t with tingling ears. He was used to the
badinage of the men, and had always retaliated with a sharp and ready
tongue. But this half-kind, half-humorous talk encroached upon what he
felt to be the secret side of his nature--the romantic and the dreamful
side--to which such fancies were unconscionably dear.

Early the next morning Neale and King rode out on the way to
Slingerland's.

The sun was warm when they reached the valley through which ran the
stream that led up to the cabin. Spring was in the air. The leaves of
cottonwood and willow added their fresh emerald to the darker green
of the pine. Bluebells showed in the grass along the trail; there grew
lavender and yellow flowers unfamiliar to Neale; trout rose and splashed
on the surface of the pools; and the way was melodious with the humming
of bees and the singing of birds.

Slingerland saw them coming and strode out to meet them with hearty
greeting.

"Is she all right?" queried Neale, abruptly.

"No, she ain't," replied Slingerland, shaking his shaggy head. "She
won't eat or move or talk. She's wastin' away. She jest sits or lays
with that awful look in her eyes."

"Can't you make her talk?"

"Wal, she'll say no to 'most anythin'. There was three times she asked
when you was comin' back. Then she quit askin'. I reckon she's forgot
you. But she's never forgot thet bloody massacre. It's there in her
eyes."

Neale dismounted, and, untying the pack from his saddle, he laid it
down, removed saddle and bridle; then he turned the horse loose. He did
this automatically while his mind was busy.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Over thar under the pines whar the brook spills out of the spring.
Thet's the only place she'll walk to. I believe she likes to listen to
the water. An' she's always afraid."

"I've fetched a pack of things for her," said Neale. "Come on, Red."

"Shore you go alone," replied the cowboy, hanging back. "Girls is not my
job."

So Neale approached alone. The spot was green, fragrant, shady, bright
with flowers, musical with murmuring water. Presently he spied her--a
drooping, forlorn little figure. The instant he saw her he felt glad and
sad at once. She started quickly at his step and turned. He remembered
the eyes, but hardly the face. It had grown thinner and whiter than the
one he had in mind.

"My Lord! she's going to die!" breathed Neale. "What can I do--what can
I say to her?"

He walked directly but slowly up to her, aware of h