"Oh, did she tell you something?" cried Drusilla apprehensively. "Do tell me what it was! I won't breathe it to a soul; and if you could share it with some friend, don't you think it would ease your mind?" Denver looked at her slowly, then he turned away and shook his head in refusal. "Oh, Denver!" she exclaimed as she sensed the significance of it, and before he knew it she was patting his work-hardened hand. "I'm sorry," she said, "but if ever I can help you I want you to let me know. Would it help to have me for a friend?" "A friend!" he repeated, and then he drew back and the horror came into his eyes. She was his friend already, the dearest friend he had--was she destined then to kill him? "No!" he said, "I don't want any friends. Come on, I believe that's McGraw." He rose up hastily and held out his hand to help her but she refused to accept his aid. Her lips were trembling, there were tears in her eyes and her breast was beginning to heave; but there was no explanation he could give. He wanted her, yes, but not as a friend--as his beloved, his betrothed, his wife! By any name, but not by the name of friend. He drew away slowly as her head bowed to her knees; and at last he left her, weeping. It was best, after all, for how could he comfort her? And he could see McGraw's dust down the road. "I'm going to meet McGraw!" he called back from the steps and went bounding off down the trail. CHAPTER XVII BROKE McGraw, the freighter, was a huge, silent man from whom long years on the desert had almost taken the desire for speech. He came jangling up the road, his wagons grinding and banging, his horses straining wearily in their collars; and as Denver ran to meet him he threw on the brakes and sat blinking solemnly at his inquisitor. "Where's my powder?" demanded Denver looking over the load, "and say, didn't you bring that coal? I don't see that steel I ordered, either!" "No," said McGraw and then, after a silence: "Murray wouldn't receive your ore." "Wouldn't receive it!" yelled Denver, "why, what was the matter with it--did the sacks get broke going down?" "No," answered McGraw, "the sacks were all right. He said the ore was no good." "Like hell!" scoffed Denver, "that ore that I sent him? It would run a thousand ounces to the ton!" McGraw wrinkled his brows and looked up at the sun. "Well," he said, "I guess I'll be going." "But--hey, wait!" commanded Denver, scarcely believing his ears, "didn't he send me any grub, or anything?" "Nope," answered McGraw, "he wouldn't give me nawthin'. He said the ore was no good. Come, boys!" And he threw off the brakes with a bang.