the interest of her meeting with Jean Isbel.
Thereupon she impatiently surrendered to it, and recalled every word
and action which she could remember. And in the process of this
meditation she came to an action of hers, recollection of which brought
the blood tingling to her neck and cheeks, so unusually and burningly
that she covered them with her hands. "What did he think of me?" she
mused, doubtfully. It did not matter what he thought, but she could
not help wondering. And when she came to the memory of his kiss she
suffered more than the sensation of throbbing scarlet cheeks.
Scornfully and bitterly she burst out, "Shore he couldn't have thought
much good of me."

The half hour following this reminiscence was far from being pleasant.
Proud, passionate, strong-willed Ellen Jorth found herself a victim of
conflicting emotions. The event of the day was too close. She could
not understand it. Disgust and disdain and scorn could not make this
meeting with Jean Isbel as if it had never been. Pride could not
efface it from her mind. The more she reflected, the harder she tried
to forget, the stronger grew a significance of interest. And when a
hint of this dawned upon her consciousness she resented it so forcibly
that she lost her temper, scattered the camp fire, and went into the
little teepee tent to roll in her blankets.

Thus settled snug and warm for the night, with a shepherd dog curled at
the opening of her tent, she shut her eyes and confidently bade sleep
end her perplexities. But sleep did not come at her invitation. She
found herself wide awake, keenly sensitive to the sputtering of the
camp fire, the tinkling of bells on the rams, the bleating of lambs,
the sough of wind in the pines, and the hungry sharp bark of coyotes
off in the distance. Darkness was no respecter of her pride. The
lonesome night with its emphasis of solitude seemed to induce clamoring
and strange thoughts, a confusing ensemble of all those that had
annoyed her during the daytime. Not for long hours did sheer weariness
bring her to slumber.

Ellen awakened late and failed of her usual alacrity. Both Pepe and
the shepherd dog appeared to regard her with surprise and solicitude.
Ellen's spirit was low this morning; her blood ran sluggishly; she had
to fight a mournful tendency to feel sorry for herself. And at first
she was not very successful. There seemed to be some kind of pleasure
in reveling in melancholy which her co