attitude toward him
melting under the warmth of her affection and sympathy for the unfortunate
pony. "Please do something!" she begged.

His face changed expression and he tapped one of his holsters
significantly. "There's only this left, I reckon. Pulling him out by the
neck would break it, sure. And it's never a nice thing to see--or hear--a
horse or a cow sinking in quicksand. I've seen it once or twice and----"

Sheila shuddered and covered her face with her hands, for his words had
set her imagination to working.

"Oh!" she said and became silent.

Dakota stood for a moment, watching her, his face grim with sympathy.

"It's too bad," he said finally. "I don't like to shoot him, any more than
you want to see it done. I reckon, though, that the pony would thank me
for doing it if he could have anything to say about it." He walked over
close to her, speaking in a low voice. "You can't stay here, of course.
You'll have to take my horse, and you'll have to go right now, if you
don't want to be around when the pony----"

"Please don't," she said, interrupting him. He relapsed into silence, and
stood gravely watching her as she resumed her toilet.

She disliked to accept his offer of the pony, but there seemed to be no
other way. She certainly could not walk to the Double R ranchhouse, even
to satisfy a desire to show him that she would not allow him to place her
under any obligation to him.

"I've got to tell you one thing," he said presently, standing erect and
looking earnestly at her. "If Duncan is responsible for your safety in
this country he isn't showing very good judgment in letting you run around
alone. There are dangers that you know nothing about, and you don't know a
thing about the country. Someone ought to take care of you."

"As you did, for example," she retorted, filled with anger over his
present solicitation for her welfare, as contrasted to his treatment of
her on another occasion.

A slow red filled his cheeks. Evidently he did possess _some_
self-respect, after all. Contrition, too, she thought she could detect in
his manner and in his voice.

"But I didn't hurt you, anyway," he said, eyeing her steadily.

"Not if you call ruining a woman's name not 'hurting' her," she answered
bitterly.

"I am sorry for that, Miss Sheila," he said earnestly. "I had an idea that
night--and still have it, for that matter--that I was an instrument--
Well, I had an idea, that's all. But I haven't told an