As they rode on, she explained the purpose of the drift fence, and how it came to an end so many miles away and so far from water that the cattle do not usually find their way around it.

"And now the magic!" he said. "You have made a most unreasonable, unconventional and altogether foolish fence appear reasonable, proper and perfectly sane. Please explain your coming with Snip to my relief."

"Which was also unreasonable, unconventional and altogether foolish?"

she questioned.

"Which was altogether wonderful, unexpected and delightful," he retorted.

"It is all perfectly simple," she explained. "Being rather--" She hesitated. "Well, rather sick of too much of nothing at all, you know, I went over to the Cross-Triangle right after dinner to visit a little with Stella--professionally."

"Professionally?" he asked.

She nodded brightly. "For the good of my soul. Stella's a famous soul doctor. The best ever except one, and she lives far away--away back east in Cleveland, Ohio."

"Yes, I know her, too," he said gravely.

And while they laughed at the absurdity of his a.s.sertion, they did not know until long afterward how literally true it was.

"Of course, I knew about you," she continued. "Phil told me how you tried to ride that unbroken horse, the last time he was at our house.

Phil thinks you are quite a wonderful man."

"No doubt," said Patches mockingly. "I must have given a remarkable exhibition on that occasion." He was wondering just how much Phil had told her.

"And so, you see," she continued, "I couldn't very well help being interested in the welfare of the stranger who had come among us.

Besides, our traditional western hospitality demanded it; don't you think?"

"Oh, certainly, certainly. You could really do nothing less than inquire about me," he agreed politely.

"And so, you see, Stella quite restored my soul health; or at least afforded me temporary relief."

He met the quizzing, teasing, laughing look in her eyes blankly. "You are making fun of me again," he said humbly. "I know I ought to laugh at myself, but--"

"Why, don't you understand?" she cried. "Dr. Stella administered a generous dose of talk about the only new thing that has happened in this neighborhood for months and months and months."

"Meaning me?" he asked.

"Well, are you not?" she retorted.

"I guess I am," he smiled. "Well, and then what?"

"Why, then I came away, feeling much better, of course."

"Yes?"

"I was feeling so much better I decided I would go home a roundabout way; perhaps to the top of Black Hill; perhaps up Horse Wash, where I might meet father, who would be on his way home from Fair Oaks where he went this morning."

"I see."

"Well, so I met Snip, who was on his way to the Cross-Triangle. I knew, of course, that old Snip would be your horse." She smiled, as though to rob her words of any implied criticism of his horsemanship.

"Exactly," he agreed understandingly.

"And I was afraid that something might have happened; though I couldn't see how that could be, either, with Snip. And so I caught him--"

He interrupted eagerly. "How?"

"Why, with my riata," she returned, in a matter-of-fact tone, wondering at his question.

"You caught my horse with your riata?" he repeated slowly.

"And pray how should I have caught him?" she asked.

"But--but, didn't he _run_?"

She laughed. "Of course he ran. They all do that once they get away from you. But Snip never could outrun my Midnight," she retorted.

He shook his head slowly, looking at her with frank admiration, as though, for the first time, he understood what a rare and wonderful creature she was.

"And you can ride and rope like that?" he said doubtfully.

She flushed hotly, and there was a spark of fire in the brown eyes. "I suppose you are thinking that I am coa.r.s.e and mannish and all that," she said with spirit. "By your standards, Mr. Patches, I should have ridden back to the house, screaming, ladylike, for help."

"No, no," he protested. "That's not fair. I was thinking how wonderful you are. Why, I would give--what wouldn't I give to be able to do a thing like that!"

There was no mistaking his earnestness, and Kitty was all sunshine again, pardoning him with a smile.

"You see," she explained, "I have always lived here, except my three years at school. Father taught me to use a riata, as he taught me to ride and shoot, because--well--because it's all a part of this life, and very useful sometimes; just as it is useful to know about hotels and time-tables and taxicabs, in that other part of the world."

"I understand," he said gently. "It was stupid of me to notice it. I beg your pardon for interrupting the story of my rescue. You had just roped Snip while he was doing his best to outrun Midnight--simple and easy as calling a taxi--'Number Two Thousand Euclid Avenue, please'--and there you are."

"Oh, do you know Cleveland?" she cried.

For an instant he was confused. Then he said easily, "Everybody has heard of the famous Euclid Avenue. But how did you guess where Snip had left me?"

"Why, Stella had told me that you were riding the drift fence," she answered, tactfully ignoring the evasion of her question. "I just followed the fence. So there was no magic about it at all, you see."

"I'm not so sure about the magic," he returned slowly.

"This is such a wonderful country--to me--that one can never be quite sure about anything. At least, I can't. But perhaps that's because I am such a new thing."

"And do you like it?" she asked, frankly curious about him.

"Like being a new thing?" he parried. "Yes and No."

"I mean do you like this wonderful country, as you call it?"

"I admire the people who belong to it tremendously," he returned. "I never met such men before--or such women," he finished with a smile.

"But, do you like it?" she persisted. "Do you like the life--your work--would you be satisfied to live here always?"