It was a good old world and a pleasant, and Chip had no present quarrel with fate--or with anybody else. That was why he whistled. Then voices reached him through the open door, and a laugh--HER laugh. Chip smiled sympathetically, though he had not the faintest notion of the cause of her mirth. As the voices drew nearer, the soft, smooth, hated tones of Dunk Whitaker untangled from the Little Doctor's laugh, and Chip stopped whistling. Dunk was making a good, long stay of it this time; usually he came one day and went the next, and no one grieved at his departure. “You find them an entirely new species, of course. How do you get on with them?” said Dunk. And the Little Doctor answered him frankly and distinctly: “Oh, very well, considering all things. They furnish me with some amusement, and I give them something quite new to talk about, so we are quits. They are a good-hearted lot, you know--but SO ignorant! I don't suppose--” The words trailed into an indistinct murmur, punctuated by Dunk's jarring cackle. Chip did not resume his whistling, though he might have done so if he had heard a little more, or a little less. As a matter of fact, it was the Densons, and the Pilgreens, and the Beckmans that were under discussion, and not the Flying U cowboys, as Chip believed. He no longer smiled sympathetically. “We furnish her with some amusement, do we? That's good! We're a good-hearted lot, but SO ignorant! The devil we are!” He struck the rivet such a blow that he snapped one shank of his spur short off. This meant ten or twelve dollars for a new pair--though the cost of it troubled him little, just then. It was something tangible upon which to pour profanity, however, and the atmosphere grew sulphurous in the vicinity of the blacksmith shop and remained so for several minutes, after which a tall, irate cow-puncher with his hat pulled low over angry eyes left the shop and strode up the path to the deserted bunk house. He did not emerge till the Old Man called to him to ride down to Benson's after one of the Flying U horses which had broken out of the pasture. Della was looking from the window when Chip rode up the hill upon the “coulee trail,” which passed close by the house. She was tired of the platitudes of Dunk, who, trying to be both original and polished, fell far short of being either and only succeeded in being extremely tiresome. “Where's Chip going, J. G.?” she demanded, in a proprietary tone. “Down t' Benson's after a horse.” J. G. spoke lazily, without taking his pipe from his mouth. “Oh, I wish I could go--I wonder if he'd care.” The Little Doctor spoke impulsively as was her habit. “'Course he wouldn't. Hey, Chip! Hold on a minute!” The Old Man stood waving his pipe in the doorway. Chip jerked his horse to a stand-still and half turned in the saddle. “What?”