s. Anyhow, she had
all kinds of unnecessary fixings along, that trunkful of stuff in the
lot. You can imagine what a nice time their guides had packing that on
a horse, eh? They got into a deuce of a pickle finally, and had to
abandon a lot of their stuff, among other things the steamer trunk. I
lent them a hand, and they told me to help myself to the stuff. So I
did after they were out of the country. That's how you come to have a
wardrobe all ready to your hand. Now, you'd be awful foolish to act
like a mean and stiff-necked female person. You're not going to, are
you?" he wheedled. "Because I want to make you comfortable. What's
the use of getting on your dignity over a little thing like clothes?"

"I don't intend to," Hazel suddenly changed front. "I'll make myself
as comfortable as I can--particularly if it will put you to any
trouble."

"You're bound to scrap, eh?" he grinned. "But it takes two to build a
fight, and I positively refuse to fight with _you_."

He dragged the trunk back into the room, and came out carrying a great
armful of masculine belongings. Two such trips he made, piling all his
things onto a chair.

"There!" he said at last. "That end of the house belongs to you,
little person. Now, get those wet things off before you catch a cold.
Oh, wait a minute!"

He disappeared into the kitchen end of the house, and came back with a
wash-basin and a pail of water.

"Your room is now ready, madam, an it please you." He bowed with mock
dignity, and went back into the kitchen.

Hazel heard him rattling pots and dishes, whistling cheerfully the
while. She closed the door, and busied herself with an inventory of
the tenderfoot lady's trunk. In it she found everything needful for
complete change, and a variety of garments to boot. Folded in the
bottom of the trunk was a gray cloth skirt and a short blue silk
kimono. There was a coat and skirt, too, of brown corduroy. But the
feminine instinct asserted itself, and she laid out the gray skirt and
the kimono.

For a dresser Roaring Bill had fashioned a wide shelf, and on it she
found a toilet set complete--hand mirror, military brushes, and sundry
articles, backed with silver and engraved with his initials. Perhaps
with a spice of malice, she put on a few extra touches. There would be
some small satisfaction in tantalizing Bill Wagstaff--even if she could
not help feeling that it might be a dangerous game. And, thus arrayed
in th