McArthur, strolling, while he enjoyed his pipe, came upon Susie lying face downward, her head pillowed on her arm, on a sand dune not far from the house. He thought she was asleep until she sat up and looked at him. Then he saw her swollen eyes. "Why, Susie, are you ill?" "Yes, I'm sick here." She laid her hand upon her heart. He sat down beside her and stroked the streaked brown hair timidly. "I'm sorry," he said gently. She felt the sympathy in his touch, and was quick to respond to it. "Oh, pardner," she said, "I just feel awful!" "I'm sorry, Susie," he said again. "Did _your_ mother ever go back on you, pardner?" McArthur shook his head gravely. "No, Susie." "It's terrible. I can't tell you hardly how it is; but it's like everybody that you ever cared for in the world had died. It's like standin' over a quicksand and feelin' yourself goin' down. It's like the dreams when you wake up screamin' and you have to tell yourself over and over it isn't so--except that I have to tell myself over and over it _is_ so." "Susie, I think you're wrong." She shook her head sadly. "I wish I was wrong, but I'm not." "She worries when you are late getting home, or are not well." "Yes, she's like that," she nodded. "Mother would fight for me like a bear with cubs if anybody would hurt me so she could see it, but the worst hurt--the kind that doesn't show--I guess she don't understand. Before now I could tell anybody that come on the ranch and wasn't nice to me to 'git,' and mother would back me up. Even yet I could tell you or Tubbs or Mr. Ralston to leave, and they'd have to go. But Smith?--no! He's come back to stay. And she'll let him stay, if she knows it will drive me away from home. Mother's Injun, and she can only read a little and write a little that my Dad taught her, and she wears blankets and moccasins, but I never was 'shamed of Mother before. If she marries Smith, what can I do? Where can I go? I could take my pack outfit and start out to hunt Dad's folks, but if Mother marries Smith, she'll need me after a while. Yet how can I stay? I feel sometimes like they was two of me--one was good and one was bad; and if Mother lets Smith turn me out, maybe all the bad in me would come to the top. But there's one thing I couldn't forget. Dad used to say to me lots of times when we were alone--oh, often he said it: 'Susie, girl, never forget you're a MacDonald!'" McArthur turned quickly and looked at her. "Did your father say that?" Susie nodded. "Just like that?" "Yes; he always straightened himself and said it just like that." McArthur was studying her face with a peculiar intentness, as if he were seeing her for the first time. "What was his first name, Susie?" "Donald." "Donald MacDonald?" "Yes; there was lots of MacDonalds up there in the north country." "Have you a picture, Susie?" A rifle-shot broke the stillness of the droning afternoon. Susie was on her feet the instant. There was another--then a fusillade!