"Oh, you'll get along; there isn't a fence nearer than St. Paul except the quartermaster's corral."
"I say, Searles," spoke Lewis, "there's the Colonel out in front—happy as a boy out of school; glad there's something to keep him quiet; we must do this for him every day, or he'll have us out pounding sage-brush."
"And there's the quartermaster with a new popper on his whip," sang some voice.
"There is no champagne like the air of the high plains before the sun burns the bubble out of it," proclaimed Shockley, who was young and without any of the saddle or collar marks of life; "and to see these beautiful women riding along—say, Harding, if I get off this horse I'll set this prairie on fire," and he burst into an old song:—
"Now, ladies, good-by to each kind, gentle soul,
Though me coat it is ragged, me heart it is whole;
There's one sitting yonder I think wants a beau,
Let her come to the arms of young Billy Barlow."
And Shockley urged his horse to the side of Miss Katherine Searles.
Observing the manœuvre, Captain Lewis poked her father in the ribs. "I don't think your daughter wants a beau very much, Major; the youngsters are four files deep around her now."
"'Tis youth, Bill Lewis; we've all had it once, and from what I observe, they handle it pretty much as we used to."
"The very same. I don't see how men write novels or plays about that old story; all they can do is to invent new fortifications for Mr. Hero to carry before she names the day."
