The Little Doctor, her arms still around Silver's neck, told him all
about "The Last Stand," and "The Spoils of Victory," and Chip, and Dunk,
and herself. And Weary listened silently, digging little trenches in
the hard soil with the rowels of his spurs, and, knowing Chip as he did,
understanding the matter much better than did the Little Doctor.

"And he doesn't seem to know that I never meant to claim the picture
as my work, and I can't explain while he acts so--oh, you know how he
can act. And Dunk wouldn't have sold the picture if he had known Chip
painted it, and it was wrong, of course, but I did so want Chip to have
some real encouragement so he would make that his life work. YOU know
he is fitted for something better than cow-punching. And now the
picture has made a hit and brought a good price, and he must own it.
Dunk will be furious, of course, but that doesn't matter to me--it's
Chip that I can't seem to manage."

Weary smiled queerly down at his spurs.

"It's a cinch you could manage him, easy enough, if you took the right
way to do it," he said, quietly.

"Probably the right way would be too much trouble," said the Little
Doctor, with her chin well up. "Once I get this picture deal settled
satisfactorily, I'm quite willing to resign and let him manage himself.
Senator Blake is coming to-morrow, and I'm so glad you will be here to
help me."

"I'd sure like to see yuh through with the deal. Old Blake won't be hard
to throw--I know him, and so does Chip. Didn't he tell yuh about it?"