"But I'll be on the lookout every second," he declared. "Miss Dallas,"--he urged his horse up to the window--"don't think I'm idiot enough to try to do up that saloon gang down there single-handed. If I go to Shanty Town, it'll be because I have to. I won't go alone if I can help it. First of all, I intend to see the Colonel over there, and lay this matter before him." "But dad----" she began. "Got to do it, whether your father likes it or not. We're dealing with a cutthroat. He knows this land's worth money." "Yes----" "And you can't tell what he'll do." He bent to her. "That scoundrel scared you," he said regretfully. "You're ready to drop. Oh, yes, you are! And it's my fault. I knew he might come any day--that he'd make trouble. But I didn't believe he'd get here so soon, I----" "I'd given him up," she said. "You! You _did_ know, then!" "Quite a while ago." "Knew what?" asked Marylyn, stopping her tears. Then, certain that there was some awful secret behind it all, and that it was being kept from her, she began to cry again. Dallas soothed her, and explained. "Do you know when Matthews' six months is up?" Lounsbury inquired. "To-night, at twelve." "To-night! Well, we've got to keep him off. He may try to establish residence in a wickie-up." "But hasn't he a right? Can't he----" "He hasn't, and he can't. And if he comes this way after midnight, I'll fix _him_ for trespassing!" He laughed. "I wish you wouldn't go to the Fort, though. You've heard dad--you know how he feels." "I wouldn't go if I didn't have to. But the temperature's falling. By sundown, they'll begin changing the sentries at Brannon every hour. No one man could stay out even half the night. And this shack has to be guarded till morning. I must get someone to relieve me." "I suppose you're right," she said reluctantly. He brought the horse about. "Is there anything I can do before I go?" he asked. "No. We've got everything but wood, and Charley brings us that." "Charley," repeated Lounsbury. "Who's Charley?" She told him. He seemed relieved. "I'll look that Indian up," he said, and raised his hand to his cap. From the road, he looked round. Despite the distance, he could see that the girls were where he had left them, and Marylyn's head was once more pressed against her sister. The sight made him writhe in his saddle, and wish he were as old as the river-bluffs themselves, that he might go back and protect them. As he descended to the ice their two faces rose before him: One, pretty and pale, with the soft roundness of a child's, the blue eyes filled with all a child's terror and entreaty; the other, pale, too,--though upon it there still lingered the brown of the summer sun--but firm of outline, its crown a heavy coil of braids, its centre, eyes that were brave, steadfast, compelling. The first picture blurred in remembering the second. "God bless her!" he murmured. "To think she knew all the time, and never cheeped!"