n his love blindness he was modest.

"We'll have to leave that to the judge," he said deferentially, "but
they's horses for everybody." He glanced inquiringly at Lucy, who was
busily unpacking her sketching kit; but she only smiled, and shook her
head.

"The home is going to be my sphere for some time," she remarked,
glancing about at the half-cleaned room, "and then," she added, with
decision, "I'm going to make some of the loveliest water colors in the
world. I think that big giant cactus standing on that red-and-gray
cliff over there is simply wonderful."

"Um, pretty good," observed Creede judicially. "But you jest ought to
see 'em in the gorge where Hidden Water comes out! Are ye goin' along,
Rufe?" he inquired, bending his eyes upon Hardy with a knowing
twinkle. "No? Well, _you_ can show her where it is! Didn't you never
hear why they call this Hidden Water?" he asked, gazing benignly upon
the young ladies. "Well, listen.

"They's a big spring of water right up here, not half a mile. It's an
old landmark--the Mexicans call it Agua Escondida--but I bet neither
one of you can find it and I'll take you right by the gulch where it
comes out. They can't nobody find it, unless they're wise enough to
follow cow tracks--and of course, we don't expect that of strangers.
But if you ever git lost and you're within ten miles of home jest take
the first cow trail you see and follow it downhill and you'll go into
one end or the other of Hidden Water canyon. Sure, it's what you might
call the Hello-Central of the whole Four Peaks country, with cow paths
instead of wires. The only thing lackin' is the girls, to talk back,
and call you down for your ungentlemanly language, and--well, this
country is comin' up every day!"

He grinned broadly, wiping his floury hands on his overalls in
defiance of Miss Kitty's most rudimentary principles; and yet even
she, for all her hygiene, was compelled to laugh. There was something
about Creede that invited confidence and feminine badgering, he was so
like a big, good-natured boy. The entire meal was enlivened by her
efforts, in the person of a hello girl, to expurgate his language, and
she ended by trying to get him to swear--politely.

But in this the noble cowboy was inexorable. "No, ma'am," he said,
with an excess of moral conviction. "I never swear except for
cause--and then I always regret it. But if you want to git some of the
real thing to put in your phonygraft jest come down to