h there was," Rock permitted himself to say meekly,
before he dropped the subject.

It was ten minutes before Ford spoke again.

"I'll take you up to the house and introduce you to her, Rock, if you'll
behave yourself," he offered then, with a shyness in his manner that
nearly set Rock off in one of his convulsions of mirth. "But the missus
isn't wise--so watch out. And if you don't behave yourself," he added
darkly, "I'll knock your block off."

"Sure. But my block is going to remain right where it's at," Rock
assured him, which was a tacit promise of as perfect behavior as he
could attain.

They looked like snow men when they unsaddled, with the powdery snow
beaten into the very fabric of their clothing, and Ford suggested that
they go first to the bunk-house to thaw out. "I'd sure hate to pack all
this snow into Mrs. Kate's parlor," he added whimsically. "She's the
kind of housekeeper that grabs the broom the minute you're gone, to
sweep your tracks off the carpet. Awful nice little woman, but--"

"But not The One," chuckled Rock, treading close upon Ford's heels.
"And I'll bet fifteen cents," he offered rashly, looking up, "that the
person hitting the high places for the bunk-house is The One."

"How do you know?" Ford demanded, while his eyes gladdened at sight of
Josephine, with a Navajo blanket flung over her head, running down the
path through the blizzard to the bunk-house kitchen.

"'Cause she shied when she saw you coming. Came pretty near breaking
back on you, too," Rock explained shrewdly.

They reached the kitchen together, and Ford threw open the door, and
held it for her to pass.

"I came after some of Mose's mince-meat," she explained hastily. "It's a
terrible storm, isn't it? I'm glad it didn't strike yesterday. I thought
you were going to be gone for several days."

Ford, with embarrassed haste to match her own, presented Rock in the
same breath with wishing that Rock was elsewhere; for Mose was not in
the kitchen, and he had not had more than a few words with her for
twenty-four hours. He was perilously close to forgetting his legal
halter when he looked at her.

She was, he thought, about as sweet a picture of a woman as a man need
ever look upon, as she stood there with the red Navajo blanket falling
back from her dark hair, and with her wide, honest eyes fixed upon Rock.
She was blushing, as if she, too, wished Rock elsewhere. She turned
impulsively, set down the basin she had been ho