“You take his side because of that letter,” Tavia said accusingly. “Well, if _that’s_ the idea, here’s another letter from Lance!” and she opened her bag and produced an envelope on which appeared the cowboy’s scrawling handwriting. Dorothy knew it well. “Oh, Tavia!” “Don’t ‘Oh, Tavia’ me!” exclaimed the other girl, her eyes bright with anger. “Nobody has a right to choose my correspondents for me.” “You know that all the matter is with Nat, he is jealous,” Dorothy said frankly. “What right has he to be?” demanded Tavia in a hard voice, but looking away quickly. “Dear,” said Dorothy softly, laying her hand on Tavia’s arm, “he told me he—he asked you to marry him.” “He never!” “But you knew that was what he meant,” Dorothy said shrewdly. Tavia was silent, and her friend went on to say: “You know he thinks the world of you, dear. If he didn’t he would not have been angered. And I do think—considering everything—that you ought not to continue to let that fellow out West write to you——” Tavia turned on her with hard, flashing eyes. She held out the letter, saying in a voice quite different from her usual tone: “I want you to read this letter—but only on condition that you say nothing to Nat White about it, not a word! Do you understand, Dorothy Dale?” “No,” said Dorothy, wondering. “I do _not_ understand.” “You understand that I am binding you to secrecy, at least,” Tavia continued in the same tone. “Why—yes—_that_,” admitted her friend. “Very well, then, read it,” said Tavia and turned to look out of the window while Dorothy withdrew the closely written, penciled pages from the envelope and unfolded them. In a moment Dorothy cried aloud: “Oh, Tavia! you wrote him about Mr. Knapp!” “Yes,” said Tavia. “Oh, my dear! is _that_ why he wrote you the other time? Of course! And he says he can’t find him. Dimples Knapp he calls him. Oh, my dear!” “Well,” said Tavia, in the same gruff voice. “Read on.” She did not turn from the window. “Oh, Tavia!” Dorothy said in a moment or two. “Those men are out there buying up wheat lands—Stiffbold and Lightly. Lance says he has met them.” “I am afraid your friend, ‘Garry Owen,’ will be beat,” said Tavia, shrugging her shoulders. “Do you see what Lance says next?” “He thinks he may get word of this Knapp he knows in a few days. Thinks he may be working for a man named Robert Douglas. Oh, Tavia! Of course he is! That is the name of his employer!” But Tavia displayed very little interest. “I had forgotten,” she said. “Bob Douglas! Of course you remember! And Lance says he’ll get word to him and tip him off, as he calls it, about the land-sharks. Oh, Tavia!” Her friend still looked out of the window. Dorothy shook her by the elbow, staring at the written lines of Lance Petterby’s letter. “What does this mean?” she demanded. “‘Sue sends her best, and so does Ma.’ Who is Sue?” “Why, that is Mrs. Petterby, the younger,” drawled Tavia, flashing a glance at Dorothy. “Married?” gasped Dorothy.