Susan's fingers closed mechanically upon the strips of leather. Jeb led the mare through the gate, closed it, resumed his seat. This time the mare went on without exacting the clucking sound. They were following the rocky road along the wester hillside of the pasture hollow. As they slowly made their way among the deep ruts and bowlders, from frequent moistenings of the lips and throats, noises, and twitchings of body and hands, it was evident that the young farmer was getting ready for conversation. The struggle at last broke surface with, "Zeke Warham don't waste no time road patchin'--does he?" Susan did not answer. Jeb studied her out of the corner of his eye, the first time a fairly good bit of roadway permitted. He could make nothing of her face except that it was about the prettiest he had ever seen. Plainly she was not eager to get acquainted; still, acquainted they must get. So he tried again: "My sister Keziah--she keeps house for me--she'll be mighty surprised when I turn up with a wife. I didn't let on to her what I was about, nary a word." He laughed and looked expectantly at the girl. Her expression was unchanged. Jeb again devoted himself to his driving. "No, I didn't let on," he presently resumed. "Fact is, I wan't sure myself till I seed you at the winder." He smiled flirtatiously at her. "Then I decided to go ahead. I dunno, but I somehow kinder allow you and me'll hit it off purty well--don't you?" Susan tried to speak. She found that she could not--that she had nothing to say. "You're the kind of a girl I always had my mind set on," pursued Jeb, who was an expert love-maker. "I like a smooth skin and pouty lips that looks as if they wanted to be kissed." He took the reins in one hand, put his arm round her, clumsily found her lips with his. She shrank slightly, then submitted. But Jeb somehow felt no inclination to kiss her again. After a moment he let his arm drop away from her waist and took the reins in both hands with an elaborate pretense that the bad road compelled it. A long silence, then he tried again: "It's cool and nice under these here trees, ain't it?" "Yes," she said. "I ain't saw you out here for several years now. How long has it been?" "Three summers ago." "You must 'a' growed some. I don't seem to recollect you. You like the country?" "Yes." "Sho! You're just sayin' that. You want to live in town. Well, so do I. And as soon as I get things settled a little I'm goin' to take what I've got and the two thousand from your Uncle George and open up a livery stable in town." Susan's strange eyes turned upon him. "In Sutherland?" she asked breathlessly. "Right in Sutherland," replied he complacently. "I think I'll buy Jake Antle's place in Jefferson Street." Susan was blanched and trembling. "Oh, no," she cried. "You mustn't do that!"