She brought up her free hand to hit him, but this time he was quicker. He side-stepped her blow and she fell, stumbling against the gelding. She finally regained her balance and got up in the saddle. Her hat had come off and fallen behind her shoulders, held by the string, and he could see her face more clearly than he had at any time before. He had forgotten that she was so pretty. But her prettiness was what he had noticed first, and all the other things had come afterward: cruelty, meanness, self-will. He had known women like that, one woman in particular. And one had been too many. He watched the girl until she had gone into the trees, and waited until he couldn't hear the sound of her horse any longer, then went up to where the children were sleeping.

They weren't sleeping, of course, but they thought they were doing him a favor by pretending. He hadn't shown up too well in their eyes, letting himself be browbeaten by a woman. They expected greater things from him, regardless of how trying the circumstances, and they were disappointed. And determined not to show it. They lay a little too stiffly, with their eyes straining to stay closed.

``Go to sleep,'' he said. ``Both of you. There's better things to do than listen to something like that. I'll be down at the creek finishing the dishes, if you want me.''

He found the pan where he had dropped it and carried it back down to the stream. The coyote was calling again, and he hoped that this time there would be no other sounds to interrupt it. Not tonight, at any rate. He had a feeling that the girl meant trouble. If she did, he could stand it better in the light.