is muscles had enabled him to down the
dog so expertly and render the animal harmless.

During the months since she had seen him June had thought often of the
man whose name she legally bore. After the first few hours there had been
no harshness in her memories of him. He was good. She had always felt
that. There was something fine and sweet and generous in his nature.
Without being able to reason it out, she was sure that no fair judgment
would condemn him wholly because at a crisis he had failed to exhibit a
quality the West holds in high esteem and considers fundamental. Into her
heart there had come a tender pity for him, a maternal sympathy that
flowed out whenever he came into her musings.

Poor boy! She had learned to know him so well. He would whip himself with
his own scorn. This misadventure that had overwhelmed him might frustrate
all the promise of his life. He was too sensitive. If he lost heart--if
he gave up--

She had longed to send a message of hope to him, but she had been afraid
that he might misunderstand it. Her position was ambiguous. She was his
wife. The law said so. But of course she was not his wife at all except
in name. They were joint victims of evil circumstance, a boy and a girl
who had rushed to a foolish extreme. Some day one or the other of them
would ask the law to free them of the tie that technically bound them
together.

Now she need not worry about him any longer. He had proved his mettle
publicly. The court of common opinion would reverse the verdict it had
passed upon him. He would go out of her life and she need no longer feel
responsible for the shadow that had fallen over his.

So she reasoned consistently, but something warm within her gave the lie
to this cold disposition of their friendship. She did not want to let him
go his way. She had no intention of letting him go. She could not express
it, but in some intangible way he belonged to her. As a brother might,
she told herself; not because Blister Haines had married them when they
had gone to him in their hurry to solve a difficulty. Not for that reason
at all, but because from the first hour of meeting, their spirits had
gone out to each other in companionship. Bob had understood her. He had
been the only person to whom she could confide her troubles, the only pal
she had ever known.

Standing before the glass in her small bedroom, June saw that her eyes
were shining, the blood glowing through the dusky cheeks. Joy