds me. I’m dying for a smoke. Dad’s old-fashioned and I don’t carry them when he’s around. Could you give me a cigarette?”

Wess merely stared.

“Please, handsome boy. Just one little cigarette.”

“Ain’t got nothin’ but the makin’s,” he finally ejaculated.

“Thanks. That’ll do,” Cherry replied, receiving the little tobacco pouch he handed her.

It fascinated Wess to see Cherry roll her own. He was so absorbed that he failed to note the entrance of a fourth cowboy, who was burdened with hatboxes and more grips.