her head in the teeth of Montana wind, and which made her look-well,
kissable. She was standing on the porch drawing on her gauntlets
when Chip returned, leading Concho by the bridle.

"Let me help you," begged Dunk, at her elbow, hoping till the last that
she would invite him to go with them.

The Little Doctor, not averse to hiding the bitter of her medicine under
a coating of sugar, smiled sweetly upon him, to the delectation of Dunk
and the added bitterness of Chip, who was rapidly nearing that state of
mind which is locally described as being "strictly on the fight."

"I expect she thinks I'll amuse her some more!" he thought, savagely, as
they galloped away through the quivering sunlight.

For the first two miles the road was level, and Chip set the pace--which
was, as he intended it should be, too swift for much speech. After that
the trail climbed abruptly out of Flying U coulee, and the horses were
compelled to walk. Then it was that Chip's native chivalry and self-
mastery were put to test.

He was hungry for a solitary ride such as had, before now, drawn much
of the lonely ache out of his heart and keyed him up to the life which
he must live and which chafed his spirit more than even he realized.
Instead of such slender comfort, he was forced to ride beside the girl
who had hurt him--so close that his knee sometimes brushed her horse--
and to listen to her friendly chatter and make answer, at times, with
at least some show of civility.

She was talking reminiscently of the dance.