himself away from the others and was left standing, one small island, between the two groups. He was lonely and angry in his chosen position of isolation, but he lounged against one of the clothesline posts, yawning with elaborate casual-ness to hide his feelings.
“Stuck up!” he heard Lela Costain hiss acidly.
And several of the girls gathered in a small cluster and Jeff knew they were talking about him. Amy and Mrs. Wintworth had still tried to draw the two groups together, but by then the girls were as interested in their sharp, pointed gossip as the boys were in their one-and-over. Amy pointedly ignored Jeff, and he knew that she was angry.
Well, he thought, she'd get over it. Just the same she had never been prettier than she was that night, and Jeff kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn't looking.
He wished that she would come over and talk to him again, but she was too proud for that.
Probably every party reaches a point where it seems to be falling to pieces, and that was the way it was then, on Amy's eleventh birthday. But you'd never know it to look at Amy. She carried herself straight and proud, and her bright smile seemed as permanent as a steel etching. Nothing could erase it.
And yet the smile vanished when she approached the group of girls. A grimness appeared at the corners of her mouth when she heard what they were saying. Her chin jutted with determination.
“That's enough,” Amy said quietly. There was a brittleness in her voice, an urgency, that made the girls look around.
“I was just saying—” Lela Costain started. “I heard!” Amy replied coldly.
The Wintworth back yard became suddenly quiet. The boys stopped their one-and-over and began moving forward to see what was wrong.
Lela Costain, a stocky, square-built girl, shot glances around the small circle, smiling when she saw that everyone was eagerly awaiting her next word. “Well,” she said primly, smoothing down her blue ruffled dress, “it's the truth. Everybody knows about Nate Blaine.”
“Lela Costain, I don't want to hear another word!” Amy said sharply, and the look of self-satisfaction dropped from Lela's face. She looked flustered and ready to cry, and suddenly she turned and ran from the back yard. That was the last they saw of Lela Costain that night. That was all there was to it, but the entire character of the party was changed. The rowdy boys now shuffled uneasily, the girls were strangely mute. The party was as good as dead.
In Jeff's ears the sound of his father's name was still ringing. Lela had said something bad about his pa— that much was clear. He hated the thought of having a girl take up a fight that was rightly his, and yet he was proud of Amy for doing it. He couldn't very well fight a girl himself.
Within a matter of minutes the Wintworth back yard was empty. Reasons were suddenly thought of for going home early that night, and soon only Jeff and Amy were left.
“I guess,” Amy said, “the party is over.”
“It sure looks like it,” he said awkwardly. “Well, J guess I'd better be going.” But he stopped before reaching the gate. “I'm proud of you, Amy. I guess Lela Costain won't be telling lies about people after this.”
“Proud of me!” He hadn't expected her sudden anger. “What happened was your fault, Jeff Blaine, not Lela's!”
“My fault?”
“How do you think the others felt, with you standing off to yourself, thinking that you were too good to mix with the rest of us? You can't do that and not get talked about!”
Jeff had never seen a girl as hard to make out as Amy. One minute she was on your side, and the next minute she was blaming him for everything. Now the fire of anger was in her eyes; he could almost feel the sparks fly as she glared at him. He felt that he had better leave as quietly as possible.
“Jeff!” He had just reached the gate when she called. Another girl would have cried her eyes out because her party had been ruined, but not Amy Wintworth. She came toward him, walking very straight. “I guess I didn't mean all the things I said, Jeff. It wasn't really your fault.”
He felt awkward, and did not know what to say.
“I'll make it up with Lela tomorrow,” she said. “Everything will be all right.”
He knew that it had been largely his fault and he wanted to tell her so. But the words would not come. He could only stand there looking at her, and the longer he looked the prettier she seemed to get. “Well—” he said, clearing his throat— “I guess I'd better go.”
For a long while that night, after going to bed, he thought over what had happened. Amy had nerve—and he had learned to appreciate nerve from his pa. Remembering how she had stepped in to take his part gave him a warm and pleasant feeling. Perhaps for the first time he actually thought of Amy Wintworth as his girl.
This thought so occupied his mind that it did not occur to him to wonder what Lela Costain had been saying about his pa. Probably he would have passed it off as nothing if it hadn't been for something that happened shortly after, at school.
Alex Jorgenson was fourteen, a straw-haired, red-faced boy who outweighed Jeff by twenty pounds. Jeff never liked him, never had much to do with him until that day when he came into the cluster of boys at the rear of the schoolhouse. Alex was talking, and the others were listening intently.
“It's a fact,” Alex was saying. “My pa told me, and he says it's the gospel truth.”
Jeff stood back a little from the group, assuming an attitude of cool disinterest. He wore new jeans that his pa had bought him, and his fine black boots, and he had a belt with a genuine Mexican silver buckle. A person dressed in such fine clothes could hardly afford to mix with barefoot urchins. He kept his distance.
“What did your old man say?” one of the boys asked Alex Jorgenson.
“Well, he got it straight from the traveler,” Alex said. “This traveler'd been up in New Mexico Territory, so
