Hugh felt as if there must be some mistake. Perhaps in these lonely days in the hills he had lost the power of discrimination. He hadn’t seen a girl for endless weeks—centuries they seemed to him—and he had heard that such isolation affects the point of view. The girl might be white; by a long chance she might even be young; but by no possible circumstance had she a right to be pretty. Beauty dwelt in far cities, in gentle lands and distant, not in these rugged mountains. Yet the truth of his first observation became ever more apparent. He steadied himself, closed his mouth, and tried to stand at his ease. The girl swung down from the horse. That motion, graceful as the leap of a deer, explained in a measure the mystery. It revealed a suppleness, a strength and litheness of body such as might stand the test of existence even on the frontier. Hugh noted that she was a slender girl, rather tall, that she wore a soft felt hat over her chestnut hair, and that she had dark eyes under rather marvelous brows. Hugh was no amateur in regard to women. Now that he had regained his self-control he made a swift and unerring appraisal; yet found his amazement deepening at every instant. There was a freshness, an appeal about her slight figure, suggesting perfect health and superb physical development rather than weakness, and he was not blind to the gentleness and breeding in her soft features. She seemed perfectly composed, wholly at ease. In her simplicity she found no embarrassment under his frank gaze. “Where’s Dan?” she asked. Hugh straightened, somewhat startled. He had expected some sort of a formal greeting, a few words in apology or introduction, not this straight-out, uncompromising “Where’s Dan?” It seemed to him she acted somewhat suspicious of him, also. She had, he observed, a well-bred voice. She spoke in clear, level tones that pleased his ear. The voice was wholly lacking in affectation, but it was simply brimming and vibrant with health and high spirits. Hugh noticed something else, too, and smiled inwardly. He couldn’t remember ever having been spoken to in just that way before. The level, impersonal tone implied an insurmountable social barrier between them. It was a somewhat similar tone, he remembered, to that in which he had occasionally spoken to a servant. In this case he obviously was the inferior. He paused and reflected as to the whereabouts of Dan. The truth came to him in a moment. Dan of course referred to his predecessor. “He’s dead,” Hugh answered simply.