he post-office. There had not
been any Pete Leddy; there had been no display of six-shooters. He had
gone in after the mail. Here he was ready to deliver it by the bushel,
while he waited for orders. She had to laugh at his predicament as he
lowered his chin to steady a book on the top of the pile.

"Oh, I meant to tell you that you were not to bring the second-class
matter!" she told him. "We always send a servant with a basket for that.
You see what comes of having a father who is not only omnivorous, but has
a herbivorous capacity."

He saw that the book had a row of Italian stamps across the wrapper.
Unless that popular magazine stopped slipping, both the book and a heavy
German pamphlet would go. He took two hasty steps toward her, in mock
distress of appeal.

"I'll allow salvage if you act promptly!" he said.

She lifted the tottering apex just in time to prevent its fall.

"I'll take the book," she said. "Father has been waiting months for
it. We can separate the letters and leave the rest in the store to be
sent for."

"The railroad station is on the other side of the town, isn't it?" he
asked.

"Yes."

"I shall camp nearby, so it will be no trouble to leave my burden at your
door as I pass."

"He does have the gift of oiling the wheels in either, big or little
moments," she thought, as she realized how simple and considerate had
been his course from the first. He was a stranger going on his way,
stopping, however, to do her or any other traveller a favor _en route_.

"Firio, we're ready to hear Jag Ear's bells!" he called.

"_Si_!" answered Firio.

All the while the Indian had kept in the shadow, away from the spray of
light from the store lamp, unaware of the rapid drama that had passed
among the boxes and barrels. He had observed nothing unusual in the young
lady, whose outward manifestation of what she had, witnessed was the
closing of her eyes.

It was out of the question that Jack should mount a horse when both
arms were crowded with their burden. He walked beside Mary's stirrup
leather in the attitude of that attendant on royalty who bears a crown
on a cushion.

"Little Rivers is a new town, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes, the Town Wonderful," she answered. "Father founded it."

She spoke with an affection which ran as deep into the soil as young
roots after water. If on the pass she had seemed a part of the desert,
of great, lonely distances and a far-flung carpet of dreams, here she
se