"Why!" exclaimed Hare. "When you came out of the wagon I took you for an
Indian girl. But the moment you spoke--you talk so well--no one would
dream--"

"Mormons are well educated and teach the children they raise," she said,
as he paused in embarrassment.

He wanted to ask if she were a Mormon by religion, but the question
seemed curious and unnecessary. His interest was aroused; he realized
suddenly that he had found pleasure in her low voice; it was new and
strange, unlike any woman's voice he had ever heard; and he regarded her
closely. He had only time for a glance at her straight, clean-cut
profile, when she turned startled eyes on him, eyes black as the night.
And they were eyes that looked through and beyond him. She held up a
hand, slowly bent toward the wind, and whispered:

"Listen."

Hare heard nothing save the barking of coyotes and the breeze in the
sage. He saw, however, the men rise from round the camp-fire to face the
north, and the women climb into the wagon, and close the canvas flaps.
And he prepared himself, with what fortitude he could command for the
approach of the outlaws. He waited, straining to catch a sound. His
heart throbbed audibly, like a muffled drum, and for an endless moment his
ears seemed deadened to aught else. Then a stronger puff of wind whipped
in, banging the rhythmic beat of flying hoofs. Suspense ended. Hare
felt the easing of a weight upon him. Whatever was to be his fate, it
would be soon decided. The sound grew into a clattering roar. A black
mass hurled itself over the border of opaque circle, plunged into the