' 'um? I see the mare's be'n rode."

Janet nodded: "Yes, I rode with him as far as the bad lands, and
then--he sent me back."

McWhorter puffed for some minutes in silence: "Think you he will come
here the night?"

"Yes--unless something happens."

"An' that's what's worrin' ye--that something might happen him--oot
theer? What wad ye think could happen?"

"Why--why--lots of things could happen," she glanced at her father,
wondering at his unwonted loquacity.

The man caught the look: "Ye'll be thinkin' I'll be talkin' o'er much,"
he said, "but ye've found out befoor this, when theer's words to be said
I can say 'em." The man's voice suddenly softened: "Come, lass, 'tis
ye're own happiness I'm thinkin' of--ye've na one else. Is he some braw
young blade that rode that de'el of a Blue wi'oot half tryin'? An' did
he speak ye fair? An' is he gude to look on--a man to tak' the ee o' the
weemin'? Is ut so?" The girl stood at the window peering out into the
darkness, and receiving no answer, McWhorter continued: "If that's the
way of ut, tak' ye heed. I know the breed o' common cowpunchers--they're
a braw lot, an' they've takin' ways--but in theer hearts they're
triflin' gude-for-naughts, wi' na regard for God, mon, nor the de'el."

"He's not a common cowpuncher!" defended the girl hotly, she had turned
from the window and stood facing the stern faced Scotchman with flushed
cheeks. Then the words of the hand-bill seemed to burn into her brain.
"He's--he's--if he were a common cowpuncher Mr. Colston would never have
made him foreman," she concluded lamely.

McWhorter nodded gravely: "Aye, lass--but, when all is said an' done,
what Colston wants--what he hires an' pays for, is cowpunchin'--the work
o' the head an' hands. Gin an mon does his work, Colston wadna gi' a
fiddle bow for what's i' the heart o' him. But, wi' a lass an' a
mon--'tis different. 'Tis then if the heart is clean, it little matters
that he whirls his loop fair, or sits his leather like a plough-boy."

"What's this nonsense," cried the girl, angrily, "--this talk about
choosing a man? I never saw him till today! I hate men!"

McWhorter finished his pipe, returned it to his pocket and stepping into
his own room reappeared a moment later with a pair of heavy blankets
which he laid on the table. "I'm goin' to bed, for I must be early to
the lambin' camp. I'm thinkin' the young mon will not return the
night--but if he does, here's blankets." He stood for