"Hello, Sally!" cried the girl in the very fine garments, stretching her hand out to greet the storekeeper's daughter as the automobile came to a stop.
"Hi, Lem!" bawled the man with the huge mustache. "Is Silver Ranch on the map yet, or have them punchers o' mine torn the face of Nater all to shreds an' only left me some o' the pieces?"
"I dunno 'bout that, Bill," drawled the fat storekeeper, shuffling down the steps in his list slippers, and finally reached and shaking the hand of Mr. William Hicks, owner of Silver Ranch. "But when some of your cows set their eyes on this contraption they're goin' to kick holes in the air—an' that's sartain!"
"The cows will have to get used to seeing this automobile, Lem Dickson," snapped the ranchman's niece, who had been speaking with Sally. "For uncle's bought it and it beats riding a cayuse, I tell you!"
"By gollies!" grunted Bill Hicks, "it bucks wuss'n any critter I ever was astride of." But he spoke softly, and nobody but the storekeeper noticed what he said.
"Mean to say you've bought this old chuck-waggin from Doosenberry?" demanded the storekeeper.
