she put out her hand in the mechanical way of the
well-bred woman in every land.

"Is that all?" I asked, holding the hand as if it had been a galvanic
battery, though the priest was coming straight towards us.

"All?" she returned, the lashes falling over the misty, gray eyes. "Ah,
Rufus! Are we playing jest is earnest, or earnest is jest?" and she
turned quickly and went to her tent.

How long I stood in reverie, I do not know. The priest's broad hand
presently came down on my shoulder with a savage thud.

"Ye blunder-busticus, ye, what have ye been doing?" he asked. "The
Little Statue was crying when she went to her tent."

"Crying?"

"Yes, ye idiot. I'll stay by her to-morrow."

And he did. Nor could he have contrived severer punishment for the
unfortunate effect of my words. Fool, that I was! I should keep myself
in hand henceforth. How many men have made that vow regarding the woman
they love? Those that have kept it, I trow, could be counted easily
enough. But I had no opportunity to break my vow; for the priest rode
with Frances Sutherland the whole of the second day, and not once did he
let loose his scorpion wit. She had breakfast alone in her tent next
morning, the priest carrying tea and toast to her; and when she came
out, she leaped to her saddle so quickly I lost the expected favor of
placing that imperious foot in the stirrup. We set out three abreast,
and I had no courage to read my fate from the cold, marble face. The
ground became rougher. We were forced to follow long detours round
sloughs, and I gladly fell to the rear where I was unobserved. Clumps of
willows alone broke the endless dip of the plain. Glassy creeks
glittered silver through the green, and ever the trail, like a narrow
ribbon of many loops, fled before us to the dim sky-line.

When we halted for our nooning, Frances Sutherland had slipped from her
saddle and gone off picking prairie roses before either the priest or I
noticed her absence.

"If you go off, you nuisance, you," said the priest rubbing his bald
pate, and gazing after her in a puzzled way, when we had the meal ready,
"I think she'll come back and eat."

I promptly took myself off and had the glum pleasure of hearing her chat
in high spirits over the dinner table of packing boxes; but she was on
her cayuse and off with the scouts long before Father Holland and I had
mounted.

"Rufus," said the priest with a comical, quizzical look, as we set off
together. "Ru