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 light in the saddle any horse ought have been in gay good humor to have the pleasure of carrying her.

That was Bill's thought as he gave her a sidling look, only for which she would have passed him for a stranger in the road. She jerked her ill-favored horse up sharply.

"Why, Mr. Dunham!" she said, full of what Dunham could see was very respectful surprise.

Bill was embarrassed, together with the discovery that she was altogether prettier than he had thought and his desire to spare her. He didn't know where to begin, so he let it go with a solemn nod that was half a bow.

She fell in beside him, pulling her horse down to a walk.

"Mr. MacKinnon told me Hal Garland had hired you," she explained, talking fast, a little breathless, as if she had run to overtake him, "and you'd gone on south, but I thought you'd be miles ahead of me. I didn't know you in your new clothes. You sure do look fine!"

"If I look like I feel in this blame hat," said Bill, "my head's about as big as a hick'ry nut."

He wasn't sure she meant it, although she sounded sincere. He'd take it in small doses from that time onward; he'd aged a whole lot since last night.

"I'm glad Garland took you on," she said.

"Mr. Moore may fire me in the morning," he speculated.

"Not on your life he won't fire you!" she protested vehemently. "If I'd been around this morning he