Summer was going, but the sun was hot and a cloud of flies followed Caverhill’s horses. The trail went up-hill and the light wagon jolted in the holes. Bob was going to the steamboat landing for supplies and Helen occupied the other end of the spring seat. The red dust the wheels threw up powdered her hot skin and the jarring springs shook her about. She held on by the rail and, when the team went slowly, studied Bob.
Bob’s brown face was thin and his look was rather stern. At the beginning Helen had remarked his tranquillity, but the tranquillity was gone. Harry had urged her to excite her lover’s ambition, and, to some extent, because she liked to use her power, she had done so. Now she began to sense in her husband qualities she had not thought were his and sometimes it looked as if he
