forever. The unexpected had happened, and she had achieved a
rescue in the face of the impossible.

"Hurt badly?" the girl inquired briefly, her dark-blue eyes
meeting his as frankly as those of a boy.

"No need for an undertaker. I reckon I'll survive, ma'am,"

"Where are you hit?"

"I just got a telegram from my ankle saying there was a cargo of
lead arrived there unexpected," he drawled easily.

"Hurts a good deal, doesn't it?"

"No more than is needful to keep my memory jogged up. It's a sort
of a forget-me-not souvenir. For a good boy; compliments of Mr.
Jim Henson," he explained.

Her dark glance swept him searchingly. She disapproved the
assurance of his manner even while the youth in her applauded his
reckless sufficiency. His gay courage held her unconsenting
admiration even while she resented it. He was a trifle too much
at his ease for one who had just been snatched from dire peril.
Yet even in his insouciance there was something engaging;
something almost of distinction.

"What was the trouble?"

Mirth bubbled in his gray eyes. "I gathered, ma'am, that they