The man turned a brief, contemptuous glance toward the stove. “You got the damn' queer way to talk. I don't call no squaw no lady. You drink queeck, now!” “Aw, shut up, Frenchy,” the man at his elbow abjured him. “He don't have to drink if he don't want to.” “You keep the face close,” the other retorted majestically; and cursed loud and long and incoherently. Rowdy drew back his arm, with a fist that meant trouble for somebody; but there were others before him who pinned the importunate host to the table, where he squirmed unavailingly. Rowdy buttoned up his coat the while he eyed the group disgustedly. “I guess we'll drift,” he remarked. “You don't look good to me, and that's no dream.” “Aw, stay and warm up,” the fourth man expostulated. “Yuh don't need t' mind Le Febre; he's drunk.” But Rowdy opened the door decisively, and Miss Conroy, her cheeks like two storm-buffeted poppies, followed him out with dignity--albeit trailing a yard of red-and-yellow Navajo blanket behind her. Rowdy lifted her into the saddle, tucked her feet carefully under the blanket, and said never a word. “Mr. Vaughan,” she began hesitatingly, “this is too bad; you need not have left. I--I wasn't afraid.” “I know you weren't,” conceded Rowdy. “But it was a hard formation--for a woman. Are there any more places on this flat marked Unavailable?” Miss Conroy replied misanthropically that if there were they would be sure to find them. They took up their weary wanderings again, while the yellow eye of the window winked after them. They missed Rodway's by a scant hundred yards, and didn't know it, because the side of the house next them had no lighted windows. They traveled in a wide, half circle, and thought that they were leaving a straight trail behind them. More than once Rowdy was urged by his aching arm to drop the lead-rope and leave Chub to shift by himself, but habit was strong and his heart was soft. Then he felt an odd twitching at the lead-rope, as if Chub were minded to rebel against their leadership. Rowdy yanked him into remembrance of his duty, and wondered. Bill Brown's question came insistently to mind; he wondered the more. Two minutes and the lead-rope was sawing against the small of his back again. Rowdy turned Dixie's head, and spoke for the first time in an hour. “My packhorse seems to have an idea about where he wants to go,” he said. “I guess we might as well follow him as anybody; he ain't often taken with a rush of brains to the head. And we can't be any worse lost than we are now, can we?” Miss Conroy said no dispiritedly, and they swung about and followed Chub's leadership apathetically. It took Chub just five minutes to demonstrate that he knew what he was about. When he stopped, it was with his nose against a corral gate; not content with that, he whinnied, and a new, exultant note was in the sound. A deep-voiced dog bayed loudly, and a shrill yelp cut in and clamored for recognition.