“When’s Ryan goin’ to dip?” asked Hutter.

“Today or tomorrow,” replied Stanton.

“Reckon we ought to ride over,” went on Hutter.  “Say, Glenn, do you reckon Miss Carley could stand a sheep-dip?”

This was spoken in a low tone, scarcely intended for Carley, but she had keen ears and heard distinctly.  Not improbably this sheep-dip was what Flo meant as the worst to come.  Carley adopted a listless posture to hide her keen desire to hear what Glenn would reply to Hutter.

“I should say not!” whispered Glenn, fiercely.

“Cut out that talk.  She’ll hear you and want to go.”

Whereupon Carley felt mount in her breast an intense and rebellious determination to see a sheep-dip.  She would astonish Glenn.  What did he want, anyway?  Had she not withstood the torturing trot of the hardest-gaited horse on the range?  Carley realized she was going to place considerable store upon that feat.  It grew on her.

When the consultation of the men ended, Lee Stanton turned to Flo.  And Carley did not need to see the young man look twice to divine what ailed him.  He was caught in the toils of love.  But seeing through Flo Hutter was entirely another matter.

“Howdy, Lee!” she said, coolly, with her clear eyes on him.  A tiny frown knitted her brow.  She did not, at the moment, entirely approve of him.

“Shore am glad to see you, Flo,” he said, with rather a heavy expulsion of breath.  He wore a cheerful grin that in no wise deceived Flo, or Carley either.  The young man had a furtive expression of eye.

“Ahuh!” returned Flo.

“I was shore sorry about—­about that—­” he floundered, in low voice.

“About what?”

“Aw, you know, Flo.”

Carley strolled out of hearing, sure of two things—­that she felt rather sorry for Stanton, and that his course of love did not augur well for smooth running.  What queer creatures were women!  Carley had seen several million coquettes, she believed; and assuredly Flo Hutter belonged to the species.

Upon Carley’s return to the cabin she found Stanton and Flo waiting for her to accompany them on a ride up the foothill.  She was so stiff and sore that she could hardly mount into the saddle; and the first mile of riding was something like a nightmare.  She lagged behind Flo and Stanton, who apparently forgot her in their quarrel.

The riders soon struck the base of a long incline of rocky ground that led up to the slope of the foothill.  Here rocks and gravel gave place to black cinders out of which grew a scant bleached grass.  This desert verdure was what lent the soft gray shade to the foothill when seen from a distance.  The slope was gentle, so that the ascent did not entail any hardship.  Carley was amazed at the length of the slope, and also to see how high over the desert she was getting.  She felt lifted out of a monotonous level.  A green-gray league-long cedar forest extended down toward Oak Creek.  Behind her the magnificent bulk of the mountains reached up into the stormy clouds, showing white slopes of snow under the gray pall.