"And I don't think I like it a bit.

It's not fair to your poor eastern sight-seers, like myself." "If you are really so anxious to see a sure enough cowboy, look over there," said Stanford, and pointed across the street.
"Where ?" demanded Helen eagerly.
"There," smiled Stanford, "the dark-faced chap near that automobile standing by the curb; the machine with the pretty girl at the wheel.
See! he is stopping to talk with the girl." "What! That nice looking man, dressed just like thousands of men that we might see any day on the streets of Cleveland ?" cried Helen.
"Exactly," chuckled her husband, while the others laughed at her incredulous surprise.

"But, just the same, that's Phil Acton; 'Wild Horse Phil,' if you please.

He is the cowboy foreman of the Cross-Triangle Ranch, and won the championship in the bronco riding last year." "I don't believe it--you are making fun of me, Stanford Manning." Then, before he could answer, she cried, with quick excitement, "But, Stan, look! Look at the girl in the automobile! She looks like--it is, Stan, it is!" And to the amazement of her husband and her friends Mrs.
Manning sprang to her feet and, waving her handkerchief, called, "Kitty! Oh, Kitty--Kitty Reid!" As her clear call rang out, many people turned to look, and then to smile at the picture, as she stood there in the bright Arizona day, so animated and wholesomely alive in the grace and charm of her beautiful young womanhood, above the little group of men who were looking up at her with laughing admiration.
On the other side of the street, where she sat with her parents and Professor Parkhill, talking to Phil, Kitty heard the call, and looked.

A moment later she was across the street, and the two young women were greeting each other with old-time schoolgirl enthusiasm.