oot he could overtake her
half-way up the mountain steep.

The plan was no more than shaped before he was in the saddle and
galloping down the river. The set of his face changed hardly a line
while he swam the stream, and, drenched to the waist, scaled the cliff.
When he reached the spot, he found the prints of a woman's shoe in the
dust of the path, going down. There were none returning, and he had
not long to wait. A scarlet bit of color soon flashed through the gray
bushes below him. The girl was without her bag of corn. She was climbing
slowly, and was looking at the ground as though in deep thought.
Reckless as she was, she had come to realize at last just what she had
done. She had been pleased at first, as would have been any woman, when
she saw the big mountaineer watching her, for her life was lonely.
She had waved her bonnet at him from mere mischief. She hardly knew it
herself, but she had gone across the river to find out who he was. She
had shrunk from him as from a snake thereafter, and had gone no more
until old Jasper had sent her because the Lewallen mill was broken, and
because she was a woman, and would be safe from harm. She had met him
then when she could not help herself. But now she had gone of her own
accord. She had given this Stetson, a bitter enemy, a chance to see her,
to talk with her. She had listened to him; she had been on the point of
letting him grind her corn. And he knew how often she had gone to the
mill, and he could not know that she had ever been sent. Perhaps he
thought that she had come to make overtures of peace, friendship, even
more. The suspicion reddened her face with shame, and her anger at him
was turned upon herself. Why she had gone again that day she hardly
knew. But if there was another reason than simple perversity, it was the
memory of Rome Stetson's face when he caught her boat and spoke to her
in a way she could not answer. The anger of the moment came with every
thought of the incident afterward, and with it came too this memory of
his look, which made her at once defiant and uneasy. She saw him now
only when she was quite close, and, startled, she stood still; his stern
look brought her the same disquiet, but she gave no sign of fear.

"Whut's the matter with ye?"

The question was too abrupt, too savage, and the girl looked straight at
him, and her lips tightened with a resolution not to speak. The movement
put him beyond control.

"Y'u puts hell into me, M