JACK ROVER is a great boy,” said Dick Willoughby to Lieutenant Munson as the two rode off at a leisurely pace toward the group of ranch buildings peeping through a clump of trees at the edge of the foothills. “A type of Western character,” replied Munson, “that in a way is quite new to me. And yet, do you know, I rather like this Western atmosphere.” “Like it!” exclaimed Dick. “Why, man, it is the atmosphere in which to live, move and have one’s being.” They both laughed at his enthusiasm. “Really,” continued Dick, soberly, “I would not live another year in New York City for all the property fronting on the Circle, the coming centre of old Gotham. Out here a man is a man for what he is worth. You grow bigger, you think broader thoughts, you are not confined to following precedents or taking orders from the man higher up.” “Oh, I know,” replied Munson, “or at least I am beginning to understand something of what you mean. I have only been here ten days and I am already feeling loath to return to my post.” “Ches,” exclaimed Dick, turning abruptly and facing his companion, “give it all up, old fellow, and come and live in this glorious country—California! There’s music in the very name. It is the land of sunshine, of fruits and flowers, and of pretty girls into the bargain.” “You keep telling me of the pretty girls, but when am I to see them?” questioned Munson. “If you have any real senoritas who will cause a fellow to forsake his Eastern home and send in his resignation to army headquarters, let me get a peep at them.” Again they both laughed, this time at the challenge in Munson’s words. “All right,” said Dick, “you shall see them. And, by the way, don’t you remember that this is the very day we have arranged to call on Mrs. Darlington at the Rancho La Siesta? It is a beautiful place, this little rancho, and Mrs. Darlington you will find to be a most admirable woman. But just wait until you see Grace Darlington.” “How about Miss Farnsworth?” “Not for you, old man,” replied the other quickly, reddening at the temples. “Not as long as my name is Dick Willoughby—providing, you understand, always providing that I shall prove successful in my wooing.” “Is it as bad as that, Dick?” “Well,”—his laughing tone was only a mask to deeper feelings—“I cannot deny that I am pretty hard hit.” “My, but you do whet my impatience,” said the lieutenant. “And I am about as anxious to be paying that afternoon call as I am to have my breakfast. I don’t know how you feel, Dick, but I’m as hungry as a lean coyote.” He paused a moment, then asked in a musing tone: “How far away is this wonderful La Siesta Rancho?” “Oh, only about twenty miles.” “Twenty miles! You speak of miles out here in the same way as we speak of city blocks back in New York. Surely it must be quite a farm.”