ote till next
morning; and I don't know," he added, with a brief smile, "as that did
much toward making me understand. You just said to wait till some one
came after me. Well, I didn't wait." He laughed and leaned toward her
again. "Now there seems a chance of our being--pretty good friends," he
said, in the caressing tone he had used before, and of which he was
utterly unconscious, "we won't quarrel about that night, will we? You
got home all right, and so did I. We'll forget all about it. Won't we?"
He laid a hand on the horn of her saddle so that they rode close
together, and tried futilely to read what was in her face, since she did
not speak.

Josephine stared blankly at the brown slope before them. Her lips were
set firmly together, and her brows were contracted also, and her gloved
fingers gripped the reins tightly. She paid not the slightest attention
to Ford's hand upon her saddle horn, nor at the steady gaze of his eyes.
Later, when Ford observed the rigidity of her whole pose and sensed that
mental withdrawing which needs no speech to push one off from the more
intimate ground of companionship, he wondered a little. Without in the
least knowing why he felt rebuffed, he took away his hand, and swung his
horse slightly away from her; his own back stiffened a little in
response to the chilled atmosphere.

"Yes," she said at last, "we'll forget all about it, Mr. Campbell."

"You called me Ford, a while ago," he hinted.

"Did I? One forms the habit of picking up a man's given name, out here
in the West, I find. I'm sorry--"

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to do it again. All the time,"
he added boldly.

He caught the gleam of her eyes under her heavy lashes, as she glanced
at him sidelong.

"If you go looking at me out of the corner of your eyes," he threatened
recklessly, kicking his horse closer, "I'm liable to kiss you!"

And he did, before she could draw away.

"I've been kinda thinking maybe I'm in love with you, Josephine," he
murmured, holding her close. "And now I'm dead sure of it. And if you
won't love me back why--there'll be something doing, that's all!"

"Yes? And what would you do, please?" Her tone was icy, but he somehow
felt that the ice was very, very thin, and that her heart beat warm
beneath. She drew herself free, and he let her go.

"I dunno," he confessed whimsically. "But Lordy me! I'd sure do
something!"

"Look for comfort in that jug, I suppose you mean?"

"No,