ite
warned. "I'm sure ashamed of you. We'll stop here at the stable and
get the horses. You can ride sideways as far as the Allens', and get
your riding-skirt and come on. The sooner you are on top of a horse,
the quicker you're going to come outa that state of mind."

It was pitifully amusing to see Lite Avery attempt to bully any
one,--especially Jean,--who might almost be called Lite's religion.
The idea of that long, lank cowpuncher whose shyness was so ingrained
that it had every outward appearance of being a phlegmatic coldness,
assuming the duties of Jean's dad and undertaking to see that she grew
up according to directions, would have been funny, if he had not been
so absolutely in earnest.

His method of comforting her and easing her through the first stage of
black despair was unorthodox, but it was effective. Because she was
too absorbed in her own misery to combat him openly, he got her started
toward the Bar Nothing and away from the friends whose enervating pity
was at that time the worst influence possible. He set the pace, and he
set it for speed. The first mile they went at a sharp gallop that was
not far from a run, and the horses were breathing heavily when he
pulled up, well out of sight of the town, and turned to the girl.

There was color in her cheeks, and the dullness was gone from her eyes
when she returned his glance inquiringly. The droop of her lips was no
longer the droop of a weak yielding to sorrow, but rather the beginning
of a brave facing of the future. Lite managed a grin that did not look
forced.

"I'll make a real range hand outa you yet," he announced confidently.
"You remember the roping and shooting science I taught you before you
went off to school? You're going to start right in where you left off
and learn all I know and some besides. I'll make a lady of you
yet,--darned if I don't."

At that Jean laughed unexpectedly. Lite drew a long breath of relief.

CHAPTER IV.

JEAN

The still loneliness of desertion held fast the clutter of sheds and
old stables roofed with dirt and rotting hay. The melancholy of
emptiness hung like an invisible curtain before the sprawling house
with warped, weather-blackened shingles, and sagging window-frames.
You felt the silence when first you sighted the ranch buildings from
the broad mouth of the Lazy A coulee,--the broad mouth that yawned
always at the narrow valley and the undulations of the open range, and
the purple