r a Western novel, Miss Gray. I confess it."

"Confession usually implies having done something wrong, doesn't it?"

"Yes. But with you as the heroine of my story, I couldn't go very far
wrong."

Dorothy flushed and bit her lip. So that was why Bartley had been so
attentive and polite? He had been studying her, questioning her,
mentally jotting down what she had said--and he had not told her, until
that moment, that he was writing a story. She had not known that he was
a writer of stories.

"You might, at least, have asked me if I cared to be a Western heroine
in your story."

"Oh, that would have spoiled it all! Can't you see? You would not have
been yourself, if you had known. And our visits--"

"I don't think I care to be the heroine of your story, Mr. Bartley."

"You really mean it?"

Dorothy nodded thoughtfully. Bartley knew, intuitively, that she was
sincere--that she was not angling for flattery. He had thought that he
was rather paying her a compliment in making her the heroine of his
first Western book; or, at least, that she would take it as a
compliment. He frowned, twisting a spear of dry grass in his fingers.

"Of course--that needn't make any difference about your calling--on Aunt
Jane."

"Thank you," laughed Bartley. "And because of the privilege which I
really appreciate, I'll agree to look for another heroine."

Dorothy had not expected just such an answer. "In San Andreas?" she
queried.

"I can't say. I'll be lucky if I find another, anywhere, to compare--"

"If you had asked me, first," interrupted Dorothy, "I might have said
'yes.'"

"I'm sorry I didn't. Won't you reconsider?"

Dorothy shook her head. Then she looked up at him frankly, steadily. "I
think you took me for granted. That is what I didn't like."

"But--I didn't! It didn't occur to me to really begin my story until
after I had seen you. Of course I knew I would write a new story sooner
or later. I hope you will believe that."

"Yes. But I think I know why you decided to stay in San Andreas, instead
of riding south, with Cheyenne. Aunt Jane and Little Jim and your
heroine were within easy riding distance."

"I'll admit I intended to write about Aunt Jane and Jimmy. I actually
adore Aunt Jane. And Little Jim, he's what one might call an unknown
quantity--"

"He seems to be, just now."

"Oh, he won't go far," said Bartley, smiling.

Dorothy tossed her head. "And Cheyenne--"

"Oh, he is the moving figure in the sto