She heard the faint sound of hoof-beats coming nearer, from the direction of the herd. The boys and Uncle Hank would be here in a minute. Pearse caught her hand with a whispered: “There they come. Good-by.” “Good-by,” she echoed whisperingly, then looked down at her empty hands. He was gone. The men were clattering in. She ran toward the fire, arriving just as Uncle Hank, with Buster and several of the Sandoval County men, rode up. “Buster, I’ll get that salve for you,” the foreman was saying. “A rope burn is about the meanest kind of a—” He broke off abruptly. Hilda, stooping to feed the fire in order to cover her confusion, had not noticed that he was rummaging in the wagon. Glancing up, she saw him back away from the vehicle and put his hand to his head. “Pettie,” he said softly, “come here, honey.” And as she approached he added still lower: “Am I losing my wits—or is there—a—er—a saddle—?” “Yes, Uncle Hank,” Hilda whispered vehemently, laying hold of his arm. “It’s father’s. Sunday’s come back. He’s in with the other ponies.” “Oh, is he—is he, so?” echoed Hank, feebly. “What’s the matter, Pearsall?” Buster called. “Can’t you find that salve?” “Sure—it’s right here. I’ll fetch it in a minute,” and Hank turned hurriedly back to the wagon. But before he succeeded in finding the box of salve there was an outcry from one of the new hands. “Say, Shorty—look here, will you—there’s a strange cayuse in the remuda. We seem to have drawed another card to our hand of ponies.” Then came Shorty’s voice: “Well, I’ll be jiggered! Come and see, Pearsall. Here’s that Sunday horse of Hilda’s that’s been gone a year; done flew through the air and lit in our corral. If that don’t beat the dickens!” “That’s all right, boys,” Uncle Hank said. “It’s all right, Shorty. A—er—friend borrowed the pony off of Pettie, and—” “Why, yes—I allowed so,” said O’Meara. “But, how in thunder, did Sunday get here now?” “Well, the friend that borrowed him sort of happened along to-night whilst we was out working with the cows, and fetched him.” Shorty made no reply. He only whistled a little under his breath and glanced keenly toward where Hilda stood. Hank got the salve and did up Buster’s hand. He was a long time about it. If he intended to give Hilda a chance to get away without speaking to him, his pretext failed. She lingered, looking at him uneasily till he was free and turned to her. “Well, Pettie?” “Nothing, Uncle Hank.” “You ought to be in your blankets and asleep. Run along, honey.” He wasn’t going to ask any questions. He wouldn’t even look an inquiry. Oh, he was good—so good! And she had come short of loyalty to him. She had not defended him to Pearse. She crept to her blankets in the cedar thicket, hunched them about her mechanically and lay sleepless, staring up to where big, bright stars talked together of other matters than the affairs of mankind. She was disturbed, elated, unhappy—all in one.