young woman who tried pitifully to be at ease and whose eyes gave the
lie to her manner--and he groped confusedly for just the right way in
which to meet the situation.

"I know your father," he said, fanning a tiny blaze among the shavings
with his hat, which had been on his head until he remembered and
removed it in deference to her presence. "But I ain't a very good
neighbor, I guess; I never seem to have time to be sociable. It's
lucky your horse fell close enough so yuh could walk in to camp; I've
had that happen to me more than once, and it ain't never pleasant--but
it's worse when there ain't any camp to walk to. I've had that happen,
too."

The fire was snapping by then, and manlike he swept the ashes to the
floor. The girl watched him, politely disapproving. "I don't want to
be a trouble," she said, with less of constraint; for Charming Billy,
whether he knew it or not, had reassured her immensely. "I know men
hate to cook, so when I get warm, and the water is hot, I'll cook
supper for you," she offered. "And then I won't mind having you help
me to get home."

"I guess it won't be any trouble--but I don't mind cooking. You--you
better set still and rest," murmured Charming Billy, quite red. Of
course, she would want supper--and there were dried apricots, and a
very little tapioca! He felt viciously that he could kill the Pilgrim
and be glad. The Pilgrim was already two days late with the supplies
he had been sent after because he was not to be trusted with the
duties pertaining to a line-camp--and Billy had not the wide charity
that could conjure excuses for the delinquent.