rolicked together, pitching hind quarters, rearing to box and nipping
at Simon. Fully as gay was he, though his shaggy flanks were gaunt. He
played at goring them, or frisked in ungainly circles. Occasionally,
however, he gave signs of ill-humour, lowered his broad horns
threateningly, even at Dallas, pawed up the new grown grass, and charged
to and fro on the bend, his voice lifted in hoarse challenge.

On the little family, the light, the warmth, and added duties wrought a
good effect. Lancaster's grumbling lessened, and he helped to plant some
boxes with cabbage and tomato seed that the "sutler" supplied. Marylyn,
coaxed out for an hour or two daily, rewarded Dallas with smiles. Her
appetite grew (rather to her chagrin). And when she held the
looking-glass before her, she saw a faint colour in her cheeks.

To Dallas, the spring brought renewed courage--and a vague longing. With
the first mild evenings, she took to venturing out, wrapped in her long
cloak, for a lonely walk. In her love of the gloaming, she was like a
wild thing. From birth, the twilights of the _mesa_ had proved
irresistible. When she was a child they soothed her little troubles; in
womanhood, if sorrow pressed heavily, they brought her strength. The
half light, the soft air, and the lack of sound were balm to her spirit.

Nightly she strayed up the coulee, eastward, south, or toward the river;
until, early in May, a second incident occurred and interrupted her
rambles. She had walked as far as the swale that was part way to the
Missouri. There she was startled into a sudden halt. From a point ahead
of her and to the left, sounded a gun shot.

She sank down cautiously, and stayed close to the ground, her fingers
steadying her, her breath suspended. There was no moon, and the stars
were obscured by clouds. The cottonwoods were a black, shapeless mass.
She watched them.

No answering shot rang out. But, after a long wait, a reply came from
the grove. It was a laugh, loud and taunting.

She stayed crouched, and presently saw a small black object leave the
big blackness of the trees and advance. Frightened, she arose and
retraced her steps, glancing behind her as she went. At the shack,
having found the latch-string, she backed into the room.

Her father and sister were asleep. Next morning, on a plea of not
wishing to alarm them, she refrained from telling of the shot. It may
have been a hunter, she reasoned, or a drunken trooper, or one of the
S