what-you-may-callems--accomplishments--that gets
their notice. You're apt to skin 'em at cards, you can easy out-shoot
'em, and there ain't a lady miner in the mountains that can pass off a
salted property as cute as you."

"What's the use of livin' in a world of tenderfoots if you don't use
'em?" growled Mrs. Nitschkan.

"'Course. And don't think I'm blaming you, Sadie; I ain't." Mrs. Thomas
spoke more gently. "All I'm sayin' is that you can't understand the
women that's born feeling the need of a strong right arm to lean on, and
has nothing but a nice complexion and a loving heart to offer. The
game's a hard one for them, 'cause there're so many others in the field.
It ain't always a complexion; sometimes it's a head of hair, or eyes,
but whatever it is, competition's keen. I leave it to you, Mr. Jose, if
a lady can say to a gentleman the first time she meets him, 'I got a
dandy temper,' or 'I can bake a pie that'll coax the coyotes down from
the hills.' No, you got to let the hair or complexion do its work first
and sort o' insinuate the rest as acquaintance grows."

"There's a man comin' up here to-morrow, Marthy, but he won't know
whether you got a strand of hair or a tooth in your head; he'll never
see you."

"Maybe he can't help it--not if I stand right in his way," said Mrs.
Thomas, with a coy glance from under her lashes at Jose.

"Oh, yes, he can," returned Mrs. Nitschkan. "No matter who's in the way
he can't see but one person, and that's that sulky Pearl; for it's good
old Bob Flick, one of the best ever."

Two or three times Bob Flick had come up and remained several days, and
on these occasions Pearl had roused somewhat from her indifference to
life. On his last visit, late in September, he had succeeded in
persuading her to ride again, and had sent down to the desert for a
horse for her. She would not admit at first that she enjoyed being in
the saddle again, but to his unexpressed satisfaction it was obvious
that she did.

The crystalline, amber air was like wine; the mountains were a mosaic of
color; the trees burned red and yellow, glowing torches of autumn, and
accentuating all their ephemeral and regal splendor; among them, yet
never of them, were the green austere pines marching in their serried
ranks, on, on up the hillsides to timber line.

One day, as Pearl and Flick rode among the hills, a flood of sunlight
falling about them, crimson and yellow leaves blowing on the wind, she
express