vel by enthusiasm. At such times he would blame himself roundly. And
if there seemed no cause for her depression, he warred silently with the
power that stooped to harm so frail a creature. His own physical freedom
knew no such check. He could not quite understand sickness, save when it
came through some obvious physical injury.

Bronson was glad that there was a Lorry; both as a companion to himself
and as a tower of strength to Dorothy. Her depression vanished in the
young ranger's presence. It was a case of the thoroughbred endeavoring
to live up to the thoroughbred standard. And Bronson considered anything
thoroughbred that was true to type. Yet the writer had known men
physically inconsequent who possessed a fine strain of courage, loyalty,
honor. The shell might be misshapen, malformed, and yet the spirit burn
high and clear. And Bronson reasoned that there was a divinity of blood,
despite the patents of democracy.

Bronson found that he had to go to Jason for supplies. Dorothy asked to
go with him. Bronson hesitated. It was a long ride, although Dorothy had
made it upon occasion. She teased prettily. Lorry was away. She wasn't
afraid to stay alone, but she would be lonesome. If she kissed him three
times, one right on top of the other, would he let her come? Bronson
gave in to this argument. They would ride slowly, and stay a day longer
in Jason to rest.

When they arrived at Jason, Dorothy immediately went to bed. She wanted
to be at her best on the following day. She was going to talk with Mr.
Shoop. It was a very serious matter.

And next morning she excused herself while her father bought supplies.
She called at the supervisor's office. Bud Shoop beamed. She was so
alert, so vivacious, and so charming in her quick slenderness. The
genial Bud placed a chair for her with grandiloquent courtesy.

"I'm going to ask a terrible favor," she began, crossing her legs and
clasping her knee.

"I'm pow'ful scared," said Bud.

"I don't want favors that way. I want you to like me, and then I will
tell you."

"My goodness, missy! Like you! Who said I didn't?"

"No one. But you have ordered Lorry Adams to close up his camp and go
over to work right near the Apache Reservation."

"I sure did."

"Well, Mr. Shoop, I don't like Apaches."

"You got comp'ny, missy. But what's that got to do with Lorry?"

"Oh, I suppose he doesn't care. But what do you think his _mother_ would
say to you if he--well, if he got _scal