s.
Before she was half-way to the woods that lined the river the last shadow
of her brief anger had passed from her face. After all, she told herself
in weak excuse, what she was doing was only a very little matter, and,
perhaps--who could tell?--she might learn something that would be useful
to Seth, who cared for nothing and nobody in the world but the Indians. So
she rode on quite fearless, with no graver qualms than the very slightest
twinge of conscience.

As she rode she debated with herself the manner in which she was to
conceal her destination from chance observers. Wilful and irresponsible as
Rosebud always appeared to be, there was yet something strongly reliant in
her nature. She was, as so many girls are, a child in thought and deed
until some great event, perchance some bereavement, some tragedy, or some
great love, should come to rouse the dormant strength for good or ill
which lies hidden for years, sometimes for life, in nearly every daughter
of Eve.

The result of her debate was a decision to head for the ford when once she
was out of view of the farm. She argued, if Nevil Steyne were cutting wood
below the bridge, as Wanaha had told her, then by entering the woods at
the ford she could make her way through them until she came to him. Thus
she would not show herself near his hut, or near where he might be known
to be working.

So, in the waning daylight, she cantered over the scented grass without a
thought of the danger which Wanaha had hinted to her. She was defenceless,
unarmed, yet utterly fearless. Her spirit was of the plains, fresh,
bright, strong. Life to her was as the rosy light of dawn, full of promise
and hope. Her frail figure, just budding with that enchanting promise of
magnificent womanhood, swaying to the light gait of her broncho, was a
sight to stir the pulse of any man. It was no wonder that the patient,
serious Seth watched over her, shielding her with every faculty alert,
every nerve straining, all his knowledge of that living volcano over which
they lived brought into service.

Some such thoughts as these may have passed through Charlie Rankin's mind
when he saw her as he passed on his way to the farm. For men are like
this. Married or single they always have an eye for feminine beauty, only
when they are married they generally keep their observations to
themselves--if they be wise.

The sun was almost upon the horizon when the girl reached the ford. The
rift in the woods, w