ilk muffler knotted loosely about his throat, and in
a new flannel shirt and whipcord riding-breeches--which he wore under
his jeans when on the trail--Bartley pretty well approximated Little
Jim's description of him as a dude. And the word "dude" was commonly
used rather to differentiate an outlander from a native than in an
exactly scornful sense. Without a vestige of self-consciousness, Bartley
made himself felt as a distinct entity, physically fit and mentally
alert. Cheyenne, with his cow-puncher gait and his general
happy-go-lucky attitude, furnished a strong contrast to the trim and
well-poised Easterner. Dorothy was quick to appreciate this. She thought
that she rather liked Bartley. He was different from the young men whom
she knew. Bartley was pleased with her direct and natural manner of
answering his many questions about Western life.

Presently he found himself talking about his old home in Kentucky, and
the thorough-bred horses of the Blue Grass. The conversation drifted to
books and plays, but never once did it approach the subject of guns--and
Little Jim, who had hoped that the subject of horse-thieves might be
broached, felt altogether out of the running.

He waited patiently, for a while. Then during a lull in the talk he
mentioned Sneed's name.

"Jimmy!" reprimanded his Uncle Frank.

"Yes, sir?"

Uncle Frank merely gestured, significantly.

Little Jim subsided, frowning, and making a face at Dorothy, who was
smiling at him. It seemed mighty queer that, when _he_ "horned in," his
Aunt Jane or his uncle always said "Jimmy!" in that particular tone. But
when any of the grown-ups interrupted, no one said a word. However,
Bartley was not blind to Little Jim's attitude of forced silence, and
presently Bartley mentioned the subject of guns, much to Little Jim's
joy. Little Jim worked round to the subject of twenty-two rifles,
intimating that his own single-shot rifle was about worn out.

Uncle Frank heard and promptly changed the subject. Little Jim was
disgusted. A boy just wouldn't talk when other folks were talking, and
he couldn't talk when they were not. What was the use of living, anyhow,
if you had to go around without talking at all, except when somebody
asked you if you had forgotten to close the lane gate and had let the
stock get into the alfalfa--and you had to say that you had?

However, Little Jim had his revenge. When Aunt Jane proffered apple pie,
later in the evening, Jimmy prefixed