r," he said heartily.

Bartley laughed and patted Jimmy's shoulder--something that Jimmy
utterly detested, but suffered nobly, under the circumstances.

"You earned that gun--and thank you for fetching Miss Dorry to town."

"Huh! I didn't fetch _her_. She fetched me. Uncle Frank was comin', but
Dorry said she just had to get some things--"

"Jimmy, please don't point that gun at the horses."

Bartley felt better. He didn't know just why he felt better. Yet he felt
more than grateful to Little Jim.

Nevertheless, Dorothy met Bartley's eyes frankly as he said farewell. "I
hope you will find time to ride over to the ranch," she said. "I'm sure
Aunt Jane would be glad to see you."

"Thanks. Say, day after to-morrow?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter. Aunt Jane is nearly always at home."

"And I got lots of ca'tridges," chirruped Little Jim. "We can shoot all
day."

"I wouldn't miss such an opportunity for anything," declared Bartley,
yet he was looking at Dorothy when he spoke.

CHAPTER XX

ALONG THE FOOTHILLS

Bartley, enjoying his after-dinner smoke, felt that he wanted to know
more about the girl who had invited him to call at the Lawrence ranch
again. He told himself that he wanted to study her; to find out her
preferences, her ideals, her attitude toward life, and how the thought
of always living in the San Andreas Valley, shut away from the world,
appealed to her.

With the unconscious intolerance of the city-bred man, he did not
realize that her world was quite as interesting to her as his world was
to him. Manlike, he also failed to realize that Dorothy was studying him
quite as much as he was studying her. While he did not feel in the least
superior, he did feel that he was more worldly-wise than this young
woman whose horizon was bounded by the hills edging the San Andreas
Valley.

True, she seemed to have read much, for one as isolated as she, and she
had evidently appreciated what she had read. And then there was
something about her that interested him, aside from her good looks. He
had known many girls far more beautiful. It was not her manner, which
was a bit constrained, at times. Her charm for him was indefinable.
Somehow, she seemed different from other girls he had met. Bartley was
himself responsible for this romantic hallucination. He saw her with
eyes hungry for the sympathetic companionship of youth, especially
feminine youth, for he could talk with her seriously about things whic