But she looked at him, as she started, with that swift, shy glance of hers, and felt the pink tint her cheeks beneath the tan.  He was much in her thoughts, this slender brown man with the look of quiet competence and strength.  Ever since that night in the kitchen, he had impressed himself upon her imagination.  She had fallen into the way of comparing him with Tom Dixon, with her own brother, with Buck Weaver—­and never to his disadvantage.

He talked with a drawl.  He walked and rode with an air of languid ease.  But the man himself, behind the indolence that sat upon him so gracefully, was like a coiled spring.  Sometimes she could see this force in his eyes, when for the moment some thought eclipsed the gay good humor of them.  Winsome he was.  He had already won her father, even as he had won her.  But the touch of affection in his manner never suggested weakness.

From the porch Tom Dixon watched her departure sullenly.  Since he could not have her, he let himself grow jealous of the man who perhaps could.  And because he was what he was—­a small man, full of vanity and conceit—­he must needs make parade of himself with another girl in the role of conquering squire.  Larrabie smiled as the young fellow went off for a walk in obviously confidential talk with Anna Allan, but he learned soon that it was no smiling matter.

Half an hour later, the girl came flying back along the trail the two had taken.  Catching sight of Keller, she ran across to him, plainly quivering with excitement and fluttering with fears.

“Oh, Mr. Keller—­I’ve done it now!  I didn’t think——­I thought—­”

“Take it easy,” soothed the young man, with one of his winning smiles.  “Now, what is it you have done?” Already his eyes had picked out Dixon returning, not quite so impetuously, along the trail.

“I told him about the man in Phyllis’ room.”

Larrabie’s eyes narrowed and grew steely.  “Yes?”

“I told him—­I don’t know why, but I never could keep a secret.  I made him promise not to tell.  But he is going to tell the boys.  There he comes now.  And I told Phyllis I wouldn’t tell!” Anna began to cry, miserably aware that she had made a mess of things.

“I just begged him not to tell—­and he had promised.  But he says it’s his duty, and he’s going to do it.  Oh, Mr. Keller—­if Mr. Weaver is there they will hurt him, and I’ll be to blame.”

“Yes, you will be,” he told her bluntly.  “But we may save him yet—­if you can go about your business and keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh, I will—­I will,” she promised eagerly.  “I’ll not say a word—­not to anybody.”

“See that you don’t.  Now, run along home.  I’m going to have a quiet little talk with that young man.  Maybe I can persuade him to change his mind,” he said grimly.

“Please—­if you could.  I don’t want to start any trouble.”

Larrabie grinned, without taking his eyes from the man coming down the trail.  It was usually some good-natured idiot, with a predisposition to gabbling, that made most of the trouble in the world.