in? Won't you tell me where I can
find you?"

Once more the Girl was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment. Not that
she was at all ashamed of being "The Girl of The Polka Saloon," for that
never entered her mind; but she suddenly realised that it was one thing
to converse pleasantly with a young man on the highway and another to
let him come to her home on Cloudy Mountain. Only too well could she
imagine the cool reception, if it stopped at that, that the boys of the
camp there would accord to this stylish stranger. As a consequence, she
was torn by conflicting emotions: an overwhelming desire to see him
again, and a dread of what might happen to him should he descend upon
Cloudy Mountain with all his fine airs and graces.

"I guess I'm queer--" she began uncertainly and then stopped in sudden
surprise. Too long had she delayed her answer. Already the stage had
left him some distance behind. Unperceived by her a shade of annoyance
had passed over the Californian's face at her seeming reluctance to
tell him where she lived. The quick of his Spanish pride was touched;
and with a wave of his sombrero he had pulled his horse down on his
haunches. Of no avail now was her resolution to let him know the
whereabouts of the camp at any cost, for already his "_Adios, Senorita_"
was sounding faintly in her ears.

With a little cry of vexation, scarcely audible, the young woman flung
herself back on the seat. She was only a girl with all a girl's ways,
and like most of her sex, however practical her life thus far, she
was not without dreams of a romance. This meeting with the handsome
_caballero_ was the nearest she had come to having one. True, there was
scarcely a man at Cloudy but what had tried at one time or another to go
beyond the stage of good comradeship; but none of them had approached
the idealistic vision of the hero that was all the time lying dormant in
her mind. Of course, being a girl, and almost a queen in her own little
sphere, she accepted their rough homage in a manner that was befitting
to such an exalted personage, and gave nothing in return. But now
something was stirring within her of which she knew nothing; a feeling
was creeping over her that she could not analyse; she was conscious only
of the fact that with the departure of this attractive stranger, who had
taken no pains to conceal his admiration for her, her journey had been
robbed of all its joy.

A hundred yards further on, therefore, she coul