little while ago--he's gone over to put a man in to
take care of your sheep, but he'll be along back here this evening. He
wants to talk some business with you, he said."

"Well, we're ready for him, Joan," Mackenzie said. And the look that
passed between them, and the smile that lighted their lips, told that
their business had been talked and disposed of already, let Tim
Sullivan propose what he might.

"I'll leave it to you, John," said Joan, blushing a little, her eyes
downcast in modesty, but smiling and smiling like a growing summer
day.

Tim Sullivan arrived toward evening, entering the sheep-wagon softly,
his loud tongue low in awe for this fighting man.

"How are you, John? How are you, lad?" he whispered, coming on his
toes to the cot, his face as expressive of respect as if he had come
into the presence of the dead.

Mackenzie grinned over this great mark of respect in the flockmaster
of Poison Creek.

"I'm all right," he said.

Tim sat on an upended box, leaning forward, hat between his knees,
mouth open a bit, looking at Mackenzie as if he had come face to face
with a miracle.

"You're not hurted much, lad?" he inquired, lifting his voice a
little, the wonder of it gradually passing away.

"Not much. I'll be around again in nine or ten days, Rabbit says."

"You will," said Tim, eloquently decisive, as though his heart emptied
itself of a great responsibility, "you will that, and as good as a new
man!"

"She's better than any doctor I ever saw."

"She is that!" said Tim, "and cheaper, too."

His voice grew a little louder, coming thus to familiar ground in the
discussion of values and costs. But the awe of this man who went
fighting his way was still big in the flockmaster's eyes. He sat
leaning, elbows on thighs, mouth still open, as respectfully awed as
if he had just come out of a church. Then, after a little while,
looking around for Joan:

"What was he up to, John? What was he tryin' to do with my girl?"

Mackenzie told him, in few words and plain, pledging him to keep the
truth of it from Joan all his days. Tim's face grew pale through the
deep brown of sun and wind. He put his hand to his throat,
unbuttoning his collar with trembling fingers.

"But she was too smart for him!" he said. "I've brought her up a match
for any of them town fellers--they can't put anything like that over
on my little Joan. And you didn't know but she was there, locked in
and bound hand and foot, lad? An