they stood and faced each other a great moment, then Bruce put his hand
out.

"Piney," he said, "I wish I were half the man that you are."

"Oh, Mist' Steerin'! Mist' Steerin'!" On Bruce's shoulder, he sobbed
like a child until the terrific strain that he had been on for hours
slackened, and he could talk again.

"She's waitin' fer you," he said at last. "She's up yonder in the
garden, waitin'. She loves you, Mist' Steerin'. Don't you go fergit
that, with y'all's pride an' all. She loves you."

"What? What's that you are saying, Piney?"

"She loves you. I know it, Mist' Steerin'. An' I'm a-tellin' ev' durn
thing I know!" declared Piney vehemently, with a high-toned, stubborn
self-justification in his voice.

"Dog-on you, old man," Bruce said, turning to grip Piney's hand again.
He had it in mind to say a great many other things, in the way of
appreciation, thanks, enthusiasms, but all he said was "dog-on you, old
man, dog-on you," gripping Piney's hand as he said it. "You make
yourself comfortable here in the shack to-night, will you, old man, and
I'll go on up there. They are in a little trouble over this up there,
Piney." Steering tore the Grierson letter to bits as he spoke, and,
then, his eyes wet and shining, he found Piney's pony and went to her in
the garden.

Piney lay back on the ground beside the fire. The glow fell squarely
over his features, relaxed and softened now. He looked very hopefully
and comfortingly young. There was a big, shy gratification on his face.

"'Old _man_,'" he muttered once or twice. "'Old _man_.'" A little sob
shivered through him. He got up quickly and went into the shack bunk,
where he fell asleep at once--because he was so young--and dreamed fine
dreams of Italy--because he, too, was fine.

_Chapter Eighteen_

A PRETTY PRECARIOUSNESS

As Bruce galloped up the river road toward Madeira Place, he found
himself so weak with excitement and physical exhaustion, that he had to
bow over the saddle-horn and cling there, like an old man. It was a ride
to remember. Once he raised his head and looked out into the night. The
storm had broken, and high in the quivering heavens the moon shone with
a wild, palpitant glory. In the north and east the clouds had gathered
with a mighty up-piling, from which the eye sank back affrighted, it
towered so near heaven. The trees along the river, the shaking,
shimmering river itself, were all shot with light. It was a grand scene,
but r