r cordiality toward each other;
and the obvious lack of warmth filled Smith with keen satisfaction. He had
no notion of its cause; it was sufficient that it was so.

As their conversation daily became more forced, the estrangement more
marked, Ralston's wretchedness increased in proportion. He brooded
miserably over the scene he had witnessed; troubled, aside from his own
interest in Dora, that she should be misled by a man of Smith's moral
calibre. While he had delighted in her unworldly, childlike belief in
people and things, in this instance he deeply regretted it.

Ralston understood perfectly the part which Smith desired to play in her
eyes. He had heard through Dora the stories Smith had told her of wild
adventures in which he figured to advantage, of reckless deeds which he
hinted would be impossible since falling under her influence. He posed as
a brand snatched from the burning, and conveyed the impression that his
salvation was a duty which had fallen in her path for her to perform. That
she applied herself to the task of elevating Smith with such combined
patience and ardor, was the grievance of which Ralston had most to
complain.

In his darker moments he told himself that she must have a liking for the
man far stronger than he had believed, to have permitted the liberty which
he had witnessed, one which, coming from Smith, seemed little short of
sacrilege. His unhappiness was not lessened by the instances he recalled
where women had married beneath them through this mistaken sense of duty,
pity, or less commendable emotions.

Upon one thing he was determined, and that was never again to force his
attentions upon her, to take advantage of her helplessness as he had when
he had held her hand so tightly and, as he now believed, against her
wishes. Although she did not show it, she must have thought him a bumpkin,
an oaf, an underbred cur. He groaned as he ransacked his vocabulary for
fitting words.

If only something would arise to reveal Smith's character to her in its
true light! But this was too much to hope. In his depression, it seemed to
Ralston that the sun would never shine for him again, that failure was
written on him like an I. D. brand, that sorrow everlasting would eat and
sleep with him. In this mood, after a brief exchange of breakfast
civilities, far worse than none, he walked slowly to the corral to saddle,
cursing Smith for the braggart he knew he was and for the scoundrel he
believed hi