“Eh?” cut in Sinclair.

“I could really do the things then that you’d like to have a woman do,” she said.  “I could ride anything, swim like a fish in snow water, climb, run, and do anything a boy could do.  I suppose that’s the sort of a woman you admire?”

“Me!” exclaimed Riley with violence.  “It ain’t so, Jig.  I been revising my ideas on women lately.  Besides, I never give ’em much thought before.”

He said all this without glancing at her, so that she was able to indulge in a smile before she went on.

“Just at that point, when I was about to become a true daughter of the West, Dad snapped me off to school in the East, and then for years and years there was no West at all for me except a little trip here and there in vacation time.  The rest of it was just study and play, all in the East.  I still liked the West—­in theory, you know.”

“H’m,” muttered Riley.

“And then, I think it was a year ago, I had a letter from Dad with important news in it.  He had just come back from a hunting trip with a young fellow who he thought represented everything fine in the West.  He was big, good-looking, steady, had a large estate.  Dad set his mind on having me marry him, and he told me so in the letter.  Of course I was upset at the idea of marrying a man I did not know, but Dad always had a very controlling way with him.  I had lost any habit of thinking for myself in important matters.

“Besides, there was a consolation.  Dad sent the picture of his man along with his letter.  The picture was in profile, and it showed me a fine-looking fellow, with a glorious carriage, a high head, and oceans of strength and manliness.

“I really fell in love with that picture.  To begin with, I thought that it was destiny for me, and that I had to love that man whether I wished to or not.  I admitted that picture into my inmost life, dreamed about it, kept it near me in my room.

“And just about that time came news that my father was seriously ill, and then that he had died, and that his last wish was for me to come West at once and marry my chosen husband.

“Of course I came at once.  I was too sick and sad for Dad to think much about my own future, and when I stepped off the train I met the first shock.  My husband to be was waiting for me.  He was enough like the picture for me to recognize him, and that was all.  He was tall and strong enough and manly enough.  But in full face I thought he was narrow between the eyes.  And—­”

“It was Cartwright!”

“Yes, yes.  How did you guess that?”

“I dunno,” said Sinclair softly, “but when that gent rode off today, something told me that I was going to tangle with him later on.  Go on!”

“He was very kind to me.  After the first moment of disappointment—­you see, I had been dreaming about him for a good many weeks—­I grew to like him and accept him again.  He did all that he could to make the trip home agreeable.  He didn’t press himself on me.  He did nothing to make me feel that he understood Dad’s wishes about our marriage and expected me to live up to them.