The moment McWhorter came upon the girl at the gate of the corral he sensed that something was wrong. She had greeted him as usual but as he watched her walk to the cabin, he noted an unwonted weariness in her steps, and a slight drooping of her square shoulders. Unsaddling his horse, he turned him into the corral with the bay mare. He noted the absence of the big roan. "Been tryin' to ride Blue, an' he got away from her," he thought; "weel, she'll tell me aboot it, if so." While Janet placed supper on the table her father washed noisily at the bench beside the door, then entered, and took his place at the table. The meal progressed in silence, and in silence McWhorter, as was his custom, helped the girl wash and dry the dishes and put them away on their shelves. This done, he filled his black pipe and seated himself in the chair. In another chair drawn close beside the big lamp, Janet pretended to read a magazine, while at every muffled night sound, her eyes flew to the window. "Wheer's Blue," asked McWhorter, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe and refilled it. "I loaned him to a man who came here on foot." "From the bad lands?" "No. From the river. He's Mr. Colston's range foreman and he and--and somebody else were crossing the river on Long Bill's ferry and the cable broke, and the boat came ashore above here." "An' the ither--did the ither come?" "No. That's why he borrowed Blue--to hunt for the other." "An' ye rode wi' 'um? I see the mare's be'n rode." Janet nodded: "Yes, I rode with him as far as the bad lands, and then--he sent me back." McWhorter puffed for some minutes in silence: "Think you he will come here the night?" "Yes--unless something happens." "An' that's what's worrin' ye--that something might happen him--oot theer? What wad ye think could happen?" "Why--why--lots of things could happen," she glanced at her father, wondering at his unwonted loquacity. The man caught the look: "Ye'll be thinkin' I'll be talkin' o'er much," he said, "but ye've found out befoor this, when theer's words to be said I can say 'em." The man's voice suddenly softened: "Come, lass, 'tis ye're own happiness I'm thinkin' of--ye've na one else. Is he some braw young blade that rode that de'el of a Blue wi'oot half tryin'? An' did he speak ye fair? An' is he gude to look on--a man to tak' the ee o' the weemin'? Is ut so?" The girl stood at the window peering out into the darkness, and receiving no answer, McWhorter continued: "If that's the way of ut, tak' ye heed. I know the breed o' common cowpunchers--they're a braw lot, an' they've takin' ways--but in theer hearts they're triflin' gude-for-naughts, wi' na regard for God, mon, nor the de'el."