"But why rent a place, if you plan to leave it right away?"
"Because I should want a home to come to, a place to think of when I was on the trails. You know a fellow can't wander up and down the world forever. I like to travel, but I think a chap ought to spend at least half a year under a roof. Don't you?"
"I was thinking of Cheyenne," said Dorothy musingly.
"I think of him a great deal," declared Bartley.
Dorothy glanced up at him from her pondering.
Bartley leaned toward her. "Dorothy, will you help me make that home, here in the valley, and be my comrade on the trails?"
"Hadn't you better ask Aunt Jane?" said Dorothy softly, yet with a touch of humor.
"Do you mean it?" Bartley's voice was boyishly enthusiastic, like the voice of a chum, a hearty comrade. "But how about your own folks?"
Dorothy's answer was not given then and there, in words. Nor yet by gesture, nor in any visible way--there being no moon that early in the evening. After a brief interval--or, at least, it seemed brief--they rose and strolled back down the road, the yellow dog padding faithfully at their heels. Presently--
"Hey, Dorry!" came in a shrill voice.