ught."

Joan's complaint was made half-laughingly and half-seriously. Buck saw
the reality underlying her words, but determined to ignore it and only
answer her lighter manner.

"If you'd only asked me these things I'd have told you right away," he
protested, smiling. "Y' see you never asked me."

"I--I was trying to," Joan said feebly.

Buck paused in the act of securing Kitty's harness.

"That old--your housekeeper wouldn't ha' spent a deal of time trying,"
he said dryly.

Joan ignored the allusion.

"I don't believe you intend to tell me now," she said.

Buck left the stall and stood before the corn-box. His eyes were still
smiling though his manner was tremendously serious.

"You're wantin' to know who I am," he said. Then he paused, glancing
out of the doorway, and the girl watched the return of that thoughtful
expression which she had come to associate with his usual manner.
"Wal," he said at last, in his final way, "I'm Buck, and I was picked
up on the trail-side, starving, twenty years ago by the Padre. He's
raised me, an' we're big friends. An' now, since we sold his farm,
we're living at the old fur fort, back ther' in the hills, and we're
goin' to get a living pelt hunting. I've got no folks, an' no name
except Buck. I was called Buck. All I can remember is that my folks
were farmers, but got burnt out in a prairie fire, and--burnt to
death. That's why I was on the trail starving when the Padre found
me."

Joan's eyes had softened with a gentle sympathy, but she offered no
word.

"'Bout the other," the man went on, turning back to the girl, and
letting his eyes rest on her fair face, "that's easy, too. I was at
the shack of the boys in the storm. You come along an' wer' lying
right ther' on the door-sill when I found you. I jest carried you
right here. Y' see, I guessed who you wer'. Your cart was wrecked on
the bank o' the creek----"

"And the teamster?" Joan's eyes were eagerly appealing.

Buck turned away.

"Oh, guess he was ther' too." Then he abruptly moved toward the
horses. "Say, I'll get on an' cut that hay."

Joan understood. She knew that the teamster was dead. She sighed
deeply, and as the sound reached him Buck looked round. It was on the
tip of his tongue to say some word of comfort, for he knew that Joan
had understood that the man was dead, but the girl herself, under the
influence of her new resolve, made it unnecessary. She rose from her
seat, and her manner suggested a f