They were active eyes, he thought, and they flashed swift,
comprehensive glances at the two men. Her hair had fallen loose
and crinkled to her waist, all agleam. Otherwise she showed no
sign of her recent ordeal.

Glenister had been prepared for the type of beauty that follows
the frontier; beauty that may stun, but that has the polish and
chill of a new-ground bowie. Instead, this girl with the calm,
reposeful face struck a note almost painfully different from her
surroundings, suggesting countless pleasant things that had been
strange to him for the past few years.

Pure admiration alone was patent in the older man's gaze.

"I make oration," said he, "that you're the gamest little chap I
ever fought over, Mexikin, Injun, or white. What's the trouble?"

"I suppose you think I've done something dreadful, don't you?" she
said. "But I haven't. I had to get away from the Ohio to-night
for--certain reasons. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. I
haven't stolen anything, nor poisoned the crew--really I haven't."
She smiled at them, and Glenister found it impossible not to smile
with her, though dismayed by her feeble explanation.

"Well, I'll wake up the steward and find a place for you to go,"
he said at length. "You'll have to double up with some of the
women, though; it's awfully crowded aboard."

She laid a detaining hand on his arm. He thought he felt her
tremble.