“Mr. West. But—but,” she added hesitatingly, “you do not look one bit as I—” West’s lips parted in a smile as he replied, “Had you expected to see me with a blanket on and a feather in my hair? I hope you are not greatly disappointed.” For a moment she was nonplussed. “Oh, no! But you are different somehow, and if there is any disappointment it is a happy one.” “Thank you, Miss Fletcher,” came in a low and almost inaudible voice. James had been listening with interest. “I guess I had impressed her that you looked more like—” he floundered and ended tactlessly, “well, like me, than an Indian, Henry.” The “breed’s” eyes closed spasmodically and his teeth shut hard before he replied. “Jim, sometimes I feel that I could willingly be skinned alive, if it would make me—like you.” Never before in all their relationship had this outburst of confidence escaped him; yet here in the presence of this beautiful, fair woman, his usual reticence and reserve for the moment left him, and the secret desire of his heart and soul escaped his lips. Angry at his loss of control, he turned and said, “I had entirely forgotten the horses. We came at a pretty swift pace from Polson. I would have reached here before train-time, but Eagle got a stone in his shoe, and I had the devil’s own time getting it out. I must go and attend to their beds and supper.” With this he stepped out into the gloom. Bess had gone into the house and was standing warming herself near the stove before her brother also entered and with a shiver hastened to the fire. “Oh, Jim, isn’t he just splendid!” cried the girl. “I had no idea there were such men as he away out here in the West! No wonder you rave over him and always sing his praises.” “Do you know, Bess, if he were my own brother I could not honor and love him more. At college he was so superior in mind, ability, and morals to the majority of his colleagues, that everyone looked up to him. He was one of them and no gathering was quite complete without Henry West. I never thought of him as an Indian, and anyway—that is his greatest charm. Whatever else he may be, he certainly is a gentleman.” Bess threw her arms impulsively about his neck. Then, “Good night, dearie, I am half jealous of him already. Tell him good-night for me. I want to retire so as to be up for our early start in the morning. I am tired, more tired than I knew. Don’t stay up late. You must be worn out. Brother, I believe I love this new, strange land!” With a kiss she left him and went to her room. Hastily undressing, she was soon ready for bed. Going to the window she put up the shade, and placing her hands between her brow and the window she peered into the night. Her bosom stirred with a tremor of excitement as she whispered, “The West! The mysterious West! And he—Henry West.” She flung the window wide open, and hastily getting into bed was soon asleep. CHAPTER III HENRY WEST’S IDEAL