aggressor and he
also had been the victor. According to the honor of fighting men, he
should be generous. And when all was said and done--and the thought
galled Billy more than he could understand--the offense of the Pilgrim
had been extremely intangible; it had consisted almost wholly of looks
and a tone or two, and he realized quite plainly that his own dislike
of the Pilgrim had probably colored his judgment. Anyway, he had
thrashed the Pilgrim and driven him away from camp and killed his dog.
Wasn't that enough? And if the Pilgrim chose to forget the unpleasant
circumstances of their parting and be friends, what could he do but
forget also? Especially since the girl did not appear to be holding
any grudge for what had passed between them in the line-camp. Billy,
buttering a biscuit with much care, wished he knew just what _had_
happened that night before he opened the door, and wondered if he
dared ask her.

Under all his thoughts and through all he hated the Pilgrim, his bold
blue eyes, his full, smiling lips and smooth cheeks, as he had never
hated him before; and he hated himself because, being unable to
account even to himself for his feelings toward the Pilgrim, he was
obliged to hide his hate and be friends--or else act the fool. And
above all the mental turmoil he was somehow talking and listening and
laughing now and then, as if there were two of him and each one was
occupied with his own affairs. "I wisht to thunder there was _three_
uh me," he thought fleetingly during a pause. "I'd set the third one
uh me to figuring out just where the girl stands in this game, and
what she's thinking about right now. There's a kinda twinkling in her
eyes, now and then when she looks over here, that sure don't line up
with her innocent talk. I wisht I could mind-read her--

"Yes, we didn't get through none too soon. Looks a lot like we're
going to get our first slice uh winter. We've been playing big luck
that we didn't get it before now; and that last bunch uh beef was
sure rollicky and hard to handle--we'd uh had a picnic with all the
trimmings if a blizzard had caught us with them on our hands. As it
is, we're all dead on our feet. I expect to sleep about four days
without stopping for meals, if you ask _me_."

One cannot wonder that Charming Billy heard thankfully the clatter of
his outfit arriving, or that he left half his piece of pie uneaten
and hurried off, on the plea that he must show them what to do--which