“Oh, I did not say that. It would be unjust. You can’t help being little,” she was pleased to say, and I swear I heard the chuckle in her voice. “Any more than you can help being offensive when you are in the humor.” “Don’t take it so to heart. You may grow yet. You are very young, you know.” “Perhaps I am _de trop_. Very likely you were looking for somebody else when you came galloping down the hill,” I said sulkily. “I was looking for a man.” Her casual eye swept the valley. Tavis Q. Damron really did not appear to be on the map. “I am certain you will not have to look long,” I assured her with excessive politeness. “Thank you.” She glanced scornfully at me. “I suppose you mean that for a compliment? I think it impertinent, if you want to know.” It was odd how we had almost forgotten the presence of our friend in corduroys; yet not so strange either, for he looked the picture of awkward indecision, much more the detected schoolboy than the “bad man” bandit. His fat, red hand, wandering restlessly about, included us in its orbit. “I say, my man! Put up that gun! You make me nervous,” I barked. “It might go off again accidentally,” suggested Miss Gray derisively. “We can’t risk Mr. Damron’s fainting. I suppose you have no restoratives with you, Mr. Corduroy?” There came a shout from the cliff five hundred feet above. A man standing on the edge was beckoning to us. “Somebody appears to want us to come and to share his beautiful view,” I said. Corduroy’s indecision came to an end. “I guess we better be going back, Miss.” “I thought I understood her to say she did not care to go back,” I said, eyeing him steadily. Corduroy shifted uneasily. “She hadn’t any call to run away. Her father’s up there.” “He’s a prisoner,” explained Miss Gray. I gasped. “A prisoner?” “Yes. Mr. Halloway is keeping him on that cliff and won’t let him leave,” she said, quite calmly. “Halloway! Bob Halloway?” She nodded defiantly. “Yes, Bob Halloway.” “But—why, the thing is impossible.” “Isn’t it ridiculous?” She gave a sudden charming smile. “I didn’t know the West was so delightfully primitive.” “Surely one can’t hold up a copper king in that primeval fashion. It has to be done on Wall street.” Reflecting on Simon Gray’s probable reflections, I smiled. Immediately I regretted my indiscretion. The study of Miss Gray’s moods was a continual education. They were teaching me just now that she might laugh at that which I might not. “Isn’t it humorous?” said Miss Gray, a little too sweetly. “Don’t let me curb your gayety. He’s only my father.” Instantly I switched the indecorous mirth from my face. “I don’t see how he dares,” I murmured, to bridge the pause. “Dares! I thought you knew Bob Halloway better,” she said scornfully. “He dares anything.”