," panted the other, giving, in his eagerness, only a glance
at David Bond, "excuse me, but I see you're headed from home. I
wondered--I thought maybe I could do a turn for the young ladies while
you're gone."

For a moment the section-boss did not reply. He was still smarting over
Dallas' generalship, and, if anything, was more disgusted and rebellious
than when he left the shack. So, in the brief pause, he gave ready ear
to the whispering of the yellow harpy. His lids lowered. His lip curled.

"You understand, I'm sure," Lounsbury hastened to say. "I thought they
might be alone, that----"

"Thank y'," answered Lancaster, snapping out each word; "thank y', they
_is_ alone. An' you'll oblige me a damn sight by leavin' 'em thet way."
He settled himself in his seat. "Git ap!" he said to Shadrach. The pung
slipped slowly on.

Lounsbury was too taken aback either to follow or to retreat. For a
while, he stayed where he was, busily coining forcible phrases for the
relief of his mind. As he retraced his steps, the few who saw him were
discreetly silent. For the camp knew that there were rare moments when
it was best to give him a wide berth.

The interview in the trough of the drift was so brief that David Bond
was shut out of it. But had it been longer--had he been given a chance
to speak--the result might have been the same. The section-boss had been
mute all the way to Clark's. The fact that Dallas had told him to relate
the story of the claim was the strongest reason for his not doing so.
David Bond, therefore, was left in ignorance, and had no means of
connecting the evil companion of his journey north with the fortunes of
the Lancasters. So, as they left Lounsbury behind, he even found some
censure in his heart for the storekeeper.

"You were quite right," he said, flicking Shadrach gently. "That young
man should pay no visit to your daughters while you are absent.
Yet,"--he could not refrain from putting a reproof where it seemed
due--"yet, I regret your manner of addressing him, your oath----"

Lancaster glared. "Oh, you' gran'mother's tortoise-shell cat!" he said
wrathfully. For several hours thereafter he added nothing to this.

Back in his store, Lounsbury was mixing brown sugar with white, oolong
tea with a green variety, and putting thread in the pickle-barrel.
Simultaneously, he was torturing himself: Had the section-boss left home
with no danger threatening? But--the green pung was undoubtedly bound
fo