Poor old Brigham! He never said what was in that letter from his girl, but Bowles knew he was wrestling with his problem. His carefree laugh was silenced for the time and, after cooking up a little food in the kitchen that stood next to the bunk-house, he had caught up a fresh mount and ridden off alone. The windmill man and the fence mender were out on their rounds, and Bowles was reading "The Winning of the Biscuit-shooter" and wondering if it was true, when a horse trotted into the yard. Presently he heard a saddle hit the ground, and the pasture gate swing to, and then there was a clank of spurs on the stoop. The door swung open, and as he glanced up from where he lay he saw Dixie Lee looking in at him. The instincts of a lifetime prompted Bowles to rise to his feet and bow, but other instincts were crowding in on him now, and he only nodded his head. The memory, perhaps, of a fake letter to Samuel Houghton gave color to his indifference, and for the first time in his life he gazed at her with a shadow of disapproval. She was glorious indeed to look upon; but it is the heart that counts, and Dixie had seemed a little unkind. So he lay there with the book before him, and waited for her to speak. It was the first time they had been alone together since he had left her at Chula Vista, and it was not his part to make advances after what she had told him then. As for Dixie, she seemed suddenly embarrassed and ill at ease, though she carried it off with her usual frontier recklessness. "Hello there, cowboy!" she said, dropping down on the steps. "Where'd you come from?" "I came from the upper water with Brig," answered Bowles, speaking for his part with decorous politeness. "We brought down a bunch of twos." A smile swept over Dixie Lee's face at this lapse into the vernacular, but she brushed it away as he frowned. "Bunch of twos, eh?" she repeated. "Say, you're getting to be a regular cowboy now, ain't you? "Where's Brig?" she inquired, when she saw that her remark displeased him; and once more he answered and fell silent. "He's a great fellow, old Brig," she went on, settling herself comfortably against the door-sill and indicating that the conversation was on; "you seem to be pretty thick with him!" "Yes," agreed Bowles, sitting up and laying his book aside; "I like Brigham very much." "He's a great fellow to tell stories," continued Dixie; "always talking and laughing, too--I never did see such a good-natured man." "Yes," assented Bowles a little doubtfully; "I guess he's awfully good-natured--but even fat folks have their troubles, you know." "Why, what's the matter with Brig? Has he run out of chewing tobacco?" "Well, no," said Bowles; "it's not that. I guess it's that letter you gave him."