ed, and presently from the cottonwood thicket emerged a horse and
rider. The rider wore a roll-brimmed hat and brilliant yellow chaps,
and he was mounted upon a fantastically spotted pinto. "It's--'The
Bishop of All Outdoors'," she smiled, as she returned to the stove.
"He certainly has a voice. I don't blame Mr. Thompson for being crazy
about him. Anybody that can sing like that! And he loves it, too."

A hearty "Good morning" brought her once more to the door.

"Just in time for breakfast," she smiled up into the eyes of the man
on the pinto.

"Breakfast! Bless you, I didn't stop for breakfast. I figured on
breakfasting with my friend, The Villain, over across the ridge."

"The Villain?"

"Vil Holland," laughed the man. "His name, I believe is, Villiers. I
shortened it to Villain, and the natives hereabouts have bobbed it
down to Vil. But he'll have to breakfast alone this morning, as
usual. I've changed my mind. You see, I share the proverbial weakness
of the clergy for a good meal. And against so charming a hostess, old
Vil hasn't a chance in the world." Dismounting, the Reverend Len
Christie removed his saddle and bridle and, with a resounding slap on
the flank turned the pinto loose. "Get along, old Paint, and lay in
some of this good grass!" he laughed as the pinto, cavorting like a
colt, galloped across the creek to join Patty's hobbled cayuse.

"My, that bacon smells good," he said, a moment later, as he stood in
the doorway and watched the girl turn the thin strips in the pan. "Do
let me furnish part of the breakfast," he cried, eagerly and began
swiftly to loosen from behind the cantle of his saddle a slender case,
from which he produced and fitted together a two-ounce rod. "I'll take
it right from your own dooryard in just about two jiffies." He affixed
a reel, threaded a cobweb line, and selected a fly. "Just save that
bacon fry for a few minutes and we'll have some speckled beauties in
the pan before you know it."

Pushing the frying pan to the back of the stove, Patty accompanied him
to the bank of the stream where she watched enthusiastically as, one
after another, he pulled four glistening trout from the water.

"That's enough," he said, as the fourth fish lay squirming upon the
grass. And in what seemed to the girl an incredibly short time, he had
them cleaned, washed, and ready for the pan. While she fried them he
busied himself with his outfit, wiping his rod and carefully returning
it to it