ly, a tincture of injury in his
tone.

"Oh, sheep business," said Joan, leaning far over to look at the
knotting of her cinch.

"Sure, to settle down to it here and take it as it comes, the way he
got his start, he'd come across with all the money we'd want to take a
run out of here once in a while and light things up. We ought to be
gettin' the good out of it while we've got an edge on us, Joan."

Joan swung to the ground, threw a stirrup across the saddle, and began
to tighten her cinch. Reid alighted with a word of protest, offering
his hand for the work. Joan ignored his proffer, with a little
independent, altogether scornful, toss of the head.

"You can find plenty of them ready to take you up," she said. "What's
the reason you have to stay right here for three years, and then marry
me, to make a million dollars? Can't you go anywhere else?"

"The old man's picked on this country because he knows your dad, and
he settled on you for the girl because you got into his eye, just the
way you've got into mine, Joan. I was sore enough about it at first to
throw the money and all that went with it to the pigs, and blow out of
here. But that was before I saw you."

"Oh!" said Joan, in her pettish, discounting way.

"I mean every word of it, Joan. I can't talk like--like--some men--my
heart gets in the way, I guess, and chokes me off. But I never saw a
girl that I ever lost sleep over till I saw you."

Joan did not look at him as he drew nearer with his words. She pulled
the stirrup down, lifted her foot to it, and stood so a second, hand
on the pommel to mount. And so she glanced round at him, standing near
her shoulder, his face flushed, a brightness in his eyes.

Quicker than thought Reid threw his arm about her shoulders, drawing
her to him, his hot cheek against her own, his hot breath on her lips.
Surging with indignation of the mean advantage he had taken of her,
Joan freed her foot from the stirrup, twisting away from the
impending salute, her hand to Reid's shoulder in a shove that sent him
back staggering.

"I thought you were more of a man than that!" she said.

"I beg your pardon, Joan; it rushed over me--I couldn't help it."
Reid's voice shook as he spoke; he stood with downcast eyes, the
expression of contrition.

"You're too fresh to keep!" Joan said, brushing her face savagely with
her hand where his cheek had pressed it for a breath.

"I'll ask you next time," he promised, looking up between