“Exactly,” chuckled her husband, while the others laughed at her incredulous surprise.  “But, just the same, that’s Phil Acton; ’Wild Horse Phil,’ if you please.  He is the cowboy foreman of the Cross-Triangle Ranch, and won the championship in the bronco riding last year.”

“I don’t believe it—­you are making fun of me, Stanford Manning.”

Then, before he could answer, she cried, with quick excitement, “But, Stan, look!  Look at the girl in the automobile!  She looks like—­it is, Stan, it is!” And to the amazement of her husband and her friends Mrs. Manning sprang to her feet and, waving her handkerchief, called, “Kitty!  Oh, Kitty—­Kitty Reid!”

As her clear call rang out, many people turned to look, and then to smile at the picture, as she stood there in the bright Arizona day, so animated and wholesomely alive in the grace and charm of her beautiful young womanhood, above the little group of men who were looking up at her with laughing admiration.

On the other side of the street, where she sat with her parents and Professor Parkhill, talking to Phil, Kitty heard the call, and looked.  A moment later she was across the street, and the two young women were greeting each other with old-time schoolgirl enthusiasm.  Introductions and explanations followed, with frequent feminine exclamations of surprise and delight.  Then the men drew a little away, talking, laughing, as men will on such occasions, leaving the two women to themselves.

In that eastern school, which, for those three years, had been Kitty’s home, Helen Wakefield and the girl from Arizona had been close and intimate friends.  Indeed, Helen, with her strong womanly character and that rare gift of helpful sympathy and understanding, had been to the girl fresh from the cattle ranges more than a friend; she had been counsellor and companion, and, in many ways, a wise guardian and teacher.

“But why in the world didn’t you write me about it?” demanded Kitty a little later.  “Why didn’t you tell me that you had become Mrs. Stanford Manning, and that you were coming to Prescott?”

Helen laughed and blushed happily.  “Why, you see, Kitty, it all happened so quickly that there was no time to write.  You remember when I wrote you about Stan, I told you how poor he was, and how we didn’t expect to be married for several years?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, you see, Stan’s company, all unexpectedly to him, called him to New York and gave him this position out here.  He had to start at once, and wired me from New York.  Just think, I had only a week for the wedding and everything!  I knew, of course, that I could find you after I got here.”

“And now that you are here,” said Kitty decisively, “you and Mr. Manning are coming right out to Williamson Valley to spend your honeymoon on the ranch.”

But Helen shook her head.  “Stan has it all planned, Kitty, and he won’t listen to anything else.  There is a place around here somewhere that he calls Granite Basin, and he has it all arranged that we are to camp out there for three weeks.  His company has given him that much time, and we are going just as soon as this celebration is over.  After that, while Stan gets started with his work, and fixes some place for us to live, I will make you a little visit.”