“She said—­I think you misunderstood her.  She appears to—­” Miss Satterly, though she felt that she was being very generous, did not quite know how to finish.

“Not on your life!  It was the first time I ever did understand Myrt.  When I left there I wasn’t doing any guessing.”

“You shouldn’t have left,” she told him suddenly; gripping her courage at this bold mention of his flight.  How she wished she knew why he left.

“Oh, I don’t know.  It was about the only thing I could do, at the time—­the only thing, that is, that I wanted to do.  It seemed like I couldn’t get away fast enough.”  It was brazen of him, she thought, to treat it all so coolly.  “And out here,” he added thoughtfully, “I could get the proper focus on Myrt—­which I couldn’t do back there.”

“Distance lends—­”

“Not in this case,” he interrupted.  “It’s when you’re right with Myrt that she kinda hypnotizes yuh into thinking what she wants yuh to think.”  He was remembering resentfully the dance.

“But to sneak away—­”

“That’s a word I don’t remember was ever shot at me before,” said Weary, the blood showing through the skin on his cheeks.  “If that damned Myrt has been telling yuh—­”

“I didn’t think you would speak like that about a woman, Mr. Davidson,” said the schoolma’am with disapproval in her tone; and the disapproval not going very deep, there was the more of it upon the surface.

“I suppose it gives evidence of a low, brutal trait in my nature, that you hoped I couldn’t harbor,” acceded Weary meekly.

“It does,” snapped the schoolma’am, her cheeks hot.  If she had repented her flare of temper over the gopher, she certainly did not intend letting him know it too soon.  She seemed inclined to discipline him a bit.

Weary smoked silently and raked up the sun-baked soil with his spurs.  “How long is Myrt going to stay?” he ventured at last.

“I never asked her,” she retorted.  “You ought to know—­you probably have seen her last.”  The schoolma’am blundered, there.

Weary drew a sigh of relief; if she were jealous, it must mean that she cared.  “That’s right.  I saw her last night,” he stated calmly.

Miss Satterly sat more erect, if that were possible.  She had not known of this last meeting, and she had merely shot at random, anyway.

“At least,” he amended, watching her from the corner of his eye, “I saw a woman and a man ride over the hill back of Denson’s, last night.  The man was Bert, and the woman had red hair; I took it to be Myrt.”

“You surely should be a good judge,” remarked Miss Satterly, irritated because she knew he was teasing.

Weary was quick to read the signs.  “What did you mean, a while back, about me sneaking away from Chadville?  And how did yuh happen to have your dances booked forty-in-advance, the other night?  And what makes yuh so mean to me, lately?  And will yuh take a jaunt over Eagle Butte way with me next Sunday—­if I can get off?”