s at heart." His hand reached for the latch.

"Mr. Lounsbury!" Dallas made a swift step toward him.

Now, the section-boss came about. Lounsbury was reminded of the day on
the plowed strip. For he saw that Lancaster was all a-tremble, and
panting as if spent with a hard run. "M' gal!" he cried sternly.

Dallas stepped back and touched her father's arm. And her remonstrance
was the remonstrance of that other day. "No, no, dad," she cautioned in
a low voice; "no, no."

Lancaster's breast heaved. He swallowed with an effort, and scowled from
one to another of the four.

David Bond came forward, addressing Lounsbury. "Will you tell me your
name?" he asked. "I want to remember you. You are not a soldier. Do you
belong at Clark's----"

"Did y' size him up fer a cow-punch?" broke in Lancaster. "Huh! Wal,
_Ah_ never did."

Lounsbury's face dyed to a deep scarlet. "No?" he said. "And why?"

Again the section-boss gave a shrill, mocking laugh. "Too fat an' too
mouthy," he answered.

For an instant Lounsbury wavered. In that instant the deep scarlet
faded, his eyes opened, his nostrils spread.

"Pa! pa!" It was Marylyn, half-weeping.

Lounsbury's cool voice cleared the air. "I'm a Bismarck man," he said to
the evangelist. "I've got a store there. My name is John Lounsbury." He
held out his hand to Dallas.

She advanced again and took it. "Oh, thank you! thank you!" she
breathed.

"'Bismarck man.'" It was Lancaster once more. "Wal, w'y the devil don'
y' stay thar?"

Lounsbury took no notice of him. "I'll be hoofing it," he said to
Dallas. "But if I can do anything--you understand." And went out.

David Bond's keen eyes studied the elder girl. He expected an outburst
of anger and blame. He was surprised when, without speaking, she brought
the benches to the fire and set about clearing the table. Lancaster
seated himself and sucked moodily at his pipe. Marylyn flitted behind
him, to disappear through the swinging blankets. The evangelist walked
up and down.

It was not long before the silence told on the section-boss and forced
him to talk. "Ef you-all got anythin' t' say," he snarled presently, "y'
might as well spit it out."

No one answered.

"_Ah_ got jes' _this_ t' say:" he continued, "Ah ain't goin' t' hev no
lubber o' a storekeep slaverin' aroun' my gals!"

Again no one answered. But David Bond, as he watched Dallas
questioningly, determined to be silent no longer. He paused in his walk.
"My friend,"