dwin--the Dean, you know."

"Indeed, I ought to know the Dean," she cried, giving him her hand.
"Stanford has told me so much about you that I am in love with you
already."

"And I"--retorted the Dean, looking up at her with his blue eyes
twinkling approval--"I reckon I've always been in love with you. I'm
sure glad to see that this young man has justified his reputation for
good judgment. Have they got any more girls like you back East? 'Cause
if they have, I'll sure be obliged to take a trip to that part of the
world before I get too old."

"You are just as Stan said you were," retorted Helen.

"Uncle Will!" cried Kitty. "I am ashamed of you! I didn't think you
would turn down your own home folks like that!"

The Dean lifted his hat and rumpled his grizzly hair as though fairly
caught. Then: "Why, Kitty, you know that I couldn't love any girl more
than I do you. Why, you belong to me most as much as you belong to your
own father and mother. But, you see--honey--well, you see, we've just
naturally got to be nice to strangers, you know." When they had laughed
at this, Kitty explained to that Dean how Mrs. Manning was the Helen
Wakefield with whom she had been such friends at school, and that, after
the Mannings' outing in Granite Basin, Helen was to visit Williamson
Valley.

"Campin' out in Granite Basin, heh?" said the Dean to Stanford. "I
reckon you'll be seein' some o' my boys. They're goin' up into that
country after outlaw steers next week."

"I hope so," returned Stanford. "Helen has been complaining that there
are no cowboys to be seen. I pointed out Phil Acton, but he didn't seem
to fill the bill; she doesn't believe that he is a cowboy at all."

The Dean chuckled. "He's never been anything else. They don't make 'em
any better anywhere." Then he added soberly, "Phil's not ridin' in the
contest this year, though."

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know. He's got some sort of a fool notion in his head that he
don't want to make an exhibition of himself--that's what he said. I've
got another man on the ranch now," he added, as though to change the
subject, "that'll be mighty near as good as Phil in another year. His
name is Patches. He's a good one, all right."

Kitty, who, had been looking away down the street while the Dean was
talking, put her hand on Helen's arm. "Look down there, Helen. I believe
that is Patches now--that man sitting on his horse at the cross street,
at the foot of the hill, just o