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,