bunk which was unfamiliar under straightened blankets and pitifully
plumped pillows, he was filled with astonishment. Miss Bridger smiled
a little and went on washing the dishes.

"It's beginning to storm, isn't it?" she remarked. "But we'll eat
chicken stew before we--before I start home. If you have a horse that
I can borrow till morning, father will bring it back."

Billy scattered a handful of feathers on the floor and gained a little
time by stooping to pick them up one by one. "I've been wondering
about that," he said reluctantly. "It's just my luck not to have a
gentle hoss in camp. I've got two, but they ain't safe for women. The
Pilgrim's got one hoss that might uh done if it was here, which it
ain't."

She looked disturbed, though she tried to hide it. "I can ride pretty
well," she ventured.

Without glancing at her, Charming Billy shook his head. "You're all
right here"--he stopped to pick up more feathers--"and it wouldn't be
safe for yuh to try it. One hoss is mean about mounting; yuh couldn't
get within a rod of him. The other one is a holy terror to pitch when
anything strange gets near him. I wouldn't let yuh try it." Charming
Billy was sorry--that showed in his voice--but he was also firm.

Miss Bridger thoughtfully wiped a tin spoon. Billy gave her a furtive
look and dropped his head at the way the brightness had gone out of
her face. "They'll be worried, at home," she said quietly.

"A little worry beats a funeral," Billy retorted sententiously,