"It may not be anything at all to him, and it may be something important," said Frances, reaching out the slip to Major King. "Would you mind handing it to him, and explaining how it came into my hands?" "I'll not have anything to do with the fellow!" said the major, flushing hotly. "How can you ask such a thing of _me?_ Throw it away, it's no concern of yours--the memorandum of a cattle thief!" Frances drew herself straight. Her imperious chin was as high as Major King ever had carried his own in the most self-conscious moment of his military career. "Will you take it to him?" she demanded. "Certainly not!" returned the major, haughtily emphatic. Then, softening a little, "Don't be silly, Frances; what a row you make over a scrap of blowing paper!" "Then I'll take it myself!" "Miss Landcraft!" "_Major_ King!" It was the steel of conventionality against the flint of womanly defiance. Major King started in his saddle, as if to reach out and restrain her. It was one of those defiantly foolish little things which women and men--especially women--do in moments of pique, and Frances knew it at the time. But she rode away from the major with a hot flush of insubordination in her cheeks, and Alan Macdonald quickened from his pensive pose when he saw her coming. His hand went to his hat when her intention became unmistakable to him. She held the little paper out toward him while still a rod away. "A little Indian girl gave me this; she found it blowing along--they tell me you are Mr. Macdonald," she said, her face as serious as his own. "I thought it might be a subscription list for a church, or something, and that you might want it." "Thank you, Miss Landcraft," said he, his voice low-modulated, his manner easy. Her face colored at the unexpected way of this man without a coat, who spoke her name with the accent of refinement, just as if he had known her, and had met her casually upon the way. "I have seen you a hundred times at the post and the agency," he explained, to smooth away her confusion. "I have seen you from afar." "Oh," said she, as lame as the word was short. He was scanning the written paper. Now he looked at her, a smile waking in his eyes. It moved in slow illumination over his face, but did not break his lips, pressed in their stern, strong line. She saw that his long hair was light, and that his eyes were gray, with sandy brows over them which stood on end at the points nearest his nose, from a habit of bending them in concentration, she supposed, as he had been doing but a moment before he smiled. "No, it isn't a church subscription, Miss Landcraft, it's for a cemetery," said he. "Oh," said she again, wondering why she did not go back to Major King, whose horse appeared restive, and in need of the spur, which the major gave him unfeelingly.