“There do not appear to be many women in this country,” she suggested.
“No, there ain't many,” he replied, thinking of the kind to be found in all of the cow-towns. “They don't seem to hanker for this kind of life—they wants parties an' lots of dancin' an' them kind of things. I reckon there ain't a whole lot to tempt em to come.
“You evidently regard women as being very frivolous,” she replied.
“Well, I'm speakin' from there not being any out here,” he responded, “although I don't know much about them, to tell th' truth. Them what are out here can't be counted.” Then he flushed and looked away.
She ignored the remark and placed her hand to her hair:
“Goodness! My hair must look terrible!”
He turned and looked: “Yore hair is pretty—I allus did like brown hair.”
She laughed and put back the straggling locks: “It is terrible! Just look at it! Isn't it awful?”
“Why, no: I reckons not,” he replied critically. “It looks sort of free an' easy thataway.”
“Well, it's no matter, it cannot be helped,” she laughed. “Let's race!” she cried and was off like a shot.