Luck shook her head.
“I don’t know. Dad never talks about her, and when I ask him he gets angry. I don’t remember her. I remember that we lived in the North, where it gets cold, and where there are big mountains. Since then we have traveled all over the country—Dad and I.”
“You ain’t had much of life, that’s a cinch,” muttered Duke. “Feller hadn’t ought to drag a girl over the country like that. Bad enough for a boy.”
Luck shut her lips tightly for a moment, and then, “I guess I can stand it. Dad says he is going to get me some books. Ace Ault wanted to get me some, but Dad put a damper on that idea. Dad didn’t like Ace.”
“Perhaps your dad won’t like me,” suggested the Saint.
“Well—” Luck hesitated a moment, “I’ll tell him about you, and—will you teach me, if he don’t mind?”
The Saint looked quizzically at her, and his eyes shifted to a far-away look, as though he were undecided. Then he nodded.
“Yes, child—if he don’t mind.”
Luck turned quickly and ran up the trail, as though she was going to lose no time in finding out. Duke smiled after her and looked at the Saint, who was staring down at the ground, his hands clenched at his sides. The face of a saint was gone now, and in its stead was the grinning snarl of an old wolf. He lifted his face and looked at Duke Steele, who was staring at the change in the old man’s face and manner.