No answer. The Little Doctor refused even to lift her lashes, which were wet and clung together in little groups of two or three. Chip also observed that there were suggestive streaks upon her cheeks--and not a sign of a dimple anywhere. He lifted one leg over the horn of the saddle to ease his ankle, which still pained him a little after a ride, and watched her a moment. “What's the matter, Doctor? Step on a cactus?” “Oh, no,” snapped the Doctor in a tone to take one's head off, “I didn't step on a cactus--I just walked all over acres and acres of them!” There was a suspicious gurgle from somewhere. The Little Doctor looked up. “Don't hesitate to laugh, Mr. Bennett, if you happen to feel that way!” Mr. Bennett evidently felt that way. He rocked in the saddle, and shouted with laughter. The Little Doctor stood this for as much as a minute. “Oh, no doubt it's very funny to set me afoot away off from everywhere--” Her voice quivered and broke from self-pity; her head bent lower over her shoe. Chip made haste to stifle his mirth, in fear that she was going to cry. He couldn't have endured that. He reached for his tobacco and began to make a cigarette. “I didn't set you afoot,” he said. “That was a bad break you made yourself. Why didn't you do as I told you--hang to the bridle and fight Denver off with your whip? You had one.” “Yes--and let him gnaw me!” Chip gurgled again, and drew the tobacco sack shut with his teeth. “He wouldn't 'gnaw' you--he wouldn't have come near you. He's whip trained. And I'd have been there myself in another minute.” “I didn't want you there! And I don't pretend to be a horse-trainer, Mr. Bennett. There's several things about your old ranch life that I don't know--and don't want to know! I'm going back to Ohio to-morrow, so there!” “Yes?” He drew a match sharply along his stamped saddle-skirt and applied it to the cigarette, pinched out the blaze with extreme care, and tossed the match-end facetiously against Concho's nose. He did not seem particularly alarmed at her threat--or, perhaps, he did not care. The Little Doctor prodded savagely at her shoe, too angry to see the thorn, and Chip drove another nail into his coffin with apparent relish, and watched her. After a little, he slid to the ground and limped over to her. “Here, give me that shoe; you'll have it all picked to pieces and not get the thorn, either. Where is it?” “IT?” sniffed the Little Doctor, surrendering the shoe with hypocritical reluctance. “It? There's a dozen, at the very least!” Chip emptied his lungs of smoke, and turned the shoe in his hands. “Oh, I guess not--there isn't room in this little bit of leather for a dozen. Two would be crowded.” “I detest flattery above all things!” But, being a woman, the brow of the Little Doctor cleared perceptibly. “Yes? You're just like me in that respect. I love the truth.”