Tim had arrived that morning from a near-by camp as Joan was about to set out for Dad Frazer's. From his way of plunging abruptly into this matter, which he never had discussed with her before, and his sharpness and apparent displeasure with her, Joan knew that he had seen Reid overnight. They were beside the sheep-wagon, to a wheel of which Joan's horse was tied, all saddled and ready to mount. The sun was already high, for Joan had helped Charley range the flock out for its day's grazing, and had put all things to rights in the camp, anxious as her mind was over Mackenzie's state. "I'll not have you treat the lad like a beggar come to ask of you, Joan; I'll not have it at all. Be civil with him; use him kindly when he speaks." "He's a thousand years older than I am; he knows things that you never heard of." "Somebody's been whisperin' slanders of him in your ear. He's a fine lad, able to hold his own among men, take 'em where they're found. Don't you heed what the jealous say about the boy, Joan; don't you let it move you at all." "I wouldn't have him if he brought his million in a wheelbarrow and dumped it at my feet." "It's not a million, as I hear it," Tim corrected, mildly, even a bit thoughtfully, "not more nor a half." "Then he's only half as desirable," smiled Joan, the little gleam of humor striking into her gloomy hour like a sudden ray of sun. "You'd run sheep till you was bent and gray, and the rheumatiz' got set in your j'ints, me gerrel, before you'd win to the half of half a million. Here it comes to you while you're young, with the keenness to relish it and the free hand to spend the interest off of it, and sail over the seas and see the world you're longin' to know and understand." Joan's hat hung on the saddle-horn, the morning wind was trifling with light breath in her soft, wave-rippled hair. Her brilliant necktie had been put aside for one of narrower span and more sober hue, a blue with white dots. The free ends of it blew round to her shoulder, where they lay a moment before fluttering off to brush her cheek, as if to draw by this slight friction some of the color back into it that this troubled interview had drained away. She stood with her head high, her chin lifted, determination in her eyes. Thorned shrubs and stones had left their marks on her strong boots, the little teeth of the range had frayed the hem of her short cloth skirt, but she was as fresh to see as a morning-glory in the sun. Defiance outweighed the old cast of melancholy that clouded her eyes; her lips were fixed in an expression which was denial in itself as she stood looking into the wind, her little brown hands clenched at her sides. "I want that you should marry him, as I have arranged it with old Malcolm," said Tim, speaking slowly to give it greater weight. "I have passed my word; let that be the end."