d for him,
And the need of a world of men for me."

"That is very, very true," murmured the Virginian, dropping his eyes
from the girl's intent ones.

"Had they quarrelled?" she inquired.

"Oh, no!"

"But--"

"I reckon he loved her very much."

"Then you're sure they hadn't quarrelled?"

"Dead sure, ma'am. He would come back afteh he had played some more of
the game."

"The game?"

"Life, ma'am. Whatever he was a-doin' in the world of men. That's a
bed-rock piece, ma'am!"

"Well, I don't see why you think it's so much better than some of the
others."

"I could sca'cely explain," answered the man. "But that writer does know
something."

"I am glad they hadn't quarrelled," said Molly, thoughtfully. And she
began to like having her opinions refuted.

His bandages, becoming a little irksome, had to be shifted, and this
turned their discourse from literature to Wyoming; and Molly inquired,
had he ever been shot before? Only once, he told her. "I have been
lucky in having few fusses," said he. "I hate them. If a man has to be
killed--"

"You never--" broke in Molly. She had started back a little. "Well," she
added hastily, "don't tell me if--"

"I shouldn't wonder if I got one of those Indians," he said quietly.
"But I wasn't waitin' to see! But I came mighty near doing for a white
man that day. He had been hurtin' a hawss."

"Hurting?" said Molly.

"Injurin.' I will not tell yu' about that. It would hurt yu' to hear
such things. But hawsses--don't they depend on us? Ain't they somethin'
like children? I did not lay up the man very bad. He was able to travel
'most right away. Why, you'd have wanted to kill him yourself!"

So the Virginian talked, nor knew what he was doing to the girl. Nor
was she aware of what she was receiving from him as he unwittingly spoke
himself out to her in these Browning meetings they had each day. But
Mrs. Taylor grew pleased. The kindly dame would sometimes cross the
road to see if she were needed, and steal away again after a peep at the
window. There, inside, among the restored home treasures, sat the two:
the rosy alert girl, sweet as she talked or read to him; and he, the
grave, half-weak giant among his wraps, watching her.

Of her delayed home visit he never again spoke, either to her or to Mrs.
Taylor; and Molly veered aside from any trend of talk she foresaw was
leading toward that subject. But in those hours when no visitors
came, and he was by himself in