“Oh, I can eat 'most any old thing,” he assured her, with calm effrontery. “You look as if you'd learn easy, and Man ain't the worst cook I ever ate after. If he's trained you faithful, maybe it'll be safe to take a change. How _about_ that? Can you make sour-dough bread yet?” “No!” she flung the word at him. “And I don't want to learn,” she added, at the expense of her dignity. Kent shook his head disapprovingly. “That sure ain't the proper spirit to show,” he commented. “Man must have to beat you up a good deal, if you talk back to _him_ that way.” He eyed her sidelong. “You're a real little wolf, aren't you?” He shook his head again solemnly, and sighed. “A fellow sure must build himself lots of trouble when he annexes a wife--a wife that won't learn to make sour-dough bread, and that talks back. I'm plumb sorry for Man. We used to be pretty good friends--” He stopped short, his face contrite. Val was looking away, and she was winking very fast. Also, her lips were quivering unmistakably, though she was biting them to keep them steady. Kent stared at her helplessly. “Say! I never thought you'd mind a little joshing,” he said gently, when the silence was growing awkward. “I ought to be killed! You--you must get awful lonesome--” She turned her face toward him quickly, as if he were the first person who had understood her blank loneliness. “That,” she told him, in an odd, hesitating manner, “atones for the--the 'joshing.' No one seems to realize--” “Why don't you get out and ride around, or do something beside stick right here in this coulee like a--a cactus?” he demanded, with a roughness that somehow was grateful to her. “I'll bet you haven't been a mile from the ranch since Man brought you here. Why don't you go to town with him when he goes? It'd be a whole lot better for you--for both of you. Have you got acquainted with any of the women here yet? I'll gamble you haven't!” He was waving the handkerchief gently like a flag, to dry it. Val watched him; she had never seen any one hold a handkerchief by the corners and wave it up and down like that for quick drying, and the expedient interested her, even while she was wondering if it was quite proper for him to lecture her in that manner. His scolding was even more confusing than his teasing. “I've been down to the river twice,” she defended weakly, and was angry with herself that she could not find words with which to quell him. “Really?” He down at her indulgently. “How did you ever manage to get so far? It must be all of half a mile!” “Oh, you're perfectly horrible!” she flashed suddenly. “I don't see how it can possibly concern you whether I go anywhere or not.” “It does, though. I'm a lot public-spirited. I hate to see taxes go up, and every lunatic that goes to the asylum costs the State just that much more. I don't know an easier recipe for going crazy than just to stay off alone and think. It's a fright the way it gets sheep-herders, and such.” “I'm _such_, I suppose!”