him no answer.

Buck chafed for a moment in desperate silence. He turned his hot eyes
toward the door, and stared out at the distant hills. Caesar rattled
his collar chain, and scattered the hay in his search for the choicest
morsels. The heavy draft horses were slumbering where they stood.
Presently the man's eyes came back to the girl, devouring the beauty
of her still averted face.

"Say," he went on presently, "you never felt so that your head would
burst, so that the only thing worth while doin' would be to kill some
one?" He smiled. "That's how I feel, when I know Beasley's been
talkin' to you."

Joan turned to him with a responsive smile. She was glad he was
talking again. A strange discomfort, a nervousness not altogether
unpleasant had somehow taken hold of her, and the sound of his voice
relieved her.

She shook her head.

"No," she said frankly. "I--don't think I ever feel that way. But I
don't like Beasley."

Buck's heat had passed. He laughed.

"That was sure a fool question to ask," he said. "Say, it 'ud be like
askin' a dove to get busy with a gun."

"I've heard doves are by no means the gentle creatures popular belief
would have them."

"Guess ther's doves--an' doves," Buck said enigmatically. "I can't
jest see you bustin' to hurt a fly."

"Not even Beasley?"

Joan laughed slily.

But Buck ignored the challenge. He stirred restlessly. He thrust his
fingers into the side pockets of the waist-coat he wore hanging open.
He withdrew them, and shifted his feet. Then, with a sudden, impatient
movement, he thrust his slouch hat back from his forehead.

"Guess I can't say these things right," he gulped out with a swift,
impulsive rush. "What I want to say is that's how I feel when anything
happens amiss your way. I want to say it don't matter if it's Beasley,
or--or jest things that can't be helped. I want to get around and set
'em right for you----"

Joan's eyes were startled. A sudden pallor had replaced the smile on
her lips, and drained the rich, warm color from her cheeks.

"You've always done those things for me, Buck," she interrupted him
hastily. "You've been the kindest--the best----"

"Don't say those things," Buck broke in with a hardly restrained
passion. "It hurts to hear 'em. Kindest? Best? Say, when a man feels
same as me, words like them hurt, hurt right in through here," he
tapped his chest with an awkward gesture. "They drive a man nigh
crazy. A man don't want to hear th