rage in him. He had bowed and swaggered away with a malicious sneer. Her
judgment told her it was folly to connect this man with the absence of
her lover, but that look of malevolent triumph had none the less shaken
her heart. What had he meant? It seemed less a threat for the future
than a gloating over some evil already done.

When she could endure them no longer she carried her fears to Jim
Yeager. They were dancing, but she made an excuse of fatigue to drop
out.

"First time I ever knew you to play out at a dance, Phyl," he rallied
her.

"It isn't that. I want to say something to you," she whispered.

He had a guess what it was, for his own mind was not quite easy.

"Do you think anything could have happened, Jim?" she besought pitifully
when for a moment they were alone in a corner.

"What _could_ have happened, Phyllie? Do you reckon he fell off his
hawss, and him a full-size man?" he scoffed.

"Yes, but--you don't know how Brill looked at me. I'm afraid."

"Oh, Brill!" His voice held an edge of scorn, but none the less it
concealed a real fear. He was making as much concession to it as to her
when he added lightly: "Tell you what I'll do, Phyl. I'll saddle up and
take a look back over the Bear Creek trail. Likely I'll meet him, and
we'll come in together."