“It produced an Honorable Patches,” she retorted slyly.

“Indeed it did not,” he answered quickly.  “It produced—­” He checked himself, as though fearing that he would say too much.

“But what have Phil and his wild horse to do with the question?” she asked.

“Nothing, I fear.  Only I feel about your going away as Phil felt when he gave the wild horse its freedom.”

“I don’t think I understand,” she said, genuinely puzzled.

“I said you would not,” he retorted bluntly, “and that’s why you are leaving all this.”  His gesture indicated the vast sweep of country with old Granite Mountain in the distance.

Then, with a nod and a look he indicated Professor Parkhill, who was walking toward them along the side of the ridge skirting the scattered cedar timber.  “Here comes a product of the sort of culture to which you aspire.  Behold the ideal manhood of your higher life!  When the intellectual and spiritual life you so desire succeeds in producing racial fruit of that superior quality, it will have justified its existence—­and will perish from the earth.”

Even as Patches spoke, he saw something just beyond the approaching man that made him start as if to rise to his feet.

It was the unmistakable face of Yavapai Joe, who, from behind an oak bush, was watching the professor.

Patches, glancing at Kitty, saw that she had not noticed.

Before the young woman could reply to her companion’s derisive remarks, the object which had prompted his comments arrived within speaking distance.

“I trust I am not intruding,” began the professor, in his small, thin voice.  Then as Patches, his eyes still on that oak bush, stood up, the little man added, with hasty condescension, “Keep your seat, my man; keep your seat.  I assure you it is not my purpose to deprive you of Miss Reid’s company.”

Patches grinned.  By that “my man” he knew that Kitty had not enlightened her teacher as to the “typical cowboy’s” real character.

“That’s all right, perfessor,” he said awkwardly.  “I just seen a maverick over yonder a-piece.  I reckon I’d better mosey along an’ have a closer look at him.  Me an’ Kitty here warn’t talkin’ nothin’ important, nohow.  Just a gassin’ like.  I reckon she’d ruther go on home with you, anyhow, an’ it’s all right with me.”

“Maverick!” questioned the professor.  “And what, may I ask, is a maverick?”

“Hit’s a critter what don’t belong to nobody,” answered Patches, moving toward his horse.

At the same moment Kitty, who had risen, and was looking in the direction from which the professor had come, exclaimed, “Why, there’s Yavapai Joe, Patches.  What is he doing here?”

She pointed, and the professor, looking, caught a glimpse of Joe’s back as the fellow was slinking over the ridge.

“I reckon mebby he wants to see me ‘bout somethin’ or other,” Patches returned, as he mounted his horse.  “Anyway, I’m a-goin’ over that-a-way an’ see.  So long!”