grave in the pale starlight. For the first time in her life the girl
felt ashamed of her own incompetence.

"And I can't cook, and----"

"Well, that's so," drawled Tex, "but it won't be so tomorrow. No one
but a fool would blame any one for not doin' a thing they've never
learnt to do. They might wonder a little how-come they never learnt,
but they wouldn't hold it against 'em--not 'til they've had the
chance." Bat was still busy with the horses and the cowboy collected
sticks and lighted a small fire, talking, as he worked with swift
movements that accomplished much without the least show of haste. "It
generally don't take long in the cow country for folks to get their
chance. Take Win, there. Day before yesterday he was about the
greenest pilgrim that ever straddled a horse. Not only he didn't know
anything worth while knowin', but he was prejudiced. The first time I
looked at him I sized him up--almost. 'There's a specimen,' I says to
myself--while you an' Purdy was gossipin' about the handkerchief, an'
the dance, an' what a beautiful rider he was--'that's gone on gatherin'
refinement 'til it's crusted onto him so thick it's probably struck
through.' But just as I was losin' interest in him, he slanted a
glance at Purdy that made me look him over again. There he stood, just
the same as before--only different." The Texan poured some flour into
a pan and threw in a couple of liberal pinches of baking-powder.

Alice's eyes followed his every movement, and she glanced toward the
spring that Endicott had churned into a mud hole. The cowboy noted her
glance. "It would be riled too much even if we strained it," he
smiled, "so we'll just use what's left in that flask. It don't take
much water an' the spring will clear in time for the coffee."