The Little Doctor's memory squirmed assentingly. “It's the tone he uses,” she said, reflectively. “The way he can say 'yes,' sometimes--” “You've bumped into that, huh? Bert Rogers lit into him with a tent peg once, for saying yes at him. They sure was busy for a few minutes. I just sat in the shade of a wagon wheel and laughed till I near cracked a rib. When they got through they laughed, too, and they played ten games uh pool together that night, and got--” Weary caught himself up suddenly. “Pool ain't any gambling game,” he hastened to explain. “It's just knocking balls into the pockets, innocent like, yuh see.” “Mr. Davidson, there's something I'd like to tell you about. Will you wait a few minutes more for your supper?” “Sure,” said Weary; wonderingly, and sat down upon the edge of the watering trough. The Little Doctor, her arms still around Silver's neck, told him all about “The Last Stand,” and “The Spoils of Victory,” and Chip, and Dunk, and herself. And Weary listened silently, digging little trenches in the hard soil with the rowels of his spurs, and, knowing Chip as he did, understanding the matter much better than did the Little Doctor. “And he doesn't seem to know that I never meant to claim the picture as my work, and I can't explain while he acts so--oh, you know how he can act. And Dunk wouldn't have sold the picture if he had known Chip painted it, and it was wrong, of course, but I did so want Chip to have some real encouragement so he would make that his life work. YOU know he is fitted for something better than cow-punching. And now the picture has made a hit and brought a good price, and he must own it. Dunk will be furious, of course, but that doesn't matter to me--it's Chip that I can't seem to manage.” Weary smiled queerly down at his spurs. “It's a cinch you could manage him, easy enough, if you took the right way to do it,” he said, quietly. “Probably the right way would be too much trouble,” said the Little Doctor, with her chin well up. “Once I get this picture deal settled satisfactorily, I'm quite willing to resign and let him manage himself. Senator Blake is coming to-morrow, and I'm so glad you will be here to help me.” “I'd sure like to see yuh through with the deal. Old Blake won't be hard to throw--I know him, and so does Chip. Didn't he tell yuh about it?” “Tell me!” flashed the Little Doctor. “I told him Senator Blake was coming, and that he wanted to buy the picture, and he just made him a cigarette and said, 'Ye--e-es?' And after that there wasn't any conversation of any description!” Weary threw back his head and laughed. “That sure sounds just like him,” he said, and at that minute Chip himself hobbled into the corral, and the Little Doctor hastened to leave it and retreat to the house. CHAPTER XVII. -- When a Maiden Wills.