ing out to see her. She needs you."

Miss Scovill looked quickly at Lowell. She was one of those women whose
beauty is only accentuated by gray hair. Her brow and eyes were
serene--those of a dreamer. Her mouth and chin were delicately modeled,
but firm. Their firmness explained, perhaps, why she was executive head
of a school instead of merely a teacher. Not all her philosophy had been
won from books. She had traveled and observed much of life at first
hand. That was why she could keep her counsel--why she had kept it
during all the talk on the stage, even though that talk had vitally
interested her. She showed the effects of her long, hard trip, but would
not hear of stopping at the agency for supper.

"If you don't mind--if it is not altogether too much trouble to put you
to--I must go on," she said. "I assure you it's very important, and it
concerns Helen Ervin, and I assume that you are her friend."

Lowell hastened his pace. It all meant that it would be long past the
supper hour when he returned to the agency, but there was an appeal in
Miss Scovill's eyes and voice which was not to be resisted. Anyway, he
was not going to offer material resistance to something which was
concerned with the well being of Helen Ervin.

They sped through the agency, past Talpers's store, and climbed the big
hill just as the purples fell into their accustomed places in the
hollows of the plain. As they bowled past the scene of the tragedy,
Lowell pointed it out, with only a brief word. His passenger gave a
little gasp of pain and horror. He thought it was nothing more than
might ordinarily be expected under such circumstances, but, on looking
at Miss Scovill, he was surprised to see her leaning back against the
seat, almost fainting.

"By George!" said Lowell contritely, "I shouldn't have mentioned it to
you."

He slowed down the car, but Miss Scovill sat upright and recovered her
mental poise, though with evident effort.

"I'm glad you did mention it," she said, looking back as if fascinated.
"Only, you see, I'd been hearing about the murder most of the day in the
stage, and then this place is so big and wide and lonely! Please don't
think I'm foolish."

"It's all because you're from the city and haven't proportioned things
as yet," said Lowell. "Now all this loneliness seems kindly, to me. It's
only crowds that seem cruel. I often envy trappers dying alone in such
places. Also I can understand why the Indians wanted nothin