hand resting on its top, looked closely at her,
suspicion in his eyes. "Say," he said in a confidential whisper, "it
looks peculiar to me. Catherson an' Hagar both gone. Hagar's got your
cayuse, leavin' you here alone. Has ol' Catherson tumbled to Masten bein'
thick with Hagar?"

"I don't know," she said, flushing. "It is no affair of mine!"

"It ain't--eh?" he said with a laugh, low and derisive. "You don't care
what Masten does-eh? An' you're goin' to marry him, Monday. Masten's
lucky," he went on, giving her a look that made her shudder; "he's got
two girls. An' one of them don't care how much he loves the other." He
laughed as though the matter were one of high comedy.

His manner, the half-veiled, vulgar significance of his words and voice,
roused her to a cold fury. She took a step toward him and stood rigid,
her eyes flashing.

"You get out of this cabin, Tom Chavis!" she commanded. "Get
out--instantly!" No longer was she afraid of him; she was resolute,
unflinching.

But Chavis merely smiled--seemingly in huge enjoyment. And then, while he
looked at her, his expression changed to wonder. "Holy smoke!" he said.
"Where's Masten's eyes? He said you didn't have any spirit, Ruth, that
you was too cold an' distant. I reckon Masten don't know how to size up a
girl--a girl, that is, which is thoroughbred. Seems as though his kind is
more like Hagar!" He grinned cunningly and reached into a pocket, drawing
out a paper. He chuckled over it, reading it. Then, as though she were
certain to appreciate the joke, he held it out to her. "Read it, Ruth,"
he invited, "it's from Masten, askin' Hagar to meet him, tomorrow, down
the crick a ways. He's dead scared to come here any more, since
Randerson's aimin' to perforate him!"

Only one conscious emotion afflicted her at this minute: rage over
Chavis' inability to understand that she was not of the type of woman who
could discuss such matters with a man. Evidently, in his eyes, all women
were alike. She knew that such was his opinion when, refusing to take the
paper, she stepped back, coldly, and he looked at her in surprise, a
sneer following instantly.

"Don't want to read it--eh? Not interested? Jealous, mebbe--eh?" He
grinned. "Sure--that's it, you're jealous." He laughed gleefully. "You
women are sure jokes. Masten can't wake you up--eh? Well, mebbe Masten--"
He paused and licked his lips. "I reckon I don't blame you, Ruth. Masten
ain't the sort of man. He's too cold-