ry. That is not a pun, if you
please. I had no idea that Cheyenne could actually hate any one, until
the other night when he told me about--Laramie, and that man Sears."

"Did he talk much about Sears?"

"Not much--but enough. Frankly, I think Cheyenne will kill Sears if he
happens to meet him again."

"And that will furnish the climax for your story!" said Dorothy
scornfully.

"Well, if it has to happen--" Bartley paused.

Dorothy's face was troubled. Finally she rose and picked up her gloves
and hat.

"I wish some one or something would stop him," she said slowly. "He
liked you. All the years he has been riding up and down the country he
has ridden alone, until he met you. I'm sorry you didn't go with him."

"He did pretend that he was disappointed when I told him I was going to
stay in San Andreas for a while."

"You thought he was joking, but he wasn't. We have all tried to get him
to settle down; but he would not listen. If I were a man--"

"Then you think I could have influenced him?" queried Bartley.

"You might have tried, at least."

"Well, he's gone. And I'll have to make the best of it--and also find
another heroine," said Bartley lightly, trying to make her smile.

"I'll be the heroine of your story, upon one condition," Dorothy said,
finally.

"And that is--"

"If you will try and find Cheyenne and--and just be a friend to him. I
suppose it sounds silly, and I would not think of asking you to try and
keep him from doing anything he decided to do. But you might happen to
be able to say the right word at the right time."

"I hardly took myself as seriously as that, in connection with
Cheyenne," declared Bartley. "I suppose, if I should saddle up and ride
south to-morrow, I might overtake him along the road, somewhere. He
travels slowly."

"But you won't go, just because I spoke as I did?"

"Not altogether because of that. I like Cheyenne."

Impetuously Dorothy stepped close to Bartley and laid her hand on his
arm. "I knew you were like that! And what does writing about people
amount to, when you can really do something for them? It isn't just
Cheyenne. There's Little Jim--"

"Yes. But where _is_ Little Jim?"

Dorothy called in her high, clear voice. There was no answering halloo.
"His horse is there. I can't understand--"

"I'll look around a bit," said Bartley. "He's probably ambushing us,
somewhere, and expects us to be tremendously surprised."

"I'll catch up my horse," said Do