orlds
would she have had him guess the swift message ready to leap out toward
him. He seemed to be drawing her soul to his unconsciously. Tingling in
every nerve, athrob with an emotion new and inexplicable, she drew a
long slow breath and turned her head away. A hot shame ran like
quicksilver through her veins. She whipped herself with her own scorn.
Was she the kind of girl that gave her love to a man who did not want
it?

His next words brought to her the shock she needed, the effect of a
plunge into icy water on a warm day.

"What about your friends--what about Miss Seldon--did she believe me
guilty too?" He could not quite keep the self-consciousness out of his
voice.

"Hadn't you better ask her that?" she suggested.

In spite of his interest in their talk, Kilmeny's alert eyes had swept
again and again the trail leading up the gulch. He did not intend to be
caught napping by the officers. Now he rose and offered her a hand up.

"Your friends are coming."

Swiftly Moya came to earth from her emotions. In another moment she was
standing beside the fugitive, her gaze on the advancing group. Captain
Kilmeny was in the lead and was the first to recognize her companion. If
he was surprised, his voice failed to show it.

"No, no, Verinder. I had him hooked all right," he was saying. "Dashed
poor generalship lost him. He went into the rushes like a shot. I
persuaded him out--had him in the open water. Looked to me like a two to
one shot, hang it. Mr. Trout develops a bad break to the off and heads
under a big log. Instead of moving down the bank I'm ass enough to reel
from where I hooked him. Leader snaps, and Mr. Trout has the laugh on
me."

To the sound of that high cheerful voice Moya roused at once. The rapt
expression died from her face.

"How many?" called India, holding up her string.

"I haven't been fishing," Moya answered; then gave herself away. "It
surely isn't time for luncheon already."

She took a step toward her friends, so that for the first time Jack
Kilmeny stood plainly revealed. India's pretty piquant face set to a
red-lipped soundless whistle. Joyce stared in frank amusement. Verinder,
rutted in caste and respectability as only a social climber dubious of
his position can be, ejaculated a "God bless my soul!" and collapsed
beyond further articulation. Captain Kilmeny nodded to the Westerner
without embarrassment.

"Mornin', Mr. Crumbs."

"Good-morning. But you have the name wrong, s