ted to be first in giving
way. Each wanted to save his face, so that the others could not later
blame him for quitting first.

She looked around from one to another, still cheerful and sure of her
ground apparently. Two steps brought her directly in front of one. She
caught him by the lapels of his coat and looked straight into his eyes.
"You _have_ changed your mind, haven't you, Jake?"

The big Missourian twisted his hat in embarrassment. "I reckon I have,
Miss Kate. Whatever the other boys say," he got out at last.

"Haven't you a mind of your own, Jake?"

"Sure. Whatever's right suits me."

"Well, you know what is right, don't you?"

"I expect."

"Then you won't hurt this man, our prisoner?"

"I haven't a thing against him if you haven't."

"Then you won't hurt him? You won't stand by and let the other boys do
it?"

"Now, Miss Kate--"

She burst into sudden tears. "I thought you were my friend, but now I'm in
trouble you--you think only of making it worse. I'm worried to death about
Dad--and you--you make me stay here--away from him--and torment me."

Jake gave in immediately and the rest followed like a flock of sheep. Two
or three of the promises came hard, but she did not stop till each one
individually had pledged himself. And all the time she was cajoling them,
explaining how good it was of them to think of avenging her father, how in
one way she did not blame them at all, though of course they had seen it
would not do as soon as they gave the matter a second thought. Dad would
be so pleased at them when he heard about it, and she wanted them to know
how much she liked and admired them. It was quite a love feast.

The young man she had saved could not keep his eyes from her. He would
have liked to kneel down and kiss the edge of her dress and put his curly
head in the dust before her. The ice in his heart had melted in the warmth
of a great emotion. She was standing close to him talking to Buck when he
spoke in a low voice.

"I reckon I can't tell you--how much I'm obliged to you, Miss."

She drew back quickly as if he had been a snake about to strike, her hand
instinctively gathering her skirts so that they would not brush against
him.

"I don't want your thanks," she told him, and her voice was like the
drench of an icy wave.

But when she saw the hurt in his eyes she hesitated. Perhaps she guessed
that he was human after all, for an impulse carried her forward to take
the rope from his