“And what will become of him now?” asked the Dean.

Patches smiled.  “Why, the lad is twenty-one now, and we have agreed that it is about time that he began to make a man of himself—­I can help him a little, perhaps—­I have been trying occasionally the past year.  But you see the conditions have not been altogether favorable to the experiment.  It should be easy from now on.”

During the time that intervened before the trial of the Tailholt Mountain man, Phil and Patches re-established that intimate friendship of those first months of their work together.  Then came the evening when Phil went across the meadow to ask Jim Reid for his daughter.

The big cattleman looked at his young neighbor with frowning disapproval.

“It won’t do, Phil,” he said at last.  “I’m Kitty’s father, and it’s up to me to look out for her interests.  You know how I’ve educated her for something better than this life.  She may think now that she is willin’ to throw it all away, but I know better.  The time would come when she would be miserable.  It’s got to be somethin’ more than a common cow-puncher for Kitty, Phil, and that’s the truth.”

The cowboy did not argue.  “Do I understand that your only objection is based upon the business in which I am engaged?” he asked coolly.

Jim laughed.  “The business in which you are engaged?  Why, boy, you sound like a first national bank.  If you had any business of your own—­if you was the owner of an outfit, an’ could give Kitty the—­well—­the things her education has taught her to need, it would be different.  I know you’re a fine man, all right, but you’re only a poor cow-puncher just the same.  I’m speakin’ for your own good, Phil, as well as for Kitty’s,” he added, with an effort at kindliness.

“Then, if I had a good business, it would be different?”

“Yes, son, it would sure make all the difference in the world.”

“Thank you,” said the cowboy quietly, as he handed Mr. Reid a very legal looking envelope.  “I happen to be half owner of this ranch and outfit.  With my own property, it makes a fairly good start for a man of my age.  My partner, Mr. Lawrence Knight, leaves the active management wholly in my hands; and he has abundant capital to increase our holdings and enlarge our operations just as fast as we can handle the business.”

The big man looked from the papers to the lad, then back to the papers.  Then a broad smile lighted his heavy face, as he said, “I give it up—­you win.  You young fellers are too swift for me.  I’ve been wantin’ to retire anyway.”  He raised his voice and called, “Kitty—­oh, Kitty!”

The girl appeared in the doorway.

“Come and get him,” said Reid.  “I guess he’s yours.”

Helen Manning was sitting on the front porch of that little cottage on the mountain side where she and Stanford began their years of home-building.  A half mile below she could see the mining buildings that were grouped about the shaft in picturesque disorder.  Above, the tree-clad ridge rose against the sky.  It was too far from the great world of cities, some would have said, but Helen did not find it so.  With her books and her music, and the great out-of-doors; and with the companionship of her mate and the dreams they dreamed together, her woman heart was never lonely.