"Dad!" exclaimed Lucy, reproachfully.

"See here, Jane," said Bostil, with an air of finality, "the girl is of age
to-day--an' she can do what she damn pleases!"

"That's a fine thing for you to say," retorted Aunt Jane. "Like as not she'll
be fetching that hang-dog Joel Creech up here for you to support."

"Auntie!" cried Lucy, her eyes blazing.

"Oh, child, you torment me--worry me so," said the disappointed woman. "It's
all for your sake. . . . Look at you, Lucy Bostil! A girl of eighteen who
comes of a family! And you riding around and going around as you are now--in a
man's clothes!"

"But, you dear old goose, I can't ride in a woman's skirt," expostulated Lucy.
"Mind you, Auntie, I can RIDE!"

"Lucy, if I live here forever I'd never get reconciled to a Bostil woman in
leather pants. We Bostils were somebody once, back in Missouri."

Bostil laughed. "Yes, an' if I hadn't hit the trail west we'd be starvin' yet.
Jane, you're a sentimental old fool. Let the girl alone an' reconcile yourself
to this wilderness."

Aunt Jane's eyes were wet with tears. Lucy, seeing them, ran to her and hugged
and kissed her.

"Auntie, I will promise--from to-day--to have some dignity. I've been free as
a boy in these rider clothes. As I am now the men never seem to regard me as a