Bob's eyes met the dark orbs of June. Between them some communication flashed. For the first time a queer emotion clutched at the boy's heart. An intoxicating thrill pulsed through his veins. She was his wife, this shy girl so flushed and tender. His hand caught hers and gave it a little comforting pressure. It was his first love gesture and it warmed her like wine. "You're right good to me," she murmured. She was grateful for so little. All her life she had been starved for love and friendship just as he had. Bob resolved to give them to her in a flood. A great tide of sympathy flowed out from him to her. He would be good to her. He wished she knew now how well he meant to look after her. But he could not tell her. A queer shame tied his tongue. From a blacksmith shop a man stepped. "Say, fellow, can I see you a minute?" he asked. It was Dud Hollister. He drew Bob back into the smithy. "Big guy in town lookin' for you. He's tankin' up. You heeled?" Bob felt as though his heart had been drenched with ice water. Houck was here then. Already. "No, I--I don't carry a gun," he replied, weakly. "Here's mine. Shoots just a mite high, but she's a good old friend." Dud pressed a six-shooter on Dillon. The boy took it reluctantly. The blood in his veins ran cold. "I dunno. I reckon mebbe I better not. If I talked to him, don't you think--?" "Talk, hell! He's out for blood, that guy is. He's made his brags right over the bar at Dolan's what all he's gonna do to you. I'm no gunman, understand. But a fellow's got to look out for number one. I'd let him have it soon as I seen him. Right off the reel." "Would you?" "Surest thing you know. He's a bad actor, that fellow is." "If I went to the marshal--" Dud's eye held derision. "What good'd that do? Simp ain't gonna draw cards _till after some one's been gunned_. He don't claim to be no mind-reader, Simp don't." "I'm not lookin' for trouble," Bob began to explain. "Fellow, it's lookin' for you," cut in Dud. "You hold that gun right under yore coat, an' when you meet up with Mr. Hook or whoever he is, don't you wait to ask 'What for?' Go to fannin'." Bob rejoined June. His lips were bloodless. He felt a queer weakness in the knees. "What did he want?" asked June. "Houck's here--lookin' for me," the wretched boy explained. "What's that you've got under yore coat?" she demanded quickly. "It's a--a gun. He made me take it. Said Houck was tellin' how he'd--do for me." The fear-filled eyes of the boy met the stricken ones of his bride. She knew now what she had before suspected and would not let herself believe. If it was possible she must help him to avoid a meeting with Houck. She could not have him shamed. Her savage young pride would not permit the girl to mate with one who proved himself a coward at a crisis of his life. It was necessary to her self-respect that she save his.