hed her
hand or she brushed back his hair a great quiet settled upon him and
he turned his face away.

It was Creede who first took notice of his preoccupation and after a
series of unsatisfactory visits he beckoned Lucy outside the door with
a solemn jerk of the head.

"Say," he said, "that boy's got something on his mind--I can tell by
them big eyes of his. Any idee what it is?"

"Why, no," answered Lucy, blushing before his searching gaze, "unless
it's the sheep."

"Nope," said Creede, "it ain't that. I tried to talk sheep and he
wouldn't listen to me. This here looks kinder bad," he observed,
shaking his head ominously. "I don't like it--layin' in bed all day
and thinkin' that way. W'y, that'd make _me_ sick!"

He edged awkwardly over to where she was standing and lowered his
voice confidentially.

"I'll tell you, Miss Lucy," he said, "I've known Rufe a long time now,
and he's awful close-mouthed. He's always thinkin' about something
away off yonder, too--but this is different. Now of course I don't
know nothin' about it, but I think all that boy needs is a little
babyin', to make him fergit his troubles. Yes'm, that boy's lonely.
Bein' sick this way has took the heart out of 'im and made 'im sorry
for himself, like a kid that wants his mother. And so--well," he said,
turning abruptly away, "that's all, jest thought I'd tell you." He
pulled down his hat, swung dexterously up on Bat Wings and galloped
away down the valley, waving his hand at the barred window as he
passed.

Long after the clatter of hoofs had ceased Lucy stood in the shade of
the _ramada_, gazing pensively at the fire-blasted buttes and the
tender blue mountains beyond. How could such rugged hillsides produce
men who were always gentle, men whose first thought was always of
those who loved them and never of fighting and blood? It was a land of
hardships and strife and it left its mark on them all. The Rufus that
she had known before had seemed different from all other men, and she
had loved him for it, even when all his thought was for Kitty; but now
in two short years he had become stern and headstrong in his ways; his
eyes that had smiled up at her so wistfully when he had first come
back from the river were set and steady again like a soldier's, and he
lay brooding upon some hidden thing that his lips would never speak.
Her mutinous heart went out to him at every breath, now that he lay
there so still; at a word she could kneel at his si