he thought of her whom these bitter women
called the Sago Lily.

The regret that had been his returned with thought of her. The saddest
disillusion of his life, the keenest disappointment, the strangest pain,
would always be associated with her. He had meant to see her face once,
clear in the sunlight, so that he could always remember it, and then
never go near her again. And now it came to him that if he did see
much of her these other women would find him like the stone wall in the
valley. Folly! Perhaps it was, but she would be safe, maybe happier.
When he decided, it was certain that he trembled.

Then he buried the memory of Fay Larkin.

Next day Shefford threw himself with all the boy left in him into the
work and play of the village. He helped the women and made games for the
children. And he talked or listened. In the early evening he called on
Ruth, chatted awhile, and went on to see Joan, and from her to another.
When the valley became shrouded in darkness he went unseen down the path
to Mary's lonely home.

She was there, a white shadow against the black.

When she replied to his greeting her voice seemed full, broken, eager to
express something that would not come. She was happier to see him than
she should have been, Shefford thought. He talked, swiftly, eloquently,
about whatever he believed would interest her. He stayed long, and
finally left, not having seen her face except in pale starlight and
shadow; and the strong clasp of her hand remained with him as he went
away under the pinyons.

Days passed swiftly. Joe Lake did not return. The Indian rode in and out
of camp, watered and guarded the pack-burros and the mustangs. Shefford
grew strong and active. He made gardens for the women; he cut cords of
fire-wood; he dammed the brook and made an irrigation ditch; he learned
to love these fatherless children, and they loved him.

In the afternoons there was leisure for him and for the women. He had no
favorites, and let the occasion decide what he should do and with whom
he should be. They had little parties at the cottages and picnics under
the cedars. He rode up and down the valley with Ruth, who could ride
a horse as no other girl he had ever seen. He climbed with Hester. He
walked with Joan. Mostly he contrived to include several at once in the
little excursions, though it was not rare for him to be out alone with
one.

It was not a game he was playing. More and more, as he learned to know
thes