But you might happen to
be able to say the right word at the right time."
"I hardly took myself as seriously as that, in connection with
Cheyenne," declared Bartley. "I suppose, if I should saddle up and ride
south to-morrow, I might overtake him along the road, somewhere. He
travels slowly."
"But you won't go, just because I spoke as I did?"
"Not altogether because of that. I like Cheyenne."
Impetuously Dorothy stepped close to Bartley and laid her hand on his
arm. "I knew you were like that! And what does writing about people
amount to, when you can really do something for them? It isn't just
Cheyenne. There's Little Jim--"
"Yes. But where _is_ Little Jim?"
Dorothy called in her high, clear voice. There was no answering halloo.
"His horse is there. I can't understand--"
"I'll look around a bit," said Bartley. "He's probably ambushing us,
somewhere, and expects us to be tremendously surprised."
"I'll catch up my horse," said Dorothy. "No, you had better let me catch
him. He knows me."
And Dorothy stepped from the clearing round the spring and walked toward
the horses.
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