The path to love and its bitter-sweet fruits is often a path of thorns. But he who would dare the bramble and brier for the blossom that lies beyond, is brave and bold enough to be deserving of the fair. A westerner's daughter, full of the vigor and vim of the west, a tomboy in parlor parlance, out of pure mischief and with no thought of malice, finds a lot of satisfaction in forever discouraging the young man who is trying to make love to her. Finally she drives him to desperation, and he decides to lasso her and force her to come to terms. He catches her and takes her to the license office, but just as they are about to be married, she grasps the license and runs away. Again he catches her and ties her to a tree; her father comes along and unties her, gives her an empty pistol and tells her to shoot the boy for his cruelty. But underneath the rugged, wild surface of her being flares the flame of womanly tenderness. She has no more intention of hurting her lover than she has of pointing the pistol at herself and pulling the trigger. She points the pistol at the boy in make-believe, just when her father shoots his pistol. The girl thinks she has shot her lover. She succumbs in a wild abandon of grief, rants at herself, decides to turn over a new leaf, when the father brings in the minister, who marries them on the spot.