He checked his pony and bowed.

“Where are you going?” the girl exclaimed.

“Up Bear Creek.”

“It’s twenty miles.  You can’t do it.”

“Sure I can.  Thanks for your kindness, Miss Sanderson.  I’ll return the handkerchief some day,” and with a touch swung round his pony.

“You’re not going.  I won’t have it, and you wounded!”

He turned in the saddle, smiling at her with jaunty insouciance.

“I’ll answer for Jim.  He won’t betray you,” she promised, subduing her pride.

“Thanks.  I’ll take your word for it, but I won’t trouble your friend.  I’ve had all the Christian charity that’s good for me this mo’ning,” he drawled.

At that she flamed out passionately:  “Do you want me to tell you that I like you, knowing what you are?  Do you want me to pretend that I feel friendly when I hate you?”

“Do you want me to be under obligations to folks that hate me?” he came back with his easy smile.

“You have lost a lot of blood.  Your arm is still bleeding.  You know I can’t let you go alone.”

“You’re ce’tainly aching for a chance to be a Good Samaritan, Miss Sanderson.”

With this he left her.  But he had not gone a hundred yards before he heard her pony cantering after his.  One glance told him she was furious, both at him and at herself.

“Did you come after your handkerchief, ma’am?  I’m not through with it yet,” he said innocently.

“I’m going with you.  I’m not going to leave you till we meet some one that will take charge of you,” she choked.

“It isn’t necessary.  I’m much obliged, ma’am, but you’re overestimating the effect of this pill your friend injected into me.”

“Still, I’m going.  I won’t have your death on my hands,” she told him defiantly.

“Sho!  I ain’t aimin’ to pass over the divide on account of a scratch like this.  There’s no danger but what I can look out for myself.”

She waited in silence for him to start, looking straight ahead of her.

He tried in vain to argue her out of it.  She had nothing to say, and he saw she was obstinately determined to carry her point.

Finally, with a little chuckle at her stubbornness, he gave in and turned round.

“All right.  Yeager’s it is.  We’re acting like a pair of kids, seems to me.”  This last with a propitiatory little smile toward her which she disdained to answer.

Yeager saw them from afar, and recognized the girl.

“Hello, Phyllis!” he shouted down.  “With you in a minute.”

The girl slipped to the ground, and climbed the steep trail to meet him.  Her crisp “Wait here,” flung over her shoulder with the slightest turn of the head, kept Keller in the saddle.

Halfway up she and the man met.  The one waiting below could not hear what they said, but he could tell she was explaining the situation to Yeager.  The latter nodded from time to time, protested, was vehemently overruled, and seemed to leave the matter with her.  Together they retraced their way.  Young Yeager, in flannel shirt and half-leg miner’s boots, was a splendid specimen of bronzed Arizona.  His level gaze judged the man on horseback, approved him, and met him eye to eye.