Dorothy paused.  “You may open your eyes.  That’s all.”

“Well, it’s noon,” said Lorry, “and there are the ponies, and the hills are over there.  Won’t you say the rest of it?”

“Oh, the rest of it is about a venture planned that never came true.  It couldn’t, even in a poem.  But I’ll tell you about it some day.”

“I could listen right now.”

Dorothy shook her head.  “I am afraid it would spoil our real adventure.  But if I were a boy—­wouldn’t it be fun!  We would ride and camp in the hills at night and find all the little fires along the trail—­”

“We’d make our own,” said Lorry.

“Of course, Mr. Practical Man.”

“Well, I can’t help bein’ like I am.  But sometimes I get lazy and sit and look at the hills and the canons and mesas down below, and wonder what’s the good of hustlin’.  But somehow I got to quit loafin’ after a spell—­and go right to hustlin’ again.  It’s a sure good way to get rested up; just to sit down and forget everything but the big world rollin’ down to the edge of nothin’.  It makes a fella’s kickin’ and complainin’ look kind of small and ornery.”

“I never heard you complain, Lorry.”

“Huh!  You ain’t been along with me when I been right up against it and mebby had to sweat my way out of some darned box canon or make a ride through some down timber at night.  I’ve said some lovely things them times.”

“Oh, I get cross.  But, then, I’m a girl.  Men shouldn’t get cross.”

“I reckon you’re right.  The sun’s comin’ through that pine there.  Gettin’ too hot?”

“No, I love it.  But I must go.  I’ll just ride down to the cabin and unsaddle Chinook and say ‘Hello’ to father—­and that’s the end of our adventure.”

“Won’t those city folks be comin’ in soon?”

“Yes.  And Alice Weston is lovely.  I know you’ll like her.”

“Alice who, did you say?”

“Weston.  Alice and her mother are touring overland from Los Angeles.  I know you will admire Alice.”

“Mebby.  If she’s as pretty as you.”

“Oh, fudge!  You like my new suit.  And Alice isn’t like me at all.  She is nearly as tall as you, and big and strong and really pretty.  Bud Shoop told me I wasn’t bigger than a minute.”

“A minute is a whole lot sometimes,” said Lorry.

“You’re not so practical as you were, are you?”

“More.  I meant that.”

Dorothy rose and began to roll the Navajo blanket.

Lorry stepped up and took it from her.  “Roll it long and let it hang down.  Then it won’t bother you gettin’ on or off your horse.  That’s the way the Indians roll ’em.”

He jerked the tie-strings tight.  “Well, I reckon I’ll be goin’,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Good-bye, ranger man.”

“Good-bye, Dorothy.”

Her slender hand was warm in his.  She looked up at him, smiling.  He had never looked at her that way before.  She hoped so much that he would say nothing to spoil the happiness of their idle noon.