The wind caught his high, peaked-crowned sombrero and sent it sailing like a great, flapping bird to the ground, and he could not catch it because Jean had his arms pinioned with the loop.
She laughed again and rode over to where the hat had lodged.

Gil Huntley, to save himself from being dragged ignominiously from the saddle, kicked his horse and kept pace with her.

Jean leaned far over and picked up the hat, and examined it with amusement.
"If you could just live up to your hat, my, wouldn't you be a villain, though!" she commented, in a soft, drawling voice.

"You don't look so terribly blood-thirsty without it; I just guess I'd better keep it for a while.

It would make a dandy waste-basket.