CHAPTER XXI
A week had passed since the night of madness in Two Moons. Hilma Ring—marveling at the freedom she had received from the hands of Original Bill, understanding this action not at all nor the man who had punished her with a kiss, then piloted her out of Cattle Kate's country and set her on her own road— Hilma lived on the diminishing store of flour and bacon in her own cabin. She lived adventitiously from hour to hour, without a plan. The soul of the girl drifted without anchorage. Time on time a sense of responsibility to a pledged word urged her return to Two Moons where—having heard no word to the contrary—she believed Zang Whistler to be still in jail. But at every such prompting, the laughing eyes and smiling white teeth of the man called Original Bill arose across the road to town, blocking it for her with a host of fears. Yes, and with something else,—some curious, undefin-
