Alan Howard’s sudden call:  ‘Can I come in now, folks?’ from across a brief space of sand and brush, found Professor Longstreet on his knees feeding twigs to a tiny blaze, and hastened Helen through the final touches of her dressing.  Helen was humming softly to herself, her back to him, her mind obviously concentrated upon the bread she was slicing, when the stranger swung down from his saddle and came forward.  He stood a moment just behind her, looking at her with very evident interest in his eyes.

‘How do you like our part of the world?’ he asked friendliwise.

Helen ignored him briefly.  Had Mr. Alan Howard been a bashful young man of the type that reddens and twists its hat in big nervous hands and looks guilty in general.  Miss Helen Longstreet would have been swiftly all that was sweet and kind to him.  Now, however, from some vague reason or clouded instinct, she was prepared to be as stiff as the fanged stalk of a cactus.  Having ignored him the proper length of time, she replied coolly: 

’Father and I are very much pleased with the desert country.  But, may I ask just why you speak of it as your part of the world rather than ours?  Are we trespassing, pray?’ The afterthought was accompanied by an upflashing look that was little less than outright challenge.

‘Trespassing?  Lord, no,’ conceded Howard heartily.  ’The land is wide, the trail open at both ends.  But you know what I meant.’

Helen shrugged and laid aside the half-loaf.  Since she gave him no answer, Howard went on serenely: 

’I mean a man sort of acquires a feeling of ownership in the place in which he has lived a long time.  You and your father are Eastern, not Western.  If I came tramping into your neck of the woods—­you see I call it yours.  Right enough, too, don’t you think, professor?’

‘In a way of speaking, yes,’ answered the professor.  ’In another way, no.  We have given up the old haunts and the old way of living.  We are rather inclined, my dear young sir, to look upon this as our country, too.’

‘Bully for you!’ cried Howard warmly.  ‘You’re sure welcome.’  His eyes came back from the father to rest upon the daughter’s bronze tresses.  ‘Welcome as a water-hole in a hot land,’ he added emphatically.

‘Speaking of water-holes,’ suggested Longstreet, sitting back upon his boot heels in a manner to suggest the favourite squatting position of the cowboys of whom he and his daughter had seen much during these last few weeks, ‘was it you who made camp right over yonder?’ He pointed.

Helen looked up curiously for Howard’s answer and thus met the eyes he had not withdrawn from her.  He smiled at her, a frank, open sort of smile, and thereafter turned to his questioner.

‘When?’ he asked briefly.

‘Last night.  Just before we came.’

‘What makes you think some one made camp there?’

‘There was a fire; bacon was frying, coffee boiling.’