less.

It was not that Smith did not understand her feelings. He did--perfectly.
He knew how deep a child's hurt is. He had been hurt himself, and the scar
was still there. It was only that he did not care. He had lived through
his hurt, and so would she. It was to his interest to stay, and first and
always he considered Smith.

"You needn't say anything," Susie said slowly, and there was no more
supplication in her voice. "I thought I knew you before, Smith, but I know
you better now. When a white man is onery, he's meaner than an Injun, and
that's the kind of a white man you are. I'll never forget this. I'll never
forget that I've crawled to you, and you listened like a stone."

Smith answered in a voice that was not unkind--as he would have warned her
of a sink-hole or a bad crossing:

"You can't buck me, Susie, and you'd better not try. You're game, but
you're just a kid."

"Kids grow up sometimes;" and she turned away.

McArthur, strolling, while he enjoyed his pipe, came upon Susie lying face
downward, her head pillowed on her arm, on a sand dune not far from the
house. He thought she was asleep until she sat up and looked at him. Then
he saw her swollen eyes.

"Why, Susie, are you ill?"

"Yes, I'm sick here." She laid her hand upon her heart.

He sat down beside her and stroked the streaked brown hair timidly.

"I'm sorry," he said gently.

She felt the sympathy in his touch, and was quick to respond to it.

"Oh, pardner," she said, "I just feel awful!"

"I'm sorry, Susie," he said again.

"Did _your_ mother ever go back on you, pardner?"

McArthur shook his head gravely.

"No, Susie."

"It's terrible. I can't tell you hardly how it is; but it's like everybody
that you ever cared for in the world had died. It's like standin' over a
quicksand and feelin' yourself goin' down. It's like the dreams when you
wake up screamin' and you have to tell yourself over and over it isn't
so--except that I have to tell myself over and over it _is_ so."

"Susie, I think you're wrong."

She shook her head sadly.

"I wish I was wrong, but I'm not."

"She worries when you are late getting home, or are not well."

"Yes, she's like that," she nodded. "Mother would fight for me like a bear
with cubs if anybody would hurt me so she could see it, but the worst
hurt--the kind that doesn't show--I guess she don't understand. Before now
I could tell anybody that come on the ranch and wasn't nice to me to
'git,' a