“No, I don't!” Still without looking at him, she tied her shoelaces with an impatient twitch that came near breaking them, and walked haughtily to where Concho stood dutifully waiting. With an impulsive movement, she threw her arms around his neck, and hid her hot face against his scanty mane. A pair of arms clad in pink-and-white striped sleeves went suddenly about her. Her clasp on Concho loosened and she threw back her head, startled--to be still more startled at the touch of lips that were curved and thin and masterful. The arms whirled her about and held her against a heart which her trained senses knew at once was beating very irregularly. “You--you ought to be ashamed!” she asserted feebly, at last. “I'm not, though.” The arms tightened their clasp a little. “You--you don't SEEM to be,” admitted the Little Doctor, meekly. For answer he kissed her hungrily--not once, but many times. “Aren't you going to let me go?” she demanded, afterward, but very faintly. “No,” said he, boldly. “I'm going to keep you--always.” There was conviction in the tone. She stood silent a minute, listening to his heart and her own, and digesting this bit of news. “Are you--quite sure about--that?” she asked at length. “I'd tell a man! Unless”--he held her off and looked at her--“you don't like me. But you do, don't you?” His eyes were searching her face. The Little Doctor struggled to release herself from the arms which held her unyieldingly and tenderly. Failing this, she raised her eyes to the white silk handkerchief knotted around his throat; to the chin; to the lips, wistful with their well defined curve; to the eyes, where they lingered shyly a moment, and then looked away to the horizon. “Don't you like me? Say!” He gave her a gentle shake. “Ye--er-it doesn't seem to matter, whether I do or not,” she retorted with growing spirit--witness the dimple dodging into her cheek. “Yes, it does--it matters a whole heap. You've dealt me misery ever since I first set eyes on you--and I believe, on my soul, you liked to watch me squirm! But you do like me, don't you?” “I--I'd tell a man!” said she, and immediately hid a very red face from sight of him. Concho turned his head and gazed wonderingly upon the two. What amazed him was to see Chip kissing his mistress again and again, and to hear the idolatrous tone in which he was saying “MY Little Doctor!” THE END. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Chip, of the Flying U, by B. M. Bower