s impossible to score an advantage over his stolid strength and
pachydermous insensibility.

The trapper sweated blood. He neither liked nor trusted his guest, but he
was bound hand and foot. He must sit and watch the fellow moving to his
end, see the gains he made day by day, and offer no effective protest.
For Houck at a word could send him back to the penitentiary and leave
June alone in a world to which her life had been alien.

Pete knew that the cowman was winning the campaign. His assumption that
he was an accepted suitor of June began to find its basis of fact. The
truth could be read in the child's hunted eyes. She was still fighting,
but the battle was a losing one.

Perhaps this was the best way out of a bad situation, Tolliver found
himself thinking. In his rough way Houck was fond of June. A blind man
could see that. Even though he was a wolf, there were moments when his
eyes were tender for her. He would provide well for a wife. If his little
Cinderella could bring herself to like the man, there was always a chance
that love would follow. Jake always had the knack of fascinating women.
He could be very attractive when he wished.

On a happy morning not long since June had sung of her wings. She was a
meadow-lark swooping over the hills to freedom, her throat throbbing with
songs of joy. Sometimes Pete, too, thought of her as a bird, but through
many hours of anguished brooding he had come to know she was a fledgling
with broken wings. The penalty for the father's sins had fallen upon the
child. All her life she must be hampered by the environment his
wrongdoing had built up around them.

Since the beginning of the world masterful men have drawn to them the
eyes and thoughts of women. June was no exception. Among the hours when
she hated Houck were increasing moments during which a naive wonder and
admiration filled her mind. She was primitive, elemental. A little tingle
of delight thrilled her to know that this strong man wanted her and would
fight to win what his heart craved. After all he was her first lover. A
queer shame distressed the girl at the memory of his kisses, for through
all the anger, chagrin, and wounded pride had come to her the first
direct realization of what sex meant. Her alarmed innocence pushed this
from her.

Without scruple Houck used all the weapons at hand. There came a day when
he skirted the edges of the secret.

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "What is it you claim to