ng it with
narrowed eyes. But a protesting movement of hers restored him to his
normal embarrassment. He writhed in uncomfortable apology before her.
"I'd 'most forgot you were really here," he explained. "I've seen you
that way so often when you _weren't_ here. There now--I see that
sadness; it's in the upper lip. It showed even when you laughed then."

"Really, this must stop," she broke in. "People don't talk this way."

"Don't they? Why don't they? I'm sorry--but all that interested me." The
wave of his hand indicated the fluent grace of the lady impartially from
head to foot.

"Of course," he added, "I knew there must be people like you, out there,
but I never dreamed I'd have one of them close enough to look at--let
alone get friendly with. I hope you won't hold it against me."

CHAPTER IV

A PORTRAIT

Though she had made him tingle with an impulse to flee from her, he was
at the edge of the east bench early the next afternoon. He might see her
from a distance. If she came close upon him--well, it was worth risking;
he had a good horse. Her eyes were the best of her he thought, big gray
things under black brows, with a dark ring, well defined, about the
iris. He had seen no such eyes before. And how they lighted her face
when she spoke. Her face needed lighting, he thought. It was pale under
the dark hair--her hair stopped short of being black, and was
lusterless--with only a bit of scared pink in her cheeks, after that
ride of the day before. He thought of her hands, too. They were the
right hands for her, long, slender, and strong, he did not doubt, under
a tricky look of being delicate. It was not possible that they could
ever talk together again so easily. He could not make that seem true,
but he could look at her. He had hoped she would promise to come again,
but they had parted abruptly the afternoon before. Riding back with her,
as they breasted the last slope leading to the ranch, he had rejoiced
boldly at the chance that had led her up the lake trail that morning.
Then Beulah Pierce had hailed them from his station at the bars, hailed
them in a voice built to admirable carrying power by many cattle
drives. His speech began, "Didn't I _tell_ you where that upper trail
would----"

Whereupon the lady turned to dismiss her escort rather curtly.

"Thank you for riding back with me. I shall not trouble you any
further." And he, staring suddenly at her with the wild deer's eyes
again, had fled