"That is just what you have done," she flashed forth. "Who gave you any sort of encouragement to follow me to what you are pleased to call `the end of another world'? Why did you come here to render me thoroughly ridiculous, to place me in a false position? By what right do you presume to call me to account? Answer me that, and then kindly leave me at once." For a moment he seemed thunderstruck, and stood staring at her in blank dismay. Then a light seemed to dawn upon him. "I thought, at any rate, that one more to protect you--to stand between you and harm--in this wild country, counted for something. But it seems to constitute an offence. Well, I will leave, this very night if you wish it." "Nonsense!" was the angry retort. "Have you so soon forgotten the result of trying to cross the plains alone? You know perfectly well I don't want you to run any such foolish risk. But you should not have followed me here at all. I thought I had given you a final answer once and for all at Lant--" "Good evening, Miss Santorex!" struck in a voice behind them. And Vipan raised his hat as he rode by at a foot's pace within a dozen yards of them. So engrossed had they been that they had not heard the hoof-strokes of his horse. A flush came over Yseulte's face. Could he have heard? she thought. Surely he must have. The evening air was so still, and Geoffry's voice was of the high "carrying" order. Oh, that unlucky Geoffry! And for the moment she found it in her heart to wish that he had been left to the tender mercies of the red men. "I can't think how it is," said Geoffry, moodily, bringing his glance back from Vipan's retreating form to the flushed face of his companion. "I've a dim recollection of having seen that fellow before--how, when, and where is just what puzzles me." Yseulte started. If she was thinking the same thing she was not going to say so. She suggested a return to the camp. "And it's my belief," pursued Geoffry, with a dash of venom--"my firm belief, that he's a bad hat." "Is it?" "Yes. I've heard one or two queer whispers about him in the camp. It's said that he's too friendly with the Indians." "Especially the other day when you and I had the pleasure of meeting. Where would you be now but for him, or where should I? I don't think we ought to go out of our way to cultivate a bad opinion of a man who has saved both our lives, do you?" She left him, for they had now reached the camp--left him standing there feeling very sore, very resentful, and thoroughly foolish. Yseulte Santorex could be very scornful, very cutting, when she chose. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. "AT HIS TIME OF LIFE." "Something not quite right there--not quite right. No, sir," said the scout to himself, shaking his head softly as he furtively watched his companion. "And I reckon I can fix it," he added. "Lord! Lord! To think what we may come to--the most sensible of us as well as the most downright foolishest."