“It's because I am alone, day after day, week in and week out,” she went on. “In a way, I don't mind it--under the circumstances I prefer to be alone, really. I mean, I wouldn't want any of my people near me. But one has too much time to think. I tell you this because I feel I ought to let you know that you were right that time; I don't suppose you even remember it! But I do. Once last fall--the first time you came to the ranch--you know, the time I met you at the spring, you seemed to see that this big, lonesome country was a little too much for me. I resented it then. I didn't want any one to tell me what I refused to admit to myself. I was trying so hard to like it--it seemed my only hope, you see. But now I'll tell you you were right. “Sometimes I feel very wicked about it. Sometimes I don't care. And sometimes I--I feel I shall go crazy if I can't talk to some one. Nobody comes here, except Polycarp Jenks. The only woman I know really well in the country is Arline Hawley. She's good as gold, but--she's intensely practical; you can't tell her your troubles--not unless they're concrete and have to do with your physical well-being. Arline lacks imagination.” She laughed again shortly. “I don't know why I'm taking it for granted you don't,” she said. “You think I'm talking pore nonsense, don't you, Mr. Cowboy?” She turned full toward him, and her yellow-brown eyes challenged him, begged him for sympathy and understanding, held him at bay--but most of all they set his blood pounding sullenly in his veins. He got unsteadily to his feet. “You seem to pass up a lot of things that count, or you wouldn't say that,” he reminded her huskily. “That night in town, just after the fire, for instance. And here, that same afternoon. I tried to jolly you out of feeling bad, both those times; but you know I understood. You know damn' _well_ I understood! And you know I was sorry. And if you don't know, I'd do anything on God's green earth--” He turned sharply away from her and stood kicking savagely backward at a clod with his rowel. Then he felt her hand touch his arm, and started. After that he stood perfectly still, except that he quivered like a frightened horse. “Oh, it doesn't mean much to you--you have your life, and you're a man, and can do things when you want to. But I do so need a friend! Just somebody who understands, to whom I can talk when that is the only thing will keep me sane. You saved my life once, so I feel--no, I don't mean that. It isn't because of anything you did; it's just that I feel I can talk to you more freely than to any one I know. I don't mean whine. I hope I'm not a whiner. If I've blundered, I'm willing to--to take my medicine, as you would say. But if I can feel that somewhere in this big, empty country just one person will always feel kindly toward me, and wish me well, and be sorry for we when I--when I'm miserable, and--” She could not go on. She pressed her lips together tightly, and winked back the tears.