I jogged along as leisurely as I could without fretting Shylock, and, once
clear of the home field, headed straight for King's Highway. It wasn't the
wisest course I could take, perhaps, but it was like to prove the most
exciting, and I never was remarkable for my wisdom. It seemed to me that
it was necessary to my self-respect to return the way I came--and I may as
well confess that I hoped Miss King was an early riser. As it was,
I killed what time I could, and so spent a couple of hours where one would
have sufficed.

Half a mile out from the mouth of the pass, I observed a human form
crowning the peak of a sharp-pointed little butte that rose up out of the
prairie; since the form seemed to be in skirts, I made for the spot.
Shylock puffed up the steep slope, and at last stopped still and looked
back at me in utter disgust; so I took the hint and got off, and led him
up the rest of the way.

"Good morning. We meet on neutral ground," I greeted when I was close
behind her. "I propose a truce."

She jumped a bit, and looked very much astonished to see me there so
close. If it had been some other girl--say Ethel Mapleton--I'd have
suspected the genuineness of that surprise; as it was, I could only think
she had been very much absorbed not to hear me scrambling up there.

"You're an early bird," she said dryly, "to be so far from home." She
glanced toward the pass, as though she would like to cut and run, but
hated to give me the satisfaction.

"Well," I told her with inane complacency, "you will remember that 'it's
the early bird that catches the worm.'"