"Let's go up and see that little runt of an Irish lassie," Matthews had suggested in the afternoon; and they were leisurely climbing the Ridge Trail, the old frontiersman yarning and yarning of the dear good old days; Eleanor thinking her own thoughts. They met a downy-lipped youth in gray flannels and Mr. Bat Brydges wearing a panama hat and an "Oh-I-know-it-all" air. Both dabbed at their hats to the old man; but Matthews saw them not till they had passed when he stopped and turned with a look over his shoulder and a grunt. Eleanor had not learned yet what had happened to the Sheriff; but somehow the old frontiersman's look gave her a satisfaction. Where a crag jutted out from the face of the Ridge and some spruce saplings spanned a spring trickling down from the rocks, Matthews stopped. This was the place! Old rascal! How did he know? Has age ever been young? Eleanor did not know that he was looking at her, did not know that her face was wrapped in mystery and light. Suddenly he placed both hands on her shoulder. "Eleanor, y'r a magnificent woman! Y' don't mind me callin' y' a woman?" It was his highest compliment. "Y're braver than my wife; an' she's the bravest o' them a'! D' y' know that my wife came half way round the world t' marry me an' go penniless to th' Indian Reserve? D' y' know when she found the Indians sick, d' y' know she went East an' took a full four years' medical course t' be able to attend them? D' y' know she goes all over the Reserve day an' night an' for three hundred miles among th' settlers to attend th' sick? But duty with us is easy. We're rich. Duty brought us together! Duty's goin' t' push y' apart; an' y're not complainin'."