It had come so simply yet so full of scarcely restrained passion. Would she ever forget? Never, never. Her emotions had been beyond words. She wanted to weep. She wanted to laugh. But more than all she wanted to flee before he could utter another word. She turned to her horse without a word. In a moment she was in the saddle, and had turned the creature about to ride off. But Jeff's voice stayed her. "Say, little Nan, I----" he broke off. "Oh, I guess I'll eat at the bunkhouse. I haven't time for supper right. I've got to get down to the branding pinch. Say, Nan," a sudden deep urging had filled his voice, and he came to her horse's side and laid a detaining hand upon its reins. "Can I come along up--later? I didn't mean to make you mad. True. I couldn't help it. I---- May I come along--after I get through?" It had been utterly impossible for her to make articulate reply. Her emotions were too deep, too overwhelming. She had simply nodded her head. And in that trifling movement she knew she had conveyed a sign beyond all misunderstanding. After that the woman had impelled her. She hurriedly rode off, fearing she knew not what. She knew she fled, incontinently fled. And her first act on arrival home had been to rid herself of the almost mannish suit in which she worked, so that Jeff, when he made his appearance, might find her the woman she really was. The voices of the men on the veranda reached Nan within the parlor. She did not want to listen. She told herself so. Besides, she had a perfect right to remain where she was. And, anyway, Bud had no secrets from her. So she placed herself beyond the chance of observation, and remained quiet lest she should lose a word of what the voices were saying. Bud was talking. His tone and words rumbled pleasantly upon the evening air. His talk was of the round-up. It was the talk of a man wedded to the life of the western plains. It was the talk of a man who is conscious of success achieved in spite of great difficulties and trials. There was a deep note of satisfaction in all he said. Jeff's voice sounded at intervals. A lighter note. His answers were precise, as was his way. But they lacked the enthusiasm of the other. It was as though his thoughts were traveling far afield, while his ears subconsciously conveyed the other's talk to a brain ready to formulate adequate reply. Apparently, however, this abstraction impressed itself upon the other at last, for presently Nan heard her father challenge him in his direct fashion. "Feelin' beat, eh?" Nan pictured the steady gaze of her father's deep-set inquiring eyes as he put the question. "No." The reply came without hesitation. It was simple, definite. Again the picture presented itself to Nan. Jeff, she felt, was gazing out into the twilight, absorbed in the thoughts which held him. She knew the attitude. She had seen it so often before. It was Bud's voice which broke the silence that followed.