"I'll shoulder the blame--and maybe claim the glory. It was mine in the
first place, you know." She watched him from under her lashes.

"Yes, it's yours, all right," said Chip, readily, but something went
out of his face and lodged rather painfully in the deepest corner of
his heart. He ignored it proudly and smiled back at her.

"Do such things really happen, out here?" she asked, hurriedly.

"I'd tell a man!" said Chip, his eyes returning to the picture. "I was
riding through that country last winter, and I came upon that very cow,
just as you see her there, in that same basin. That's how I came to
paint it into your foreground; I got to thinking about it, and I couldn't
help trying to put it on canvas. Only, I opened up on the wolves with
my six-shooter, and I got two; that big fellow ready to howl, there,
and that one next the cut-bank. The rest broke out down the coulee
and made for the breaks, where I couldn't follow. They--"

"Say? Old Dunk's comin'," announced Johnny, hurrying in. "Why don't
yuh let 'im see the pitcher an' think all the time the Little Doctor
done it? Gee, it'd be great t' hear 'im go on an' praise it up, like
he always does, an' not know the diffrunce."

"Johnny, you're a genius," cried she, effusively. "Don't tell a soul
that Chip had a brush in his hand yesterday, will you? He--he'd rather
not have anyone know he did anything to the painting, you see."

"Aw, I won't tell," interrupted Johnny, gruffly, eying his divinity
with distrust for the first time in his short acquaintance with her.
Was she mean enough to claim it really? Just at first, as a joke,