Lance let his grasp slip from her thin wrist to her hand, and then with
a good-humored gesture tossed it lightly back to her.

She did not retreat, but continued looking at him in a half-surly
embarrassment.

"I ain't a bit frightened," she said; "I'm not going to run away,--don't
you fear."

"Glad to hear it," said Lance, with unmistakable satisfaction, "but why
did you go for my revolver?"

She flushed again and was silent. Presently she began to kick the earth
at the roots of the tree, and said, as if confidentially to her foot,--

"I wanted to get hold of it before you did."

"You did?--and why?"

"Oh, you know why."

Every tooth in Lance's head showed that he did, perfectly. But he was
discreetly silent.

"I didn't know what you were hiding there for," she went on, still
addressing the tree, "and," looking at him sideways under her white
lashes, "I didn't see your face."

This subtle compliment was the first suggestion of her artful sex.
It actually sent the blood into the careless rascal's face, and for a