He was not the sort of man to wear his heart upon his sleeve, and all his life long he had fought out his more serious battles in loneliness and silence.

Now he had work to accomplish in the open; he was going to stay with the Kid--after that, _quien sabe_?
So he smiled somewhat soberly, swore softly to himself, and strode on.

He had never yet thrown down his cards merely because luck had taken a bad turn.
It was a cheerless-looking house, painted a garish yellow, having staring windows, and devoid of a front porch, or slightest attempt at shade to render its uncomely front less unattractive.

Hampton could scarcely refrain from forming a mental picture of the woman who would most naturally preside within so unpolished an abode--an angular, hard-featured, vinegar-tempered creature, firm settled in her prejudices and narrowed by her creed.

Had the matter been left at that moment to his own decision, this glimpse of the house would have turned them both back, but the girl unhesitatingly pressed forward and turned defiantly in through the gateless opening.