He rode in majestically, swaying about on his big mule; and behind him followed his pack-mule, weighed down with two kyacks of ore, and Good Luck was tied on the pack. Nothing had happened to him, he was safe--and yet something must have happened, for he was riding in from the north. "Oh, I'm so glad!" she panted as he dropped down to greet her, and before she knew it she had rushed into his arms and given him the kiss and more. "I was afraid the Indians had killed you," she explained, and he patted her hands and stood dumb. Something poignant was striving within him for expression, but he could only pat her hands. "Nope," he said and slipped his arm around her waist, at which Wilhelmina looked up and smiled. She had intended to quarrel with him, so he would depart for Los Angeles and leave her free to go steal his mine--but that was æons ago, before she knew her own heart or realized how wrong it would be. "You like me; don't you, kid?" he remarked at last, and she nodded and looked away. "Sometimes," she admitted, "and then you spoil it all. You must take your arm away now." He took his arm away, and then it crept back again in a rapturous, bear-like hug. "Aw, quit your fooling, kid," he murmured in her ear, "you know you like me a lot. And say, I'm going to ask you a leading question--will you promise to answer 'Yes'?" He laughed and let her go, all but one hand that he held, and then he drew her back. "You know what I mean," he said. "I want you to be my wife." He waited, but there was no answer; only a swaying away from him and a reluctant striving against his grip. "Come on," he urged, "let's go in to Los Angeles and you can help me spend my money. I've got lots of it, kid, and it's yours for the asking--the whole or any part of it. But you're too pretty a girl to be shut up here in Jail Canyon, working your hands off at packing ore and slaving around like Hungry Bill's daughters----" "What do you mean?" she demanded, striking his hands aside and turning to face him angrily, and Wunpost saw he had gone too far. "Aw, now, Wilhelmina," he pleaded, then fell into a sulky silence as she tossed back her curls and spoke. "Don't you think," she burst out, "that I like to work for my father? Well, I do; and I ought to do more! And I'd like to know where Hungry Bill comes in----" "He don't!" stated Wunpost, who was beginning to see red; but she rushed on, undeterred. "----because you don't need to think I'm a _squaw_. We may be poor, but you can't buy _me_--and my father doesn't need to keep _watch_ of me. I guess I've been brought up to act like a lady, if I did--oh, I just hate the sight of you!" She ended a little weakly, for the memory of that kiss made her blush and hang her head; but Wunpost had been trained to match hate with a hate, and he reared up his mane and stepped back.