e barn. He drew up with a jerk, and sat looking at
the wagon standing there. Then, with an excited, impatient
ejaculation, he flung out of the saddle.

The next moment he became aware of Kate's presence in the doorway.
With eyes alight and half-angry, half-impatient, Charlie Bryant turned
upon her.

"Why have you taken this wagon, Kate?" he demanded, going to the point
of his concern without preamble.

The woman drew a sharp breath. It was as though she realized that a
vital moment had arrived, a moment when she must grip the situation,
and use all her power of domination over the questioner.

"You've placed it at my disposal at all times," she said, smiling into
his excited eyes.

The man rushed on.

"Yes, yes, I know; but why have you taken it now? You say you are
going to Myrtle. You don't need it. You could ride to Myrtle--in the
ordinary way. You are welcome to the wagon at all times. To anything I
have. But why are you taking it now? I only found out it had gone this
morning. I--" he averted his gaze--"I only happened to go over to the
corral this morning--and I found it--gone."

Quick as a shot Kate's answer was formulated and fired at him.

"Why did you go to the corral--this morning?"

The man's reply was slow in coming. His cheeks flushed, and it looked
as though he were seeking excuse.

"I had to go there. I--needed my wagon for to-morrow's work."

Kate smiled. She was feeling more confident.

"For hauling your hay? Won't it wait? You see, I can't carry a grip on
the saddle."

Great beads of sweat were standing on Charlie's youthful face. He
raised one nervous hand and brushed it across his forehead. He cleared
his throat.

"Say, why--why must you go now, Kate? What is this absurd talk I have
heard? You going away because--because of that tree business? Kate,
Kate, such an idea isn't worthy of you. You going? You flying from
superstition? No, no, it's not worthy of you. Kate----" he paused.
Then, with a gulp: "You can't have the wagon. I refuse to--lend it
you. I simply must have it."

Kate was leaning against the door casing. She made no move. Her smile
deepened, that was all. She understood all that lay behind the man's
desperate manner, and--she had no intention of yielding.

"If you must have it, you must," she said, in her deep voice, so like
his own. "You had better send for it, but--" her look suddenly
hardened--"don't ever speak to me again. That is all I have to say."

The man'