y pat or two, pushed a novel out of
sight under a Boise newspaper, and turned toward him with a breezily
careless smile when he stepped up to the open door and stopped as if he
were not quite certain of his own mind, or of his welcome.

He was secretly thinking of Peppajee's information that Miss Georgie
thought he was "bueno," and he was wondering if it were true. Not that
he wanted it to be true! But he was man enough to look at her with a
keener interest than he had felt before. And Miss Georgie, if one might
judge by her manner, was woman enough to detect that interest and
to draw back her skirts, mentally, ready for instant flight into
unapproachableness.

"Howdy, Mr. Imsen?" she greeted him lightly. "In what official capacity
am I to receive you, please? Do YOU want to send a telegram?" The accent
upon the pronoun was very faint, but it was there for him to notice if
he liked. So much she helped him. She was a bright young woman indeed,
that she saw he wanted help.

"I don't believe I came to see you officially at all," he said, and
his eyes lighted a little as he looked at her. "Peppajee Jim told me to
come. He said you're a 'heap smart squaw, all same mans.'"

"Item: One pound of red-and-white candy for Peppajee Jim next time I see
him." Miss Georgie laughed--but she also sat down so that her face was
turned to the window. "Are you in urgent need of a heap smart squaw?"
she asked. "I thought"--she caught herself up, and then went recklessly
on--"I thought yesterday that you had found one!"

"It's brains I need just now." After the words were out, Good Indian
wanted to swear at himself for seeming to belittle Evadna. "I mean,"
he corrected quickly--"do you know what I mean? I'll tell you what has
happened, and if you don't know then, and can't help me, I'll just have
to apologize for coming, and get out."

"Yes, I think you had better tell me why you need me particularly. I
know the chicken's perfect, and doesn't lack brains, and you didn't mean
that she does. You're all stirred up over something. What's wrong?" Miss
Georgie would have spoken in just that tone if she had been a man or if
Grant had been a woman.

So Good Indian told her.

"And you imagine that it's partly your fault, and that it wouldn't have
happened if you had spent more time keeping your weather eye open, and
not so much making love?" Miss Georgie could be very blunt, as well as
keen. "Well, I don't see how you could prevent it, or wha