She sat speechless. Without another word he stooped, swept his hat from the floor and went out. And, it must be said to his discredit, he slammed the door behind him.
A long five minutes Hazel was staring wide-eyed at the door. But he did not come back. She crept to the window. He was riding away down the draw. He did not look back. He passed out of sight around the bend. Hazel slid quietly to the floor and, her face buried in her hands, began to cry as if her heart would break.
For her little world had been shattered and she was left disconsolate among the fragments. Her man did not understand.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEW BROOM
Tip O'Gorman sat comfortably near the red-hot stove. The wind and the snow were blustering outdoors. It was what the people you yearn to kill call a bracing day in January. Actually the weather was such that the well-known brass monkey would have been frostbitten in at least one ear.
"It's a good old world." Tip sighed luxuriously and wiggled the toes of his roomy slippers.
Entered then one who changed the pleasing aspect of the good old world.
Judge Driver slammed the door behind him and untied the comforter that held the hat to his head. He removed the hat and buffalo coat, hung both on pegs behind the door, sat down and glared at Tip O'Gorman.