want to hurt him. No, sure. Jim's good. But
Will---- Say, sis, Will's a bad lot; he is certain. I know. He's never
done nuthing bad, I know, but I can see it in his face, his eyes. It's
in his head, too. Do you know I can allus tell when bad's in folks'
heads. Now, there's Smallbones. He's a devil. You'll see it, too, some
day. Then there's Peter Blunt. Now Peter's that good he'd break his
neck if he thought it 'ud help folks. But Will----"

"Elia," Eve was bending over the boy's crooked form. Her cheek was
resting on his silky hair. She could not face those bland inquiring
eyes. "You mustn't say anything against Will. I like him. He's not a
bad man--really he isn't, and you mustn't say he is. Will is just a
dear, foolish Irish boy, and when once he has settled down will
be--you wait----"

The boy abruptly wriggled out of his sister's embrace. His eyes sought
hers so that she could no longer avoid them.

"I won't wait for anything to do with Will Henderson--if that's what
you mean. I tell you he's no good. I hate him! I hate him! And--and I
hope some one'll kill all the checkens he's left in your care down at
that old shack of his." He scrambled to his feet and hobbled away,
vanishing round the corner of the house in a fury of fierce
resentment.

He had been roused to one of his dreaded fits of passion, and Eve was
alarmed. In a fever of apprehension she was about to follow him up and
soothe him, when she saw a horseman galloping toward the house. The
figure was unmistakable, besides she knew the horse's gait and color.
It was Jim Thorpe, riding in from the AZ ranch.

In a few moments he drew rein at the gate of her vegetable patch. He
flung the reins over his horse's head and removed the bit from its
mouth. Then he let it wander grazing on the tawny grass of the
market-place.

Eve waited for him to come up the garden path, and for the moment the
boy was forgotten. She welcomed him with the cordiality of old
friendship. There was genuine pleasure in her smile, there was hearty
welcome in her eyes, and in the soft, warm grip of her strong young
hand, but that was all. There was no shyness, no avoiding the honest
devotion in his look. The radiant hope shining in his clear, dark eyes
was not for her understanding. The unusual care in his dress, the
neatly polished boots under his leather chaps, the creamy whiteness of
his cotton shirt, the store creases of the new silk handkerchief about
his neck, none of these th