“Lorry, we’re great friends, aren’t we?”

“You bet.  And I’d do most anything to make you happy.”

“But you don’t have to do anything to make me happy.  I am happy.  Aren’t you?”

“I aim to be.  But what makes you ask?”

“Oh, you looked so solemn a minute ago.  We’ll be just friends always, won’t we?”

“Just friends,” he echoed, “always.”

Her brown eyes grew big as he stooped and kissed her.  She had not expected that he would do that.

“Oh, I thought you liked me!” she said, clasping her hands.

Lorry bit his lips, and the hot flush died from his face.

“But I didn’t know that you cared—­like that!  I really don’t mind because you kissed me good-bye—­if it was just good-bye and nothing else.”  And she smiled a little timidly.

“I—­I reckon I was wrong,” he said, “for I was tryin’ not to kiss you.  If you say the word, I’ll ride back with you and tell your father.  I ain’t ashamed of it—­only if you say it was wrong.”

Dorothy had recovered herself.  A twinkle of fun danced in her eyes.  “I can’t scold you now.  You’re going away.  But when you get back—­” And she shook her finger at him and tried to look very grave, which made him smile.

“Then I’ll keep right on ridin’ south,” he said.

“But you’d get lonesome and come back to your hills.  I know!  And it’s awfully hot in the desert.”

“Would you be wantin’ me to come back?”

“Of course.  Father would miss you.”

[Illustration:  They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she had prepared] “And that would make you unhappy—­him bein’ lonesome, so I reckon I’ll come back.”

“I shall be very busy entertaining my guests,” she told him with a charming tilt of her chin.  And she straightway swung to the saddle.

Lorry started the pack-horses up the hill and mounted Gray Leg.  She sat watching him as he rode sideways gazing back at her.

As he turned to follow the pack-horses up the next ascent she called to him:—­

“Perhaps I won’t scold you when you come back.”

He laughed, and flung up his arm in farewell.  Dorothy reined Chinook round, and rode slowly down through the silent woodlands.

Her father came out and took her horse.  She told him of their most wonderful camp at the Big Spring.  Bronson smiled.

“And Lorry kissed me good-bye,” she concluded.  “Wasn’t it silly of him?”

Bronson glanced at her quickly.  “Do you really care for Lorry, Peter Pan?”

“Heaps!  He’s the nicest boy I ever met.  Why shouldn’t I?”

“There’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t.  But I thought you two were just friends.”

“Why, that’s what I said to Lorry.  Don’t look so mournful, daddy.  You didn’t think for a minute that I’d marry him, did you?”

“Of course not.  What would I do without you?”