he foreman, who had ignored
the message. Lorry had been deputized to see the man and have an
understanding with him. The complaint had been brought to Shoop by one
of the Apache police that some cowboys had been grazing stock and
killing game on the Indian reservation.

Dorothy realized that Lorry might be away for some time. She would miss
him. And that night she asked her father if she might not invite a girl
friend up for the summer. They were established. And Dorothy was much
stronger and able to attend to the housekeeping. Bronson was quite
willing. He realized that he was busy most of the time, writing. He was
not much of a companion except at the table. So Dorothy wrote to her
friend, who was in Los Angeles and had already planned to drive East
when the roads became passable.

Lorry was roping the packs next morning when Dorothy appeared in her new
silver-gray corduroy riding-habit--a surprise that she had kept for an
occasion. She was proud of the well-tailored coat and breeches, the
snug-fitting black boots, and the small, new Stetson. Her gray silk
waist was brightened by a narrow four-in-hand of rich blue, and her tiny
gauntlets of soft gray buckskin were stitched with blue silk.

She looked like some slender, young exquisite who had stepped from the
stage of an old play as she stood smoothing the fingers of her gloves
and smiling across at Lorry. He said nothing, but stared at her. She was
disappointed. She wanted him to tell her that he liked her new things,
she had spent so much time and thought on them. But there he stood, the
pack-rope slack in his hand, staring stupidly.

She nodded, and waved her hand.

"It's me," she called. "Good-morning!"

Lorry managed to stammer a greeting. He felt as though she were some
strange person that looked like Dorothy, but like a new Dorothy of such
exquisite attitude and grace and so altogether charming that he could do
nothing but wonder how the transformation had come about. He had always
thought her pretty. But now she was more than that. She was alluring;
she was the girl he loved from the brim of her gray Stetson to the toe
of her tiny boot.

"Would you catch my pony for me?"

Lorry flushed. Of course she wanted Chinook. He swung up on Gray Leg and
spurred across the mesa. His heart was pounding hard. He rode with a
dash and a swing as he rounded up the ponies. As he caught up her horse
he happened to think of his own faded shirt and overalls. He was weari