a
trumpet had bellowed suddenly in her ear. "Swan--he's all right. But
don't go telling--all yuh know and some besides. He ain't--Sawtooth,
but--he might let out----"

"I know. I won't, dad. It was that horse----"

Brit turned his face to the wall as if no more was to be said on the
subject. Lorraine wandered around the cabin, which was no larger than
her father's place. The rooms were scrupulously clean--neater than the
Quirt, she observed guiltily. Not one article, however small and
unimportant, seemed to be out of its place, and the floors of both
rooms were scrubbed whiter than any floors she had ever seen. Swan's
housekeeping qualities made her ashamed of her own imperfections; and
when, thinking that Swan must be hungry and that the least she could do
was to set out food for him, she opened the cupboard, she had a swift,
embarrassed vision of her own culinary imperfections. She could cook
better food than her dad had been content to eat and to set before
others, but Swan's bread was a triumph in sour dough. Biscuits tall
and light as bread can be she found, covered neatly with a cloth.
Prunes stewed so that there was not one single wrinkle in
them--Lorraine could scarcely believe they were prunes until she tasted
them. She was investigating a pot of beans when Swan came in.

"Food I am thinking of, Miss," he grinned at her. "We shall hurry, but
it is not good to go hungry. Milk is outside in a cupboard. It is
quicker than to make coffee."

"It will be dark before we can get him home," said Lorraine uneasily.
"And by the time a doctor can get out there----"

"A doctor will be there, I think. You don't believe, but that is no
difference to his coming just the same."

He brought the milk, poured off the creamy top into a pitcher, stirred
it, and quietly insisted that she drink two glasses. Lorraine observed
that Swan himself ate very little, bolting down a biscuit in great
mouthfuls while he carried a mattress and blankets out to spread in the
wagon. It was like his pretence of weariness on the long carry down
the canyon, she thought. It was for her more than for himself that he
was thinking.

CHAPTER XII

THE QUIRT PARRIES THE FIRST BLOW

A car with dimmed lights stood in front of the Quirt cabin when Swan
drove around the last low ridge and down to the gate. The rattle of
the wagon must have been heard, for the door opened suddenly and Frank
stood revealed in the yellow light