"Well, daddy dear," the girl laughed nervously. "Maybe when the trouble begins I shan't see much of you. You'll be busy, and so will I. It's peace now, and I just want you to fall back into the old way. I want you for my 'daddy'--my dear, dear old 'daddy'--just for these few minutes. I want to be the silly scatterbrain I used to be." "I ain't a heap at guessin', Rosie," Seth said doubtfully, but smiling tenderly at the upturned face. "No, you never were." Rosebud gave a queer little laugh. "Well, I just want you to let me ride out and meet dear old Mrs. Smith. You know what a nervous old dear she is. I just thought if I rode out it might brighten her up. You see, she'd think the danger less, if a woman came to meet her." "Wal, I won't say you no, gal," Seth replied gravely. "Guess it ain't right. But ther' ain't a heap of danger. Y' see in them old days I most gener'ly let you do as you notioned," he finished up with a shadowy smile. "Dear old daddy!" Rosebud squeezed his arm with both her hands. "Ther' be off, an' git your plug saddled, or mebbe I'll change my mind." The man could stand the temptation no longer. He gently released himself, and the girl moved as though to descend. But she altered her mind. Fortunately neither could see the other's face distinctly. "Seth," she said, with forced brightness, "in the old days when I asked your permission for anything and you gave it to me you--you didn't let me go like that. It was customary for me to show my gratitude--like--like this." She suddenly leant forward and imprinted a swift kiss on the man's thin cheek. And before he could reply, or even move, she had clambered down from the wall and made off. Nor was it until he heard her horse galloping out of the stockade, which occurred suspiciously soon after her leaving him, that he became aware that his cheek was wet with tears that had not been of his shedding. CHAPTER XXVIII A LAST ADVENTURE It was not without a guilty feeling that Rosebud rode out of the stockade. She knew that she was deceiving Seth. She knew that she had lied to him deliberately. Worse, she had played upon his feelings with intent to deceive him. But her motive was good, and she tried to draw consolation from the knowledge. Her argument was worthy of her. It was impulsive, and would not stand the test of logical inspection. She had thought long before putting her plan into execution; at least, long for her. She told herself that no deceit was unpardonable which had an honest, sound motive. In fact it was not deceit at all, only subterfuge.