As if to arouse the man from a dream, James gave his broad shoulder another pat, at which West straightened himself and grasped James’ hand in his, in a strong grip. “You, Jim, are and have been my truest, best friend. Ever since that first night at Harvard have you been more to me than a brother. My trouble is something which even God could not help. Part of it is past, part is still to come. The past cannot be forgotten, the future is inevitable,—I must face it and—alone. I could not tell you without causing you unnecessary pain, and believe me, I should ask your help, if you could help me. Never mind my moods. I try hard enough to brace up before your sister and my mother, but I know that sometimes I fail miserably. Give me your hand again, Jim, and know—that when I can or must tell you, nothing shall prevent my seeking you and your confidence.” He put his foot in the stirrup and swung with easy grace into his saddle. James mounted and rode beside him, trying in vain to think of something to say which might relieve the awkward silence. Either West did not see another rider approaching them, or else he purposely reined Eagle from the hard, beaten road, across the prairie. In response to a signal from the horseman, James called to West. “Henry, Davis is signaling to us. Come back and see what he wants.” Already Fletcher had started back and was talking with Davis when West came up slowly. He touched his hat as the Indian Agent looked up at him, and noting that the conversation did not concern him he let Eagle nibble at the grass at some little distance, while he waited for James. “Thanks, Fletcher; I shall do as you suggest,” came to West’s ears, as he looked up to see James returning and Davis going on—he knew to his home to see the one whom he himself loved more than all the world. “Do you know, Henry,” said James, “I think Davis is a fine man. He just asked my consent to visit my sister and try to win her for his wife. I told him that as far as I was concerned, he might do so, but that Bess could and would please herself. In fact, I told him that she did not seem to care for anyone’s addresses.” West could not reply, his heart and lips seemed suddenly frozen. If he only could warn this brother against that man! Yet, how could he without revealing the deep secret of his heart? Unless he stated facts Fletcher might think it was some personal affair which prompted his criticism of Davis. And yet, to let Bess fall directly into the talons of a vulture without even lifting his voice to defend her, seemed the height of cowardice. He must have time to think—to think. * * * * *