attle. "Not now, you've had a fight already,"
said Swan, settling back into the saddle. "But when you brace up, then
I'll fight you for her. What?"

"Any time," Mackenzie told him, speaking easily, as if humoring the
whim of some irresponsible person.

With a sudden start of his horse Swan rode close to Joan, Mackenzie
throwing himself between them, catching the bridle, hurling the animal
back. Swan did not take notice of the interference, only leaned far
over, stretching his long neck, his great mustaches like the tusks of
an old walrus, and strained a long look into Joan's face. Then he
whirled his horse and galloped away, not turning a glance behind.

Joan watched him go, saying nothing for a little while. Then:

"I think he's joking," she said.

"I suppose he is," Mackenzie agreed, although he had many doubts.

They turned to look at the wagon again, the popping of ammunition
having ceased. The woodwork was all on fire; soon it would be reduced
to bolts and tires. Joan's spirits seemed to have risen with the
broadening of day, in spite of Swan Carlson's visit and his bold jest,
if jest he meant it to be. She laughed as she looked at the sheep,
huddled below them in attitude of helpless fright.

"Poor little fools!" she said. "Well, I must go back to Charley. Don't
tell dad I was over here, please, John. He wouldn't like it if he knew
I'd butted in this way--he's scared to death of the Halls."

"I don't see how I'm to keep him from knowing it," Mackenzie said,
"and I don't see why he shouldn't know. He'd have been out a cheap
herder if it hadn't been for you."

"No, you mustn't tell him, you mustn't let anybody know I was here,
John," she said, lifting her eyes to his in an appeal far stronger
than words. "It wouldn't do for dad--for anybody--to know I was here.
You don't need to say anything about them tying--doing--_that_."

Joan shuddered again in that chilling, horrified way, turning from him
to hide what he believed he had read in her words and face before.

It was not because she feared to have her father know she had come
riding to his rescue in the last hours of her troubled night; not
because she feared his censure or his anger, or wanted to conceal her
deed for reasons of modesty from anyone. Only to spare him the
humiliation of having his failure known, Mackenzie understood. That
was her purpose, and her sole purpose, in seeking his pledge to
secrecy.

It would hurt him to have it go abroad t