she had done. No experience in the ways of men and maids warned her
that there was another cause for the quickened pulse. Youth had looked
into the eyes of youth and made the world-old call of sex to sex.

In a little pocket opening from the draw Morse arranged blankets for
the girl's bed. He left Beresford to explain to her that she could
sleep there alone without fear, since a guard would keep watch against
any possible surprise attack.

When the soldier did tell her this, Jessie smiled back her
reassurance. "I'm not afraid--not the least littlest bit," she said
buoyantly. "I'll sleep right away."

But she did not. Jessie was awake to the finger-tips, her veins apulse
with the flow of rushing rivers of life. Her chaotic thoughts centered
about two men. One had followed crooked trails for his own profit.
There was something in him hard and unyielding as flint. He would
go to his chosen end, whatever that might be, over and through any
obstacles that might rise. But to-night, on her behalf, he had thrown
down the gauntlet to Bully West, the most dreaded desperado on the
border. Why had he done it? Was he sorry because he had forced her
father to horsewhip her? Or was his warning merely the snarl of one
wolf at another?

The other man was of a different stamp. He had brought with him from
the world whence he had come a debonair friendliness, an ease of
manner, a smile very boyish and charming. In his jaunty forage cap and
scarlet jacket he was one to catch and hold the eye by reason of his
engaging personality. He too had fought her battle. She had heard him,
in that casually careless way of his, try to take the blame of having