not stay away from you long."

Leander grimaced and rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of delight at finding
a man who had the temerity to bandy words with Mrs. Dax.

"Hum-m-m-ph!" she whinnied, with equine coquetry. "Guess it was rustlers
brought you back as much as me."

Judith, who had entered the room in time to hear Mrs. Dax’s last remark,
greeted him casually, but her eyes, as they met his, were full of
questioning fear. Had he come from the Bitter Root range to hunt down her
brother? The thought was intolerable. Yet, when he had bade her good-bye
some three weeks ago, he had told her that he did not expect to return
much before the fall "round-up." She had heard, a day or two before, that
he was again in the Wind River country, and her morning vigil beneath the
glare of the desert sun had been for him.

Mrs. Dax regarded them with the mercilessness of a death-watch; she
remembered the time when Hamilton’s excuses for his frequent presence at
the post-office had been more voluble than logical. But now he no longer
came, and Judith, for all her deliberate flow of spirits, did not quite
convince the watchful eyes of Leander’s lady—the postmistress was a trifle
too cheerful.

"Mrs. Dax," pleaded Peter, boyishly, "I’m perishing for a cup of coffee,
and I’ve got to get back to my outfit before dark."

"Oh, go on with you," whinnied the gorgon; but she left the room to make
the coffee.