been among the girl's earliest
recollections. They had come as regularly and as certainly as the
passing of the seasons, and she had come to accept them as a matter of
course. Janet McWhorter stood in no fear of her father, yet never had
she brought herself to venture one word of remonstrance, nor offer one
word of sympathy. His neighbours accepted the fact as they accepted
McWhorter--with respect. If they wondered, they continued to wonder, for
so far as anyone knew nobody had ever had the temerity to seek knowledge
at its fountain head.

McWhorter's habit of silence was not engendered by any feeling of
aloofness--cowpunchers, sheep-men, horse-thieves, or nesters--all
were welcome at his cabin, and while they talked, McWhorter
listened--listened and smoked his black pipe. With Janet he was
as sparing of words as with others. Father and daughter understood
each other perfectly--loved each other with a strange undemonstrative
love that was as unfaltering as the enduring hills.

The moment McWhorter came upon the girl at the gate of the corral he
sensed that something was wrong. She had greeted him as usual but as he
watched her walk to the cabin, he noted an unwonted weariness in her
steps, and a slight drooping of her square shoulders. Unsaddling his
horse, he turned him into the corral with the bay mare. He noted the
absence of the big roan. "Been tryin' to ride Blue, an' he got away from
her," he thought; "weel, she'll tell me aboot it, if so."

While Janet placed supper on the table her father washed noisily at the
bench beside the door, then entered, and took his place at the table.
The meal progressed in silence, and in silence McWhorter, as was his
custom, helped the girl wash and dry the dishes and put them away on
their shelves. This done, he filled his black pipe and seated himself in
the chair. In another chair drawn close beside the big lamp, Janet
pretended to read a magazine, while at every muffled night sound, her
eyes flew to the window.

"Wheer's Blue," asked McWhorter, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe
and refilled it.

"I loaned him to a man who came here on foot."

"From the bad lands?"

"No. From the river. He's Mr. Colston's range foreman and he and--and
somebody else were crossing the river on Long Bill's ferry and the cable
broke, and the boat came ashore above here."

"An' the ither--did the ither come?"

"No. That's why he borrowed Blue--to hunt for the other."

"An' ye rode wi