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"You see, it is only the thing to be expected, after all, that I should follow the gleam!"

She, like himself, was young and eager and unafraid and adventuresome; and within her pulsing arteries was that pioneer blood which, trickling down through the generations is ever prone to set recklessness seething.

There was a man coming up through the pines on horseback. In the gloom all detail was wanting. But obviously he meant to come straight on to the cabin. Deveril, seeing this intent, stepped by the girl and a couple of paces forward. The man, sitting in a strange, sideways fashion in the saddle, drew rein and peered at him.

"Name of Deveril? Babe Deveril?"

"Right, friend. What's your trouble?"

"Offering to shake hands, to begin with. I'm Winch; Billy Winch. You and me know each other."

He leaned outward from the saddle, putting out his hand. But Deveril ignored it, saying coolly:

"Why should I shake hands with you? You and I are not friends that I know of!"

Billy Winch sighed, and used his hand to remove his hat and then rumple his bristly hair. Then he laughed softly. His horse, restless and fiery and well-fed, whirled, and for the first time Lynette Brooke made out the reason for that strange, lopsided attitude in the saddle; the man, a little, weazened fellow, had lost his right leg above the knee and managed a sure seat only by throwing his weight upon his left stirrup and thus maintaining his balance.