the confusion of
understanding. She rode to the top of the hill, and there the
recollection of Mackenzie came to her like the sharp concern for a
treasure left behind.

She reined in after crossing the hilltop, and debated a little while
on what course to pursue. But only for a little while. Always she had
obeyed her father, under injunctions feeling and unfeeling, just and
unjust. He was not watching to see that she obeyed him now, knowing
well that she would do as he had commanded.

With bent head, this first trouble and sorrow of her life upon her,
and with the full understanding in her heart that all which had passed
before this day was nothing but the skimming of light shadows across
her way, Joan rode homeward. A mile, and the drooping shoulders
stiffened; the bent head lifted; Joan looked about her at the sun
making the sheeplands glad. A mile, and the short breath of anger died
out of her panting lungs, the long, deep inspiration of restored
balance in its place; the pale shade left her cold cheeks, where the
warm blood came again.

Joan, drawing new hope from the thoughts which came winging to her,
looked abroad over the sunlit sheeplands, and smiled.

CHAPTER XXII

PHANTOMS OF FEVER

"That was ten or twelve days ago," Dad explained, when Mackenzie found
himself blinking understandingly at the sunlight through the open end
of the sheep-wagon one morning. "You was chawed and beat up till you
was hangin' together by threads."

Mackenzie was as weak as a young mouse. He closed his eyes and lay
thinking back over those days of delirium through which a gleam of
understanding fell only once in a while. Dad evidently believed that
he was well now, from his manner and speech, although Mackenzie knew
that if his life depended on rising and walking from the wagon he
would not be able to redeem it at the price.

"I seem to remember a woman around me a good deal," he said, not
trusting himself to look at Dad. "It wasn't--was it----?"

Mackenzie felt his face flush, and cursed his weakness, but he could
not pronounce the name that filled his heart.

"Yes, it was Rabbit," said Dad, catching him up without the slightest
understanding of his stammering. "She's been stickin' to you night and
day. I tell you, John, them Indians can't be beat doctorin' a man up
when he's been chawed up by a animal."

"I want to thank her," Mackenzie said, feeling his heart swing very
low indeed.

"You won't see much of h