Sneed ain't popular with
the Apaches. Sneed's cabin is right clost to the res'avation line."

"What will the Indian do with the horses?" queried Bartley.

"Most like trade 'em to his friends."

Bartley gestured toward a spot of green far across the valley. "Looks
like a town," he said.

"San Andreas--and that's where we stop, to-night. No campin' in the
brush for me while Sneed is ridin' the country lookin' for his stock. It
wouldn't be healthy."

CHAPTER XVI

SAN ANDREAS TOWN

A sleepy town, that paid little attention to the arrival or departure of
strangers, San Andreas in the valley merely rubbed its eyes and dozed
again as Cheyenne and Bartley rode in, put up their horses at the
livery, and strolled over to the adobe hotel where they engaged rooms
for the night.

Bartley was taken by the picturesque simplicity of the place, and next
morning he suggested that they stay a few days and enjoy the advantage
of having some one other than themselves cook their meals and make their
beds. The hotel, a relic of old times, with its patio and long portal,
its rooms whose lower floors were on the ground level, its unpretentious
spaciousness, appealed strongly to Bartley as something unusual in the
way of a hostelry. It seemed restful, romantic, inviting. It was a place
where a man might write, dream, loaf, and smoke. Then, incidentally, it
was not far from the Lawrence ranch, which was not far from the home of
a certain young woman whom Little Jim called "Dorry."

Bartley thought that Dorothy was rather nice--in fact, singularly
interesting. He had not imagined that a Western girl could be so
thoroughly domestic, natural, charming, and at the same time manage a
horse so well. He had visioned Western girls as hard-voiced horse-women,
masculine, bold, and rather scornful of a man who did not wear chaps and
ride broncos. True, Dorothy was not like the girls in the East. She
seemed less sophisticated--less inclined to talk small talk just for its
own sake; yet, concluded Bartley, she was utterly feminine and quite
worth while.

Cheyenne smiled as Bartley suggested that they stay in San Andreas a few
days; and Cheyenne nodded in the direction from which they had come.

"I kinda like this part of the country, myself," he said, "but I hate to
spend all my money in one place."

Bartley suddenly realized that his companion, was nothing more than a
riding hobo, a vagrant, without definite means of support, and