“No.  I was just askin’ on—­on general principles.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lucy, is there anythin’ between you an’ Joel?” he asked, gravely.

“No,” she replied, with her clear eyes up to his.

Bostil thought of a bluebell.  “I’m beggin’ your pardon,” he said, hastily.

“Dad, you know how Joel runs after me.  I’ve told you.  I let him till lately.  I liked him.  But that wasn’t why.  I felt sorry for him—­pitied him.”

“You did?  Seems an awful waste,” replied Bostil.

“Dad, I don’t believe Joel is—­perfectly right in his mind,” Lucy said, solemnly.

“Haw! haw!  Fine compliments you’re payin’ yourself.”

“Listen.  I’m serious.  I mean I’ve grown to see—–­looking back—­that a slow, gradual change has come over Joel since he was kicked in the head by a mustang.  I’m sure no one else has noticed it.”

“Goin’ batty over you.  That’s no unusual sign round this here camp.  Look at—­”

“We’re talking about Joel Creech.  Lately he has done some queer things.  To-day, for instance.  I thought I gave him the slip.  But he must have been watching.  Anyway, to my surprise he showed up on Peg.  He doesn’t often get Peg across the river.  He said the feed was getting scarce over there.  I was dying to race Buckles against Peg, but I remembered you wouldn’t like that.”

“I should say not,” said Bostil, darkly.

“Well, Joel caught up to me—­and he wasn’t nice at all.  He was worse to-day.  We quarreled.  I said I’d bet he’d never follow me again and he said he’d bet he would.  Then he got sulky and hung back.  I rode away, glad to be rid of him, and I climbed to a favorite place of mine.  On my way home I saw Peg grazing on the rim of the creek, near that big spring-hole where the water’s so deep and clear.  And what do you think?  There was Joel’s head above the water.  I remembered in our quarrel I had told him to go wash his dirty face.  He was doing it.  I had to laugh.  When he saw me—­he—­then—­then he—­” Lucy faltered, blushing with anger and shame.

“Well, what then?” demanded Bostil, quietly.

“He called, ‘Hey, Luce—­take off your clothes and come in for a swim!’”

Bostil swore.

“I tell you I was mad,” continued Lucy, “and just as surprised.  That was one of the queer things.  But never before had he dared to—­to-”

“Insult you.  Then what ’d you do?” interrupted Bostil, curiously.

“I yelled, ‘I’ll fix you, Joel Creech!’. . .  His clothes were in a pile on the bank.  At first I thought I’d throw them in the water, but when I got to them I thought of something better.  I took up all but his shoes, for I remembered the ten miles of rock and cactus between him and home, and I climbed up on Buckles.  Joel screamed and swore something fearful.  But I didn’t look back.  And Peg, you know—­maybe you don’t know—­but Peg is fond of me, and he followed me, straddling his bridle all the way in.  I dropped Joel’s clothes down the ridge a ways, right in the trail, so he can’t miss them.  And that’s all. . . .  Dad, was it—­was it very bad?”