it hurt. Yet between this girl and the others who
had taken him mildly to task there was the difference
between day and darkness. For he loved
this girl, and if she would not marry him for reasons
which he knew he could remedy, then it was
up to him to accept her criticism, which was
perhaps a challenge, and go forth and do something
and be something, and reveal his love to
her through that effort. What it would be he
did not know. He did know he must get out of
the town -- get out of the Territory, if needs be -- but
he must go somewhere in this country of
worthy aspiration and live as he knew she would
have him live, do something, be something, something
that for its very worth to her as well as to all
mankind would awaken her ready response. Such
a move he realized, as he stood beside her, would
be as decent in him as she in her criticism had been
eloquently truthful. The vigor, the relentless certainty,
with which she had pointed out his weakness -- no
one before had had the courage to deal
with him like this. And reviewing it all, and then
casting grimly forward into his future, he suddenly
awoke, as he gently stroked this mettled horse, to
a strange likeness between the spirit of horse and
mistress. He turned to Helen.

"You are very much alike," he declared -- "you
and your horse." Then he paused as if in thought.
"The spirit of the desert," he went on, absently,
"shows itself through all the phases of its life."

Helen brightened "I am glad you think that
of us, Stephen," she answered, as if relieved by

[[140]]

p139 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p140w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p141

v?