luff-top. And she had pictured how, some day, they
would be ferried to the bend. They could not have heard how her father
talked. If they had they would not blame her. If they passed her, they
would smile and bow--maybe stop to speak!

She was all aglow, now. The ambulance rolled near. It was closed on its
sides, and the women within could not see her. The woman on the
seat--pretty, slender, daintily clad--did. Dallas leaned forward
eagerly, face flushed, eyes shining.

The woman also leaned forward, and looked Dallas up and down,
searchingly, coldly. Her lips were set in a sneer. Her eyes frowned.
Then, the ambulance bowled smartly along, the driver catching at a
leader with his whip.

"Who's that, Mrs. Cummings?" The women in the rear of the vehicle were
peering out.

Mrs. Cummings answered over her shoulder. "Why, it's The Plow-Woman."

There were "Ohs" and "Ahs"--and laughter.

The girl by the roadside heard. Slighted, rebuffed, wounded to the
quick, she stumbled homeward, her sight blinded by tears.

She did not wait for Lounsbury again. Once she thought of writing him,
of summoning him through a note given Squaw Charley. But recalling her
father's treatment of the storekeeper, she questioned if the latter
would heed her message. She felt herself isolated. But no hint of her
bitterness was allowed to reach Marylyn. The younger girl knew only
bright words, and unceasing, unselfish care.

For one thing Dallas was deeply thankful: Matthews did not trouble the
shack. David Bond had told her that when the troops left for the summer
campaign, the interpreter would ride with them, the evangelist being
retained at the fort to fill the other's place. The latter declared
that, by the pilot's report, Lounsbury's name made Matthews "lay back
his ears," but that he no longer stormed about losing the claim.

And now came the warm days--days in swift, sweet contrast to those just
gone. Sun and shower banded the sky with triple arcs of promise. The
robins arrived, a plump and saucy crew. Bent-bill curlews stalked about,
uttering wild and mellow calls. The dwellers of the ground threw up
fresh dirt around their burrows. The marsh violets opened pale lilac
cups. And the very logs of the shack put forth ambitious sprigs, so
that, from the front, the grotesque head displayed a bristle of green
whisker. The prairie was awake--blood and soil and sap.

Ben and Betty showed their high spirits with comical sporting. The mules
f