ere she had stopped her horse to look curiously across at
Alan Macdonald, king of the rustlers, as he was called.

"It may not be anything at all to him, and it may be something
important," said Frances, reaching out the slip to Major King. "Would
you mind handing it to him, and explaining how it came into my
hands?"

"I'll not have anything to do with the fellow!" said the major,
flushing hotly. "How can you ask such a thing of _me?_ Throw it away,
it's no concern of yours--the memorandum of a cattle thief!"

Frances drew herself straight. Her imperious chin was as high as Major
King ever had carried his own in the most self-conscious moment of his
military career.

"Will you take it to him?" she demanded.

"Certainly not!" returned the major, haughtily emphatic. Then,
softening a little, "Don't be silly, Frances; what a row you make over
a scrap of blowing paper!"

"Then I'll take it myself!"

"Miss Landcraft!"

"_Major_ King!"

It was the steel of conventionality against the flint of womanly
defiance. Major King started in his saddle, as if to reach out and
restrain her. It was one of those defiantly foolish little things
which women and men--especially women--do in moments of pique, and
Frances knew it at the time. But she rode away from the major with a
hot flush of insubordination in her cheeks, and Alan Macdonald
quickened from his pensive pose when he saw her coming.

His hand went to his hat when her intention became unmistakable to
him. She held the little paper out toward him while still a rod away.

"A little Indian girl gave me this; she found it blowing along--they
tell me you are Mr. Macdonald," she said, her face as serious as his
own. "I thought it might be a subscription list for a church, or
something, and that you might want it."

"Thank you, Miss Landcraft," said he, his voice low-modulated, his
manner easy.

Her face colored at the unexpected way of this man without a coat, who
spoke her name with the accent of refinement, just as if he had known
her, and had met her casually upon the way.

"I have seen you a hundred times at the post and the agency," he
explained, to smooth away her confusion. "I have seen you from afar."

"Oh," said she, as lame as the word was short.

He was scanning the written paper. Now he looked at her, a smile
waking in his eyes. It moved in slow illumination over his face, but
did not break his lips, pressed in their stern, strong line. She saw
that h