out yonder,”—­and her voice faltered slightly,—­“just what I thought about you?  Good Lord!  I have n’t been begging to stick with you, have I?  I just didn’t know which way to turn, or who to turn to, after dad was killed, and you sorter hung on to me, and I let it go the way I supposed you wanted it.  But I ’m not particularly stuck on your style, let me tell you, and I reckon there ’s plenty of ways for me to get along.  Only first, I propose to understand what your little game is.  You don’t throw down your hand like that without some reason.”

Hampton sat up, spurred into instant admiration by such independence of spirit.  “You grow rather good-looking, Kid, when you get hot, but you go at things half-cocked, and you ’ve got to get over it.  That’s the whole trouble—­you ’ve never been trained, and I would n’t make much of a trainer for a high-strung filly like you.  Ever remember your mother?”

“Mighty little; reckon she must have died when I was about five years old.  That’s her picture.”

Hampton took in his hand the old-fashioned locket she held out toward him, the long chain still clasped about her throat, and pried open the stiff catch with his knife blade.  She bent down to fasten her loosened shoe, and when her eyes were uplifted again his gaze was riveted upon the face in the picture.

“Mighty pretty, wasn’t she?” she asked with a sudden girlish interest, bending forward to look, regardless of his strained attitude.  “And she was prettier than that even, the way I remember her best, with her hair all hanging down, coming to tuck me into bed at night.  Someway that’s how I always seem to see her.”

The man drew a deep breath, and snapped shut the locket, yet still retained it in his hand.  “Is—­is she dead?” he questioned, and his voice trembled in spite of steel nerves.

“Yes, in St. Louis; dad took me there with him two years ago, and I saw her grave.”

“Dad?  Do you mean old Gillis?”

She nodded, beginning dimly to wonder why he should speak so fiercely and stare at her in that odd way.  He seemed to choke twice before he could ask the next question.

“Did he—­old Gillis, I mean—­claim to be your father, or her husband?”

“No, I don’t reckon he ever did, but he gave me that picture, and told me she was my mother.  I always lived with him, and called him dad.  I reckon he liked it, and he was mighty good to me.  We were at Randolph a long time, and since then he’s been post-trader at Bethune.  That’s all I know about it, for dad never talked very much, and he used to get mad when I asked him questions.”

Hampton dropped the locket from his grasp, and arose to his feet.  For several minutes he stood with his back turned toward her, apparently gazing down the valley, his jaw set, his dimmed eyes seeing nothing.  Slowly the color came creeping back into his face, and his hands unclinched.  Then he wheeled about, and looked down upon her, completely restored to his old nature.