John only shook his head and changed the subject. That afternoon,
however, Billy Porter buttonholed DeWitt in the corral where the New
Yorker was watching the Arizonian saddle his fractious horse. When the
horse was ready at the post, "Look here, DeWitt," said Billy, an
embarrassed look in his honest brown eyes, "I don't want you to think I'm
buttin' in, but some one ought to watch that young Injun. Anybody with
one eye can see he's crazy about Miss Rhoda."

John was too startled to be resentful.

"What do you mean?" he exclaimed. "Cartwell is a great friend of the
Newmans'."

"That's why I came to you. They're plumb locoed about the fellow, like
the rest of the Easterners around here."

"Do you know anything against him?" insisted DeWitt.

"Why, man, he's an Injun, and half Apache at that! That's enough to know
against him!"

"What makes you think he's interested in Miss Tuttle?" asked John.

Porter flushed through his tan.

"Well," he said sheepishly, "I seen him come down the hall at dawn this
morning. Us Westerners are early risers, you know, and when he reached
Miss Turtle's door, he pulled a little slipper out of his pocket and
kissed it and put it in front of the sill."