Valley.

"You really don't know anything about me, or my people," he said. "And I
want you to know. My only living relative is my sister, and she is
scandalously well-to-do. Her husband makes money manufacturing hooks and
eyes. He's not romantic, but he's solid. As for me--"

And Bartley spoke of his own income, just what he could afford to spend
each month, and just how much he managed to save, and his ambition to
earn more. Dorothy realized that he was talking to her just as he would
have talked to a chum--a man friend, without reserve, and she liked him
for it. She had been curious about him, his vocation, and even about his
plans; and she felt a glow of affection because he had seemed so loyal
to his friendship with Cheyenne, and because he had been kind to Little
Jim Hastings. While doing so with no other thought than to please the
boy, Bartley had made no mistake in buying him that new rifle.

As they came to the big rock by the roadside--a spot which Bartley had
good reason to remember--he paused and glanced at Dorothy. She was
laughing.

"You looked so funny that day. You were the most dilapidated-looking
person--for a writer--"

"I imagine I was, after Hull got through with me. Let's sit down awhile.
I want to tell you what I should like to do. Are you comfortable?"

Dorothy nodded.

"Well," said Bartley, seating himself beside her, "I should like to rent
a small place in the valley, a place just big enough for two, and then
settle down and write this story. Then, if I sold it, I think I should
lock up, get a pack-horse and another saddle-horse, outfit for a long
trip, and then take the trail north and travel for, say, six months,
seeing the country, camping along the way, visiting with folks, and
incidentally gathering material for another story. It could be done."

"But why rent a place, if you plan to leave it right away?"

"Because I should want a home to come to, a place to think of when I was
on the trails. You know a fellow can't wander up and down the world
forever. I like to travel, but I think a chap ought to spend at least
half a year under a roof. Don't you?"

"I was thinking of Cheyenne," said Dorothy musingly.

"I think of him a great deal," declared Bartley.

Dorothy glanced up at him from her pondering.

Bartley leaned toward her. "Dorothy, will you help me make that home,
here in the valley, and be my comrade on the trails?"

"Hadn't you better ask Aunt Jane?" said Dorothy softl