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 She opened the door, and the next moment flung herself at Tom with a little cry.

"I thought you'd gone," she said. "I thought you'd gone out to the ranch."

He released her as soon as he could, awkwardly.

"Couldn't very well do that, could I? After the little sport you'd been?"

His rebuff frightened her, but she kept her voice steady.

"Listen, Tom. They know." She jerked her head toward the kitchen. "I was late getting back, and they're raising hell."

"Well, what about it? They can't do anything."

"You promised, Tom!"

"There hasn't been any talk outside, has there?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Mom talks a lot. But you promised me, Tom."

"Now see here," he said desperately, "you've been fine to me, Clare, helping me the way you'did. But I'm not a marrying man. You know that. What have I got to marry on? Besides, if this Indian dies"

"I don't care what you've got."

"I wish to God you'd put me out of your head."

"I wish to God I could," she said shrilly. "Don't you suppose I know I'm a damned fool? I just can't help it. That's all."

And that was the way things stood when he left her. He was resentful and surly as he started for the ranch. After all he had not harmed her. She had been willing enough; she had the shrewdness of the small-town girl the world over, the knowledge of her physical power over a man once she had yielded. But some instinct of caution had saved him.

He shrugged his shoulders as he walked down the street.

"Then what's all the shootin' for?" he asked himself impatiently.

But on the way out the sheer joy of home-coming wiped her out of his mind. Even the knowledge that this home-coming of his was but a temporary thing, that before long, with luck as to Weasel Tail, he would be drifting again, all