istake of
thinking that because he had seen her many times while visiting her
brother he might now with propriety assume an air of intimacy toward
her.

"I reckon this rock is plenty big enough for both of us," he said
amiably.

She measured the distance between them with a calculating eye. "It
is," she returned quietly, "if you remain exactly where you are."

He forced a smile. "An' if I don't?" he inquired.

"You may have the rock to yourself," she returned coldly. "I did not
ask you to come here."

He chose to ignore this hint, telling her that he had been to the cabin
to see Ben and, finding him absent, had ridden through the flat. "I
saw you when I was quite a piece away," he concluded, "an' thought
mebbe you might be lonesome."

"When I am lonesome I choose my own company," she returned coldly.

"Why, sure," he said, his tone slightly sarcastic; "you cert'nly ought
to know who you want to talk to. But you ain't objectin' to me settin'
on this hill?" he inquired.

"The hill is not mine," she observed quietly, examining one of the
written pages of her novel; "sit here as long as you like."

"Thanks." He drawled the word. Leaning back on one elbow he stretched
out as though assured that she would make no further objections to his
presence. She ignored him completely and very deliberately arranged
her papers and resumed writing.

For a time he lay silent, watching the pencil travel the width of the
page--and then back. A mass of completed manuscript lay at her side,
the pages covered with carefully written, legible words. She had
always taken a pardonable pride in her penmanship. For a while he
watched her, puzzled, furtively trying to decipher some of the words
that appeared upon the pages. But the distance was too great for him
and he finally gave it up and fell to looking at her instead, though
determined to solve the wordy mystery that was massed near her.

Finally finding the silence irksome, he dropped an experimental word,
speaking casually. "You must have been to school a heap--writin' like
you do."

She gave him no answer, being at that moment absorbed in a thought
which she was trying to transcribe before it should take wings and be
gone forever.

"Writin' comes easy to some people," he persisted.

The thought had been set down; she turned very slightly. "Yes," she
said looking steadily at him, "it does. So does impertinence."

He smiled easily. "I ain't aimin' to be imper