ht made him smile. He was so happy that he had found her that
he could have absolved her of a deeper blame than this. He felt,
indeed, as if he had come to the end of vast wanderings, a peace as of
the cessation of turmoils in his heart. Perhaps this was because of the
immensity of the undertaking which so lately had lain before him, its
resumption put off from day to day, its proportions increasing with each
deferment.

He made no movement to dismount and hook up the cut wires, but sat
looking after her as she grew smaller between him and the hill. He was
so wrapped in his new and pleasant fancies that he did not hear the
approach of a horse on the slope of the rise until its quickened pace as
it reached the top brought Vesta Philbrook suddenly into his view.

"Who is that?" she asked, ignoring his salutation in her excitement.

"I think it must be Miss Kerr; she belongs to that family, at least."

"You caught her cutting the fence?"

"Yes, I caught her at it."

"And you let her get away?"

"There wasn't much else that I could do," he returned, with thoughtful
gravity.

Vesta sat in her saddle as rigid and erect as a statue, looking after
the disappearing rider. Lambert contrasted the two women in mental
comparison, struck by the difference in which rage manifested itself in
their bearing. This one seemed as cold as marble; the other had flashed
and glowed like hot iron. The cold rigidity before his eyes must be the
slow wrath against which men are warned.

The distant rider had reached the top of the hill from which she had
spied out the land. Here she pulled up and looked back, turning her
horse to face them when she saw that Lambert's employer had joined him.
A little while she gazed back at them, then waved her hat as in exultant
challenge, whirled her horse, and galloped over the hill.

That was the one taunt needed to set off the slow magazine of Vesta
Philbrook's wrath. She cut her horse a sharp blow with her quirt and
took up the pursuit so quickly that Lambert could not interpose either
objection or entreaty.

Lambert felt like an intruder who had witnessed something not intended
for his eyes. He had no thought at that moment of following and
attempting to prevent what might turn out a regretful tragedy, but sat
there reviling the land that nursed women on such a rough breast as to
inspire these savage passions of reprisal and revenge.

Vesta was riding a big brown gelding, long-necked, deep-ches