“Yes. I met Vicky.” His white teeth flashed in a smile that sought to win her confidence. “That young lady has a lot of sense. She wanted to know why the trustees of the Virginia Dodson Fund were not attending to business. So I’m here.” “Oh! Vicky oughtn’t to have done that.” Another surge of colour, born of shame, swept into the cheeks. For the first time Scot realized how very pretty she was. He found her diffidence charming, for he lived in a world where the women he knew could not afford to be shy. “Vicky did just right,” he protested while he was opening his sack. “Our baby must be well fed. It’s my business to see to that, and I’m going to do it from now.” He built a fire while she watched him, the baby in her arms. Mollie was acutely uncomfortable. The gambler had taken off his coat in order that his movements might be freer. In his figured waistcoat, frilled cambric shirt, close-fitting trousers, and varnished boots he looked too exquisite for menial labour. She was acutely conscious of her patched and faded gingham. It was Cophetua and the beggar maid brought down to date, except that she was a wife and not a girl. “I wish—you wouldn’t,” she stammered. He stood up, masterful and dominant. His glance swept round and found a battered water bucket. “Where’s the spring, Mrs. Dodson?” he asked. “Let me go,” she begged. “It’s—it’s quite a way.” “I’m feeling better to-day. Maybe I can make it to the spring and back,” he said, smiling. “Which way, please?” Reluctantly she pointed to the spring. It was in an arroyo nearly a quarter of a mile distant. “Robert forgot to get water before he left. He’s—away looking for work,” she explained with a slight tremor of the lips. He liked her better for the little lie. Scot guessed that Dodson had not been at the camp for several days. He had seen the man in town yesterday drunk, and again to-day sleeping under an empty wagon in a vacant lot. It was a safe bet that Mollie Dodson carried the water for the family use. Scot returned with the water and made a batch of biscuits and some hot coffee. While she ate he put rice on to boil. When he looked at her he saw tears in her brown eyes. She was choking over the food and trying to prevent him from seeing it. He decided that this was a time for plain talk. “I reckon I can guess how you feel,” he said gently. “But that’s not the right angle to look at this thing. Back where you come from persons that take help from others are—well, they don’t hold their heads up. But this is the West, a new country. The camp’s short of food. It can’t be bought in the market unless you know the ropes. We share with each other here. In a kind of way we’re all one big family. I’m your big brother, and I’m certainly going to see this baby is fed proper.” She murmured something he could not catch for the break in her voice. He bustled about the fire cheerfully and let her alone till she had regained control of herself.