ou would like to ride
in holding my hand you may!"

"No," said McCloud, "of course not--not for worlds! But, Miss Dicksie,
couldn't we ride back to the house and ride around the other way into
camp? I think the other way into the camp--say, around by the railroad
bridge--would be prettier, don't you?"

For answer she touched Jim lightly with her lines and his spring
released her hand very effectively. As she did so the trail turned,
and the camp-fire, whipped in the high wind, blazed before them.

Whispering Smith and Lance Dunning were sitting together as the two
galloped up. Smith helped Dicksie to alight. She was conscious of her
color and that her eyes were now unduly bright. Moreover, Whispering
Smith's glance rested so calmly on both McCloud's face and her own
that Dicksie felt as if he saw quite through her and knew everything
that had happened since they left the house.

Lance was talking to McCloud. "Don't abuse the wind," McCloud was
saying. "It's our best friend to-night, Mr. Dunning. It is blowing the
water off-shore. Where is the trouble?" For answer Dunning led McCloud
off toward the Bend, and Dicksie was left alone with Whispering
Smith.

He made a seat for her on the windward side of the big fire. When she
had seated herself she looked up in great contentment to ask if he was
not going to sit down beside her. The brown coat, the high black hat,
and the big eyes of Whispering Smith had already become a part of her
mental store. She saw that he seemed preoccupied, and sought to draw
him out of his abstraction.

"I am so glad you and Mr. McCloud are getting acquainted with Cousin
Lance," she said. "And do you mind my giving you a confidence, Mr.
Smith? Lance has been so unreasonable about this matter of the
railroad's coming up the valley and powwowing so much with lawyers and
ranchers that he has been forgetting about everything at home. He is
so much older than I am that he ought to be the sensible one of the
family, don't you think so? It frightens me to have him losing at
cards and drinking. I am afraid he will get into some shooting affair.
I don't understand what has come over him, and I worry about it. I
believe you could influence him if you knew him."

"What makes you think that?" asked Whispering Smith, but his eyes were
on the fire.

"Because these men he spends his time with in town--the men who fight
and shoot so much--are afraid of you. Don't laugh at me. I know it is
quite true in