ked a mile or more in that direction, to mount the highest hill
he could discover, and stand long, sweeping the blue distance with
troubled eyes. Yet in the end he could not go. Whatever was wrong, he
could not set right at that late hour, he reasoned; to leave the sheep
would be to throw open the gates of their defense to dangers always
ready to descend upon them. The sheep were in his care; Joan was not.
That was what Tim Sullivan would say, in his hard way of holding a man
to his bargain and his task.

Joan came late in the afternoon, rising the nearest hilltop with a
suddenness quite startling, waving a cheerful greeting as if to assure
him from a distance that all was well. She stood looking at him in
amazement when she flipped to the ground like a bird, her face growing
white, her eyes big.

"Well, what in the world! Where did you get those guns?" she said.

"A fellow left them here the other day."

"A fellow?" coming nearer, looking sharply at the belt. "That's Hector
Hall's belt--I've seen him wearing it! There his initials are, worked
out in silver tacks! Where did you get it?"

"Mr. Hall left it here. What kept you, Joan? I've been worried about
you."

"Hector Hall _left_ it here? With both of his guns?"

"Yes, he left the guns with it. What was the matter, Joan?"

Joan looked him up and down, her face a study between admiration and
fear.

"Left his guns! Well, what did you do with _him_?"

"I suppose he went home, Joan. Did anything happen over your way to
keep you?"

"Charley was sick," she said, shortly, abstractedly, drowned in her
wonder of the thing he told with his native reluctance when questioned
on his own exploits. "Did you have a fight with Hector?"

"Is he all right now?"

"Charley's all right; he ate too many wild gooseberries. Did you have
a fight with Hector Hall, Mr. Mackenzie?"

She came near him as she questioned him, her great, soft eyes pleading
in fear, and laid her hand on his shoulder as if to hold him against
any further evasion. He smiled a little, in his stingy way of doing
it, taking her hand to allay her tumult of distress.

"Not much of a fight, Joan. Mr. Hall came over here to drive me off
of this range, and I had to take his guns away from him to keep him
from hurting me. That's all there was to it."

"All there was to it!" said Joan. "Why, he's one of the meanest men
that ever lived! He'll never rest till he kills you. I wish you'd let
him have the range."