iving to keep
steady. "I'm not walking with you, sir; I am walking with her. The only
ground you control is just in front of your own wagon."

"Yu've been told once thar ain't no 'Mrs. Montoyo,'" he snarled. "And
whilst yu're l'arnin' to shoot yu'd better be l'arnin' manners. Yu comin'
with me, Edna?"

"As fast as I can, and with Mr. Beeson also, if he chooses," said she. "I
have my manners in mind, too."

"By gosh, I don't walk with ye," he jawed. And in a huff, like the big boy
that he was, he flounced about, vengefully striding on as though punishing
her for a misdemeanor.

She dropped the grinning group a little curtsy. A demure sparkle was in
her eyes.

"The entertainment is concluded, gentlemen. I wish you good-night."

Yet underneath her raillery and self-possession there lay an appeal, the
stronger because subtle and unvoiced. It seemed to me every man must
appreciate that as a woman she invoked protection by him against an
impending something, of which she had given him a glimpse.

So we left them somewhat subdued, gazing after us, their rugged faces
sobered reflectively.

"Shall we stroll?" she asked.

"With pleasure," I agreed.

Daniel was angrily shouldering for the Mormon wagons, his indignant
figure black against the western glow. She laughed lightly.

"You're not afraid, after all, I see."

"Not of him, madam."

"And of me?"

"I think I'm more afraid for you," I confessed. "That clown is getting
insufferable. He sets out to bully you. Damn him," I flashed, with
pardonable flame, "and he ruffles at me on every occasion. In fact, he
seems to seek occasion. Witness this evening."

"Witness this evening," she murmured. "I'm afraid, too. Yes," she
breathed, confronted by a portent, "I'm afraid. I never have been afraid
before. I didn't fear Montoyo. I've always been able to take care of
myself. But now, here----"

"You have your revolver?" I suggested.

"No, I haven't. It's gone. Mormon women don't carry revolvers."

"They took it from you?"

"It's disappeared."

"But you're not a Mormon woman."

"Not yet." She caught quick breath. "God forbid. And sometimes I fear God
willing. For I do fear. You can't understand. Those other men do, though,
I think. Do you know," she queried, with sudden glance, "that Daniel means
to marry me?"

"He?" I gasped. "How so? With your--consent, of course. But you're not
free; you have a husband." My gorge rose, regardless of fact. "You
scarcely expec