"It won't do any harm to keep an eye on Shanty Town, all the same," declared his companion, fiercely. "Remember the man that ran it last year? Slick, by gad! Why, the paymaster might just as well have stopped over there--he and his ilk got every cent! He wasn't a 'bad' man, mind you--not brave enough for that, but keen-nosed as a moose, conceited as an Indian----" "What was his name?" "Oh, Dick or Vic Something-or-other, I don't know what. He's a bragging renegade, anyway." Unaware of a reconnoitre, the occupants of the line of shanties slumbered serenely on; and not until noon did high plumes of smoke, straight as the flag-pole on the parade-ground, announce, to the secretly delighted troopers at Brannon, their tardy rising. Dallas, too, saw the busy chimneys. But while watching them intently from an open window, her attention was attracted, all at once, in the opposite direction. She heard, coming out of the coulee, a chorus of shrill talking, like the pow-wow of a flock of prairie-chickens. Then, a horse snorted, and there was a low rumble of wheels. Thinking that it was her father, she leaned into sight. As she did so a team came scrambling over the scarlet brink, dragging a wagon full of men and women. As the horses gained the level prairie, their driver laid aside a huge black-snake whip with which he had been soundly whacking them, and looked about. The next moment, Dallas saw him rein in his team and spring to his feet. He was looking toward the shack, and he raised his whip-hand menacingly. "Look at that! Look at that!" he cried wildly, his voice carrying through the clear air. All looked where he pointed, and someone in the back of the wagon cursed. "What d' you call _that_ for luck?" yelled the man, shaking his mittened fist. "If Nick knew that!" Dallas could not hear the mingled answers of his companion. "Well, I call it damned----" A woman reached up and pulled him into his seat. There was another shrill chorus, the man whacked the horses till they reared, and the wagon went rumbling on. Dallas watched it until it disappeared into the cut at the landing. Then she sank upon a bench. For a long time she sat, dumb and immovable, her eyes on the floor. When, finally, she got up, she felt about her, as if overcome by blindness. Marylyn had not seen or heard the threatening wagon-driver. Seated comfortably on the robe by the fire, she strung beads and hummed contentedly. Dallas started toward her--stopped--then moved slowly back to the window, where she took up her watch. Late that night she sprang from fitful, troubled sleep to hear Simon lowing and moving about restlessly. A few moments afterward, there came a mule's long bray from below the shack, followed by the voice of the section-boss, urging on the team. She found her long cloak and hastened out. She could not wait for the wagon to stop before calling anxiously to her father. "Did you file?" she asked, walking beside Betty.