Norton smiled with ineffable pity. "Lordy!" he laughed; "you single guys don't know a thing not a durned thing!" After that they rode on in silence. When they came in sight of the Hazelton cabin Norton reined in his pony and sat motionless in the saddle, grinning at Hollis. "You run along now," he advised. "I'll be hittin' her off toward the Dry Bottom trail for the rest of the way--I sorta like that trail better anyway." He urged his pony off at a tangent and Hollis continued on his way. He found Nellie alone, her brother having gone out on the range. She came out on the porch, hearing his pony's hoofs on the hard sand and rocks of the trail, and there was a sincere welcome in her eyes. It was the first time that he had visited the cabin since he had returned to the Circle Bar. "Oh!" she said delightedly. And then, aware of the sudden light that had come into Hollis's eyes at this evidence of interest, she blushed and looked down at the hem of her skirt, nervously pushing it out with the toe of her shoe. During the days of Hollis's convalescence at the Hazelton cabin he had seen the young woman in many moods. In none of them, however, had she seemed so attractive as now. Confusion became her, he decided, and he regarded her with a new interest as he sat on his pony, awaiting her invitation to dismount. It came presently. "It is frightfully hot," she said, moving over to where stood two chairs--one in which he had passed many hours during the days of his convalescence, the other in which she had sat quite often--near him. Not until now did he realize how full and satisfying those days had been. As he dismounted and tied his pony to one of the slender porch columns he smiled--thinking of Norton's question during their discussion of Ace's poem. "Of course"--the range boss had said--"if she's any kind of a woman at all she's got him runnin'. But which way?" Of course--literally--she did not have him running, but he knew that some uncommon passion had gripped him and that he was unaccountably pleased. His smile grew when he remembered her sudden indignation over his thoughtless statement that women had never interested him. Of course he would not tell her that he felt a serious interest in _one_ woman. When he dropped into his favorite chair, removing his hat and mopping the perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief, he caught her looking swiftly at the scar under his right eye--which would always be a reminder of his experience on the night of the storm. She saw his brows contract in a frown. "You have quite recovered," she said; "except for that slight scar under the eye you are the same as before the meeting with Dunlavey's men."