“Isn't it? But it just makes me feel that way. It's brave. Now the houses and streets and things in the city aren't brave. But this is. I don't know why. It just is.” “By golly, I think you're right,” he exclaimed. “It strikes me that way, now you speak of it. They ain't no games or tricks here, no cheatin' an' no lyin'. Them trees just stand up natural an' strong an' clean like young boys their first time in the ring before they've learned its rottenness an' how to double-cross an' lay down to the bettin' odds an' the fight-fans. Yep; it is brave. Say, Saxon, you see things, don't you?” His pause was almost wistful, and he looked at her and studied her with a caressing softness that ran through her in resurgent thrills. “D'ye know, I'd just like you to see me fight some time--a real fight, with something doin' every moment. I'd be proud to death to do it for you. An' I'd sure fight some with you lookin' on an' understandin'. That'd be a fight what is, take it from me. An' that's funny, too. I never wanted to fight before a woman in my life. They squeal and screech an' don't understand. But you'd understand. It's dead open an' shut you would.” A little later, swinging along the flat of the valley, through the little clearings of the farmers and the ripe grain-stretches golden in the sunshine, Billy turned to Saxon again. “Say, you've ben in love with fellows, lots of times. Tell me about it. What's it like?” She shook her head slowly. “I only thought I was in love--and not many times, either--” “Many times!” he cried. “Not really ever,” she assured him, secretly exultant at his unconscious jealousy. “I never was really in love. If I had been I'd be married now. You see, I couldn't see anything else to it but to marry a man if I loved him.” “But suppose he didn't love you?” “Oh, I don't know,” she smiled, half with facetiousness and half with certainty and pride. “I think I could make him love me.” “I guess you sure could,” Billy proclaimed enthusiastically. “The trouble is,” she went on, “the men that loved me I never cared for that way.--Oh, look!” A cottontail rabbit had scuttled across the road, and a tiny dust cloud lingered like smoke, marking the way of his flight. At the next turn a dozen quail exploded into the air from under the noses of the horses. Billy and Saxon exclaimed in mutual delight. “Gee,” he muttered, “I almost wisht I'd ben born a farmer. Folks wasn't made to live in cities.” “Not our kind, at least,” she agreed. Followed a pause and a long sigh. “It's all so beautiful. It would be a dream just to live all your life in it. I'd like to be an Indian squaw sometimes.” Several times Billy checked himself on the verge of speech. “About those fellows you thought you was in love with,” he said finally. “You ain't told me, yet.” “You want to know?” she asked. “They didn't amount to anything.” “Of course I want to know. Go ahead. Fire away.” “Well, first there was Al Stanley--”