She was well aware of her father’s dissatisfaction with her generation. Despite his attitude he had seldom interfered with her ways of being happy. This trip had a peculiar slant, now that she scrutinized it closely. They were to meet a young archaeologist here in Flagstaff, and probably arrange to have him take them to the Grand Cañon and other scenic places. Cherry had become acquainted with him in New York, where he had been lecturing on the prehistoric ruins of the Southwest. Stephen Heftral had struck Cherry as being different from the young men she played about with, but, insofar as her charms were concerned, he was as susceptible as the rest. Heftral had never betrayed his feelings by word or action. He had seemed a manly, quiet sort of chap, college-bred, but somewhat old-fashioned in his ways, and absorbed in his research work. Cherry had liked him too well to let him see much of her. Not until she and her father had been out West did he mention that he expected to meet Heftral. Then she was reminded that her father had been quite taken with the young archaeologist. It amused Cherry.

“Dad might have something up his sleeve,” she soliloquized. “I just don’t quite get him lately.”

Cherry found him in the comfortable sitting room, reading a newspaper before an open fireplace. He was a well-preserved man of sixty, handsome and clean-cut of face, a typical New Yorker, keen and worldly, yet of kindly aspect.

“Good morning, Cherry,” he said, folding his paper and smiling up at her. “I see you’ve dispensed with at least some of your make-up. You look great.”

“I confess I feel great,” Cherry responded frankly. “Must be this Arizona air. Lead me to some lamb chops, Dad.”

At breakfast Cherry caught a twinkle in her father’s fine eyes. He was pleased that she appeared hungry and not inclined to find fault with the food and drink served. Cherry felt he had more on his mind than merely giving her a good time. It might well be that he was testing a theory of his own relative to the reaction of an oversophisticated young woman to the still primitive West.

“Heftral sent word that he could not meet us here,” remarked her father. “We will motor out to a place called Mormon Cañon. It’s a trading post, I believe. Heftral will be there.”

“We’ll ride into the desert?” Cherry asked with enthusiasm.

“Nearly a hundred miles. I daresay it will be a ride you’ll remember. Cherry, will you wear that flimsy dress?”

“Surely. I have my coat in case it’s cold.”

“Very well. Better pack at once. I’ve ordered a car.”

“Are there any stores in this burg? I want to buy several things.”

“Yes. Some very nice stores.