The sun blazed downward and after four o’clock. Bud ventured from the store, hitched his buggy, loaded on the trunk and duffle, and began the journey through the jack pines with his passenger. He watched her from his heavy-lidded eyes, waiting for some sign of weakness. For, in the dwarf forest the heat scorched them and the sand rose out of the road and cascaded from the branches. It was a dismal entrance to a hard land. However, if the girl felt any discouragement, she kept it well to herself, hands folded in her lap and sitting erect in the swaying seat. So Bud turned to casual topics, directing her attention in his kindly way to the things she must do and expect. “Ma’am,” he said finally, “if I ain’t too personal, just what makes you do this?” It struck tinder. He saw a spark flash. “Because I want to show him--people--that I’m no butterfly! That’s why! And I _will_ do it!” There was, then, a man involved. Bud, seeing partial light, moved from the subject. They drove in silence while the rutted highway wound slowly through the heart of the pines, passed sundry trails, and came at last to a vast open plain over which the sun shed a blood glow. “Purty, ain’t it?” asked Bud, wistful pride in his voice. “See yonder house? That’ll be your nearest neighbor, Jim Hunter. A mighty fine boy. You’ll do well to know Jim.” “H’m.” “Yes, sir. Jim’s the stubborn kind. Hard as nails an’ never says much, but that’s the only breed who’ll survive this country. He’ll help you.” The buggy turned off the road and went bumping over the flat land. They passed a corner fence and in time drew up at the door of Hunter’s house. Bud called out: “Hey, Jim.” The girl seemed to become very still, and the storekeeper, turning, found a flutter of excitement again in her eyes. Jim walked from his place, stooping slightly to pass the upper sill. “You’re goin’ to have a neighbor, Jim. I’m locatin’ her on the next place. You’ll kinda watch----” But he got no further and found himself thrust completely out of the picture. Hunter strode toward the buggy, the soberness quite gone from his face. “Why, Mary, what on earth----” “Don’t make any mistake,” she broke in. “I’ve come for that apology.” Bud raised a hand to a sorely puzzled head. The girl was sitting like a statue, her fingers interlaced in her lap, her chin held a little higher than usual, the delicate pink spreading slowly. The excitement was gone. Bud had the idea that it was suppressed only by an effort. Hunter stopped dead. “What?” “I said I’ve come for that apology, Jim.” “Now why,” he said angrily, “did you come all the way out in this hot and dusty place. Bud, you ought to have more sense.”