had misunderstood
the softness of Dora's eyes, her shy tremulousness, as he now believed he
had, he could take his medicine like a man, and go when the time came,
without whimpering, without protest or reproach. He wanted to go away
feeling that he had her respect, at least; go knowing that there was not a
single word or action of his upon which she could look back with contempt.
Yes, he wanted greatly her respect. She inspired in him this desire.

Ralston felt very humble, very conscious of his own shortcomings, as he
lay there while the afternoon waned; but, humble as he was, resigned as he
believed himself to be, he could not think of Smith with anything but
resentment and contempt. It hurt his pride, his self-respect, to regard
Smith in the light of a rival--a successful rival.

"By Gad!" he cried aloud, and with a heat which belied his
self-abnegation. "If he were only a _decent_ white man! But to be let down
and out by the only woman I ever gave a whoop for in all my life, for a
fellow like that! Say, it's tough!"

Ralston's newly acquired serenity, the depth of which he had reason to
doubt, was further disturbed by a distant clatter of hoofs. He sat up and
watched the oncoming of the angriest-looking Indian that ever quirted a
cayuse over a reservation. It was Bear Chief, whom he knew slightly.
Seeing Ralston's saddled horse, the Indian pulled up a little, which was
as well, since the white man was immediately in his path.

As the Indian came back, Ralston, who had rolled over to let him pass,
remarked dryly:

"The country is getting so crowded, it's hardly safe for a man to sit
around like this. What's the excitement, Bear Chief?"

"Horse-thief steal Indian horses!" he cried, pointing toward the Bad
Lands.

Ralston was instantly alert.

"Him ridin' my race-pony--fastest pony on de reservation. Got big bunch.
Runnin' 'em off!"

Fast moving specks that rose and fell among the hills of the Bad Lands
bore out the Indian's words.

"Did you see him?"

Ralston was slipping the bit back in his horse's mouth and tightening the
cinch.

"Yas, I see him. Long way off, but I see him."

"Did you know him?"

"Yas, I know him."

"Who was it?" Ralston was in the saddle now.

"Little white man--what you call him 'bug-hunter'--at de MacDonald
ranch."

"McArthur!" Their horses were gathering speed as they turned them toward
the Bad Lands.

"Yas. Little; hair on face--so; wear what you call dem sawed-off pa