own grizzly-skin of unusual size, Sinclair
told the story of the killing, bared his tremendous forearm to show
where the polished claws had ripped him, and, disregarding Dicksie's
protests, insisted on sending the skin over to Crawling Stone Ranch as
a souvenir of her visit.

"I live a great deal alone over here," he said, waving Dicksie's
continued refusal magnificently aside as he moved into the next room.
"I've got a few good dogs, and I hunt just enough to keep my hand in
with a rifle." Dicksie quailed a little at the smile that went with
the words. "The men, at least the kind I mix with, don't care for
grizzly-skins, and to enjoy anything you've got to have sympathetic
company--don't you know that?" he asked, looking admiringly at
Dicksie. "I've got another skin for you--a silver-tip," he added in
deep, gentle tones, addressing Marion. "It has a fine head, as fine as
I ever saw in the Smithsonian. It is down at Medicine Bend now, being
dressed and mounted. By the way, I've forgotten to ask you, Miss
Dicksie, about the high water. How did you get through at the ranch?"

Dicksie, sitting on the piano-bench, looked up with resolution.
"Bravely!" she exclaimed. "Mr. McCloud came to our rescue with bags
and mattresses and a hundred men, and he has put in a revetement a
thousand feet long. Oh, we are regular river experts at our house now!
Had you any trouble here, Mr. Sinclair?"

"No, the Frenchman behaves pretty well in the rock. We had forty feet
of water here one day, though; forty feet, that's right. McCloud, yes;
able fellow, I guess, too, though he and I don't hit it off." Sinclair
sat back in his chair, and as he spoke he spoke magnanimously. "He
doesn't like me, but that is no fault of his; railroad men, and good
ones, too, sometimes get started wrong with one another. Well, I'm
glad he took care of you. Try that piano, Miss Dicksie, will you? I
don't know much about pianos, but that ought to be a good one. I would
wheel the player over for you, but any one that plays as beautifully
as you do ought not to be allowed to use a player. Marion, I want to
talk a few minutes with you, may I? Do you mind going out under the
cottonwood?"

Dicksie's heart jumped. "Don't be gone long, Marion," she exclaimed
impulsively, "for you know, Mr. Sinclair, we _must_ get back by two
o'clock." And Dicksie, pale with apprehension, looked at them both.
Marion, quite composed, nodded reassuringly and followed Sinclair out
of door