e and Buddy talked until a late hour that night, but although she was
dying to have him tell her about his romance, his dream of love, he
never so much as referred to it, and she could not bring herself to
disregard his reticence. Nor could she bear to discuss with him the
problem that lay nearest her own heart. She had brooded long over that
problem, and her soul was hungry to share its bitter secret;
nevertheless, she could not do so, for it is often easier to bare our
wounds to strangers than to those we love. If her breedings, her
bitterness of spirit manifested themselves, it was in a fixed undertone
of pessimism and in an occasional outburst of recklessness that
bewildered her brother.

On the morning of Gray's coming she rode with Buddy over to
thirty-five. It was a wretched, rainy day, and nothing is more bleak
than a rainy day in a drilling camp. Work had been halted and the men
were loafing in their bunk house. Brother and sister spent the
impatient hours in the mess tent. As usual, they talked a good deal
about Calvin Gray.

"Funny, him comin' here a stranger, an' gettin' to run our whole
family, ain't it?" Buddy said.

Allie nodded. "Funnier thing than that is your working for him." Buddy
was surprised, so she asked him: "Aren't you sore at him for--what he
did? For breaking up that affair?" It was a question that had been upon
her lips more than once; she could not credit her brother with entire
sincerity when he answered, frankly enough:

"Sore? Not the least bit."

"Didn't you--care for her?"

"Why, sure. I was all tore up, at first. But he did me the biggest kind
of a favor."

Allie shook her head uncomprehendingly. "Men are queer things. You
_must_ have loved her, for a while."

"I reckon I did, if you're a mind to call it that. But he says that
sort of thing ain't real love."

"'_He says_'!" the girl cried, scornfully. "My God, Buddy! Would you
let _him_ tell you--? Is he pickin' out women for you like he picks out
a dress for me and a hotel for Ma? How does _he_ know what's the real
thing?"

"She was a--grafter," the brother explained, with a flush of
embarrassment. "She'd of probably took my money an' quit me cold."

"Bah!" The girl rose and, with somber defiance in her smoldering eyes,
stared out at the desolate day. "You'd have had her for a while,
wouldn't you? You'd have lived while it lasted. What's the difference
if she was a grafter? D'you think you're going to fall in love and