"Nobody is cross with anybody, so far as I know," said Moya briskly. A
certain sort of sentimentality always made her feel like whistling or
singing or asserting the commonplace side of life in some way.




X


THE WHITE PERIL

Mrs. Bogardus received many letters, chiefly on business, and these she
answered with manlike brevity, in a strong, provincial hand. They took up
much of her time, and mercifully, for it was now the last week in November
and the young men did not return.

The range cattle had been driven down into the valleys, deer-tracks
multiplied by lonely mountain fords; War Eagle and his brethren of the
Owyhees were taking council under their winter blankets. The nights were
still, the mornings rimy with hoarfrost. Fogs arose from the river and cut
off the bases of the mountains, converting the valley before sunrise into
the likeness of a polar sea.

"You have let your fire go out," said the colonel briskly. He had invaded
the sitting-room at an unaccustomed hour, finding the lady at her letters
as usual. She turned and held her pen poised above her paper as she looked
at him.