those serious
eyes. She was so natural and easy with him; turned to him so quickly for
his approval of what she said or did and took his uncouth criticism so
sweetly. It was flattering--yes, that was just the point. Was she sincere,
or was she planning to add him to the list of her victims? She would not
do that. He was no boy, to be petted and thrown aside.

About this time, they came upon the trail. The little river had followed
the road for about a mile and a half, when across on its other bank Scott
saw a deep rut leading out of it and continuing in a narrow line or trail
so faint as to be easily overlooked. It wound along, lost itself in some
chaparral and doubtless became clear again beyond. The chaparral being on
a little rise, one could not see beyond it.

"There we are," he called to the girl, who had fallen a little behind.
"Wait a bit till I find a place to get down the bank on this side."

Polly waited. Scott rode up and down the bank; finally he stopped.

"We'll have to cross here," he called. "It's steep but it's all right.
Follow me," and both he and his horse disappeared in the river bed. Polly
rode up and took a look at the descent.

"I won't go so far as to say that he picked a nasty one because he's out
of temper, but it looks like it," she grumbled. "Go on, pony, if he can do
it I suppose we can."

The pony put her two forefeet over the edge of the descent and clung to
solidity and sanity with her hind two.

"I don't blame you. It's what I'd do if I had four legs and some fool
tried to make me slide down a precipice. But we've got to go. That man's
got a jaw like Napoleon and there's no use arguing with him."

She looked down. Scott had reached the bottom and was smiling back at her.
One had to admit that he had the sort of smile which warmed up the
atmosphere.

"Want me to come and lead her?" he offered.

"I do not." Polly gave her mount a little dig with her heel, the tension
on the hind legs relaxed, a series of slides and jolts and the descent was
made. She found herself in the river with Scott while the horses drank
thirstily.

"It was the only place to come down," he said, penitently.

"Well, I wasn't scared, it was the horse," replied Polly, briefly. "You
needn't think that every time we hang back it's my fault."

"I've known times when it was a sign of good sense to be scared," retorted
Scott, as he turned his horse's nose toward the upward climb.

"That man can use up more go