lly found the knife there?"

"He said so. I believe him."

She sighed softly, as if she would have liked to feel as sure. "The
reason I spoke of it was that I accused him of trying to throw the blame
on Phil, and he told me to ask you about it."

Jim shook his head. "Nothing to it. If you want my opinion, Keller is
white clear enough. He wouldn't try a trick like that."

The girl's face lit, and she held out an impulsive hand. "Anyhow, you're
a good friend, Jim."

"I've been that ever since you was knee high to a duck, Phyl."

"Yes--yes, you have. The best I've got, next to Phil and Dad." Her heart
just now was very warm to him.

"Don't you reckon maybe a good friend might make a good--something
else."

She gasped. "Oh, Jim! You don't mean----"

"Yep. That's what I do mean. Course I'm not good enough. I know that."

"Good. You're the best ever. It isn't that. Only I don't like you that
way."

"Maybe you might some day."

She shook her head slowly. "I wish I could, Jim. But I never will."

"Is there--someone else, Phyl?"

If it had been light enough he could have seen a wave of color sweep her
face.

"No. Of course there isn't. How could there be? I'm only a girl."

"It ain't Brill then?"

"No. It's--it isn't anybody." She carried the war, womanlike, into his
camp. "And I don't believe you care for me--that way. It's just a
fancy."

"One I've had two years, little girl."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I _do_ like you, better than any one else. You know
that, dear old Jim."

He smiled wistfully. "If you didn't like me so well I reckon I'd have a
better chance. Well, I mustn't keep you here. Good night."

Her ringers were lost in his big fist. "Good night, Jim." And again she
added, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't you be. It's all right with me, Phyl. I just thought I'd mention
it. You never can tell, though I most knew how it would be. _Buenos
noches, nina._"

He released her hand, and without once looking back strode to his horse,
swung to the saddle, and rode into the night.

She carried into the house with her a memory of his cheerful smile. It
had been meant as a reassurance to her. It told her he would get over
it, and she knew he would. For he was no puling schoolboy, but a man,
game to the core.

The face of another man rose before her, saturnine and engaging and
debonair. With the picture came wave on wave of shame. He was a detected
villain, and she had let him kiss her. But beneath the self-scorn was