Beck could not give her an answer. "It all depends on what sort of nester this is. He might be talked out of it, though that ain't likely." She tapped the desk with nervous fingers. "I came down to tell you about Dad last night. That's why I was here," he explained, as though he considered an explanation necessary. And with it was an indication of the curiosity which he could not conceal. Jane flushed, and her gaze fell. The man stood looking down at her golden hair, the soft skin of cheeks and throat, the parted lips. One of his hands closed slowly, tightly. For a moment he let himself want her! "I am very glad that you did come. I don't know how much you heard or what you saw but--" "Nothing that I can recall, except that you wasn't havin' your own way." The courtesy of this touched her and she smiled her gratitude. "Dick Hilton had been an old friend of mine; that is, I thought he was a friend. I.... "He said some things last night that I wouldn't want you to misunderstand. They.... That is, it would hurt me to think that you might believe what you heard him say." "I don't think there's any danger of me misunderstanding anything that man would say about you. I mean, his meaning, ma'am, not only his words." "That is as much assurance as could be given," she replied. * * * * * For forty-eight hours following Hepburn's departure the HC was in a state of expectation. Frequently, even on the first night following, the men would stop talking and listen at any unusual sound as though that all believed it might be the foreman returning or some one with the word that he would never return, because the remainder of the crew did not have the faith in his well being that Beck had expressed to Jane Hunter. The Reverend held the floor much of the time, preaching frequent impromptu sermons, discoursing largely on small matters. To him the rest listened in delight with the exception of Two-Bits, who was overawed by the verboseness of his kin. A less obvious activity of the Reverend's was his pertinent, never ceasing questioning. He asked questions casually and covered his attempts to glean information by long-winded comments on irrelevant subjects. Tom Beck, even, caught himself expressing opinions when he had not intended to and guarded himself thereafter. "He's an old fox!" he thought. "He knows a heap more than he lets on ... like some other folks." Otherwise the man seemed harmless. He let no opportunity pass to sell his fountain pens which he carried always in the pockets of his frock coat. He took frequent inventories of his stock and when he miscounted or actually found some article missing he turned the place upside down until the loss was adjusted.