"Can I come along in my buckboard?" queried the Professor.
Dakota elaborately explained the work of the ranges—too elaborately, it seemed to Stamford—and the Professor and his sister listened with evident interest, the former asking foolish and wise questions that brought equally varied replies.
"I'm coming out here to the cook-house often," gushed the Professor, as the call came to lunch.
"Shore!" chorused a half-dozen voices.
"And bring your sister," said Dakota.
"We're your debtors for the summer," bowed the Professor, backing away.
"I do love the native," he enthused to Stamford, on the way to the ranch-house.
"The funny part of it is," laughed Stamford, "that Dakota and the H-Lazy Z outfit are the only cowboys about who aren't natives. They're your own countrymen."
"Mr. Stamford," chided Isabel, looking slyly at her brother, "you have a drab soul. Why can't you let Amos enthuse? It's what he grows fat on."
"Is it a prescription you're giving me?" asked Stamford.