"I reckon if you'll give them a chance they'll tell you what they
think," interjected Hi Lang. "Bud, come here," he called,
beckoning to one of the wranglers. "This little lady wants to know
what you fellows think of a woman who rides a horse and then
faints away. Tell her."

Bud stepped up, flushing painfully under his tan, awkwardly
fumbling his hat.

"Ah--Ah reckon they think thet you're 'bout the gamest little
sport thet ever hit the leather," declared Bud. "Any feller thet
sez you ain't, is a liar and a hoss thief!" Bud glared about him
as if challenging some one to take up his defi.

Grace laughed so merrily that, for the moment, she forgot that she
was supposed to be in a fainting condition. Getting up rather
unsteadily, she offered her hand to the cowboy, who, in his
embarrassment, instantly dropped his bravado and half held out a
limp paw for Grace to shake.

"Them's our sentiments. We double cinch what Bud jest articulated,
Lady," called a cowboy voice.

"Thank you, Bud. Thank you all, fellows. It is much higher praise
than I deserve," she replied, smiling and waving a hand to the
group.

"Where do you all reckon on goin', Miss?" questioned another of
the men.