"By lying too long in one position," he replied, unconsciously emulating her flippancy. "Dear me! Why didn't you try some other sort of lie?" "Because I was pinned down to the original statement by a ton of rock." "I should have thought that the noise would have waked you up." "That remark is a trifle too subtle for my dull wits." "I watched you strolling about this morning, and decided that you were walking in your sleep." "You shouldn't jump at conclusions. If I judged you by your pointed style of speech, I might regard you as a new species of porcupine." "Good!" she said approvingly. "I was sure we'd become friends. I wish my father knew you. He would like you." "Taking a line through you, may I say that the liking would be mutual?" "Are you, by any chance, thinking of visiting Patagonia?" "No," he said. For some reason, hard to define, he was convinced that Patagonia, though reported barren, would prove a rather unsuitable place for an anchorite. "Are you interested in mines?" she inquired, after a pause. "Yes." "What sort of mines, copper or silver?" "Neither." "Really, you are most informing." "I beg your pardon," he said hurriedly. "My mind wandered for the moment. I was thinking how extraordinary it was that a young lady should hit on my profession so promptly." "No marvel at all. Rocks fall mostly on miners." "An excellent example of ratiocinative reasoning." "Don't imagine you can crush me with a word weighing a ton. Dad and I practise them on each other. They keep our brains from rusting, a common enough process on a ranch. Have you ever lived on one?" He stirred uneasily. Evidently, Patagonia shared certain characteristics with Colorado. Those absurdly shrewd eyes of hers missed nothing. "Have I stuck another quill into you?" she went on. "If so, it was an involuntary effort." "As it happens, I do live--I mean, I have lived--on a ranch. I own one; but it contains a gold mine. So, you see, your divination is almost uncanny." "I am still guessing why you are coming to South America. Don't tell me if you prefer to make a mystery of your intentions." "Will you be vexed if I avail myself of your offer, and remain silent?" "Vexed? I shall be delighted. It is a positive joy to meet a man who had rather appear uncivil than coin a polite fib. The most truthful of men lie glibly to girls. They think it is good for us. Now, I regard you as a person who hates deceit in either man or woman." He turned and stared at her fixedly. "May I ask how old you are?" he said abruptly. "Nineteen." "You talk like a woman of forty, and a wise one at that." "I was grown-up at seven. At twelve I got that crack on the head I told you of last night, when our homestead was attacked and burnt by drunken Indians----" "Are there Indians of that sort in Patagonia?" he broke in.