called her "My dear young lady." After the first ten minutes, the
Little Doctor's spirits rose considerably and her heart stopped
thumping so she could hear it. She remembered what Weary had told
her--that "Old Blake won't be hard to throw." She no longer feared
the senator, but she refused to speculate upon what Chip might do.
He seemed more approachable to-day, but that did not count--probably
he was only reflecting Weary's sunshine, and would freeze solid the
minute--

"And so you are the mysterious genius who has set the Butte critics by
the ears!" chuckled the senator. "They say your cloud treatment is all
wrong, and that your coloring is too bold--but directly they forget all
that and wonder which wolf will make the first dash, and how many the
cow will put out of business before she goes under herself. Don't be
offended if I say that you look more capable of portraying woolly white
lambs at play than ravening wolves measuring the strength of their
quarry. I must confess I was looking for the--er MAN behind that brush."

"I told the senator coming out that it was a lady he would have to make
terms with. He would hardly believe it," smiled Dunk.

"He needn't believe it," said the Little Doctor, much more calmly
than she felt. "I don't remember ever saying that I painted
'The Last Stand.'"

Dunk threw up his head and looked at her sharply.

"Genius is certainly modest," he said, with a laugh that was not nice
to hear.