"Is he the genuine article with a dragon on his blouse?" retorted Miss Asquith. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wagner." "Thanks; and, Chiquita, who would have thought it? You here, and, well, this beats me," turning to Jack, who was enjoying the scene. "My surprise I promised you," said he. "Surprise, well I should say so, sure as gun's made of iron, but tell me--" "I'll tell you myself," broke in Chiquita. "Yamanatz's daughter has been to college for the last six or eight years. Chiquita has adopted the life of her white sisters." She said it rather regretfully, Cal thought, but he replied: "The flower of the Utes is a daisy, sure as gun's made of iron." "Now, Mr. Wagner, that is not fair; you might have said something nice about me," playfully remarked Miss Asquith. "I suppose I never will be forgiven for such a lack of good manners," said Cal, continuing in that open-hearted off-hand way, "but let me tell you how I will even up. Tomorrow morning you shall ride that roan for me and the rest of us will trail along behind and take your dust, for that horse is a thoroughbred." Just then the dinner gong sounded. The party planned an outing at Horseshoe Falls, Chiquita and Miss Asquith, with Cal as escort, all mounted, while Jack and Hazel drove in the buckboard, carrying supplies and fishing tackle. Ten miles over a hard, sandy road, a couple of hours' fishing, lunch in camp fashion, then an hour's rest and return to the hotel. Miss Asquith was a trifle timid at first, but she was not a novice and soon proved well able to master her mount, although he was spirited and inclined to test his powers against all comers. But she could not catch trout. Cal, of course, found it necessary to spend most of his time extricating her line from the limbs of trees or driftwood in the stream and changing the flies. He showed her when and how to let the sombre hued gray hackle or gaudy "royal coachman" settle daintily along the riffle, or drop a "black gnat" from a bunch of grass on the opposite bank as though it was a sure enough bug. But the lady in search of a Chinaman could not hook the lord of the water. She was either too slow or too quick, and the exasperating ineffectual attempts to capture one _little one_ of the many that rose to the bait, took it with a rush only to drop it instantly, or the ones even darting out of the water as she lifted her flies too quickly, wore her patience to a frazzle. In fact, after losing one grand fellow that she had managed to hold for just an instant before he broke her leader, she was fairly upset and could not keep back the tears of disappointment.