"Do you know this is the loveliest vista I have seen since leaving Phoenix--this San Andreas Valley," said Bartley.
"But you came through the Apache Forest," said Dorothy, not for the sake of argument, but because Bartley was still holding her hand.
"Yes. But you don't happen to live in the Apache Forest."
"But, Mr. Bartley--"
"John, please."
"Cheyenne calls you Jack."
"Better still. Do you think Aunt Jane would mind if we walked up the road as far as--well, as far as the spring?"
"Hadn't you better ask her?"
"No. But she wouldn't object. Would you?"
Slowly Dorothy withdrew her hand and Bartley opened the big gate. As they walked down the dim, starlit road they were startled by the advent of a yellow dog that bounded from the brush and whined joyously.