girl up there in the field, driving the horse?"
pointing over the lifting desert to the distant figure, difficult to see
now as the sun sank.

"Yes," replied the Indian.

"Won't you go up and help so the girl can go back to the house and do a
woman's work?"

The Indian puffed thoughtfully at his cigarette. "Why?" he asked,
finally.

"Because they need help. They'll pay you."

"Would you go help Indian squaw so she no have do hard work?" queried
the Indian.

Roger scratched his head.

"Charley Preble, she heap strong, like a man. Work no hurt her. No hurt
Injun squaw. Let 'em work."

Roger had nothing more to say. But the fact that Charley worked so hard
bothered both men, though Ernest, with his unconsciously German attitude
toward women, was much less troubled about the matter than Roger. Roger,
for all his neglect of the gentler sex for the past few years, had that
attitude toward women, half of tenderness, half of good fellowship, that
is characteristic of the best American men. And although he laughed at
Ernest's sentimental mooning about Charley, he really was more concerned
over the girl's hard life than was his friend.

She was still to him Felicia, grown up, and Felicia was still the little
Charley Preble of the swimming pool. It was a confusion of personalities
that might easily have grown into romance had not Roger been too
completely and honestly preoccupied with his work.

The next afternoon the hoist broke and leaving Ernest and Qui-tha to
patch it up, Roger plodded up to the alfalfa field.

The valley sloped very gradually from the mountains. Dick was working
with a scraper, carefully throwing line after line of the shallowest
possible terraces at right angles to the valley's slope. The irrigating
ditch which was to carry the water that was to flow gently over the
terraces was already finished.

Charley, who had been driving the horses while Dick handled the scraper,
sat on a heap of stones beside the fence. She was very brown, yet in
spite of her rough work she looked well. Her khaki blouse, her short
skirt and high laced boots were smart and her broad soft hat, though
covered with dust, was picturesque and becoming. Roger dropped on the
rocks beside her, with a sigh.

"Tired?" asked Charley. "Aren't you off duty early?"

"I came up to labor with you," replied Roger, his blue eyes very clear
in his tanned face. "You're working too hard."

"What would you have me do? Sit on the front p