CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.
"I COULDA LOVED THIS LITTLE GIRL" A chill wind that hurried over Bear Top ahead of the dawn brought Swan and Jack clattering up the trail that dipped into Spirit Canyon.
Warfield rose stiffly from the one-sided warmth of the fire and walked a few paces to meet him, shrugging his wide shoulders at the cold and rubbing his thigh muscles that protested against movement.

Much riding upon upholstered cushions had not helped Senator Warfield to retain the tough muscles of hard-riding Bill Warfield.

The senator was saddle-sore as well as hungry, and his temper showed in his blood-shot eyes.

He would have quarreled with his best-beloved woman that morning, and he began on Swan.
Why hadn't he come back down the gulch yesterday and helped track the girl, as he was told to do?
(The senator had quite unpleasant opinions of Swedes, and crazy women, and dogs that were never around when they were wanted, and he expressed them fluently.) Swan explained with a great deal of labor that he had not thought he was wanted, and that he had to sleep on his claim sometimes or the law would take it from him, maybe.

Also he virtuously pointed out that he had come with Yack before daylight to the canyon to see if they had found Miss Hunter and gone home, or if they were still hunting for her.
"If you like to find that jong lady, I put Yack on the trail quick," he offered placatingly.