“I tell you he isn’t right—not right for a girl like you to know.” “You admit yourself you’re prejudiced.” “Not about that. If you’ll let me, I’ll call his hand for a showdown. Let him prove to me he’s been slandered and I’ll——” Vicky exploded. “If you dare, Hugh McClintock! Did Scot appoint you deputy guardian of me? Do you think I can’t look after myself? Do you think you can come here and slander my friends——?” She broke off, white with anger. He gave up, with a helpless lift of his hands. “I made a mistake. Sorry. I believe every word I’ve said, but I reckon I blundered somehow. I meant the best ever, Vicky, but—oh, well, you can’t see it my way. I’ll say good-evenin’.” Hugh rose. He offered his strong brown hand and with it a smile that asked for forgiveness. She hesitated. Her anger at him was not yet spent. From the next room came Jim Budd’s wheezy refrain, tuneless and monotonous: “Old dog Tray ever faithful, Grief cannot drive him away. He’s gentle and he’s kind, And you’ll never, never find A better friend than old—dog—Tray.” “Just old dog Tray,” Hugh said, and his smile was a little wistful. “A faithful old blunderer, but after all an honest friend.” Vicky relented on swift impulse and gave him her hand. “All right—old dog Tray. But I warn you that you’ll have grief enough to drive you away if you behave like this again.” “I’ll come back even though you throw stones at me,” he said, and this time his grin was gay. “Maybe I’ll bark again at yore friends and maybe I won’t. We’ll see.” “Take my advice and don’t,” she warned. “You didn’t take mine.” “And that’s only half of it. I’m not going to,” the girl flung back, looking at him with a flash of mischief in her eyes. “Well, I can’t help that. It’s good medicine.” He added a suggestion: “Tell Dodson that I warned you against him if you like.” “Why would I do that?” she asked. “I don’t want to feel underhanded about it. I’d rather you did tell him.” “Well, I won’t,” she said with decision. “What kind of a girl do you think I am?” “If you want me to tell you how nice a girl I think you are——” “Now—now,” she protested, laughing. “That’s not what old dog Trays are for.” “Thought you asked me,” he replied with deep innocence. “First you were Mr. Goodman to me. Then you were Santa Claus. Then Mr. Hugh McClintock. Now you’re old dog Tray. I wonder what you’ll be next,” she queried. For a flash their eyes met before the mask fell. She drew back, startled; then decided that she had been mistaken. For in that beat of time it seemed to her that his soul had answered her question and told her what he meant to be to her next. Of course, she had imagined it. CHAPTER XXV THE KILLER STRIKES