The girl's eyes flashed a swift glance into his, and once more raised to the bandage that encircled his head, then, very abruptly, she turned her back toward him, and busied herself at the stove. A plate of sizzling bacon and a steaming cup of coffee were whisked onto the table and, as the cowboy seated himself, she made up a neat flat package of sandwiches.

As Tex washed down the bacon and bread with swallows of scalding coffee, she slipped into an adjoining room and closed the door. Just as he finished she reappeared, booted and spurred, clad in a short riding skirt of corduroy, her hands encased in gauntleted gloves, and a Stetson set firmly upon the black coiled braids. A silk scarf of a peculiar burnt orange hue was knotted loosely about her neck.

Never in the world, thought the man as his eyes rested for a moment upon the soft, full throat that rose from the open collar of her shirt, had there been such absolute perfection of womanhood; and his glance followed the lithe, swift movements with which she caught up the package of lunch and stepped to the door. "I'm going with you," she announced. "Father's up at the lambing camp, and I've fed all the little beasties." A lamb tumbled awkwardly about her legs and she cuffed it playfully.

As the Texan followed her to the corral, his thoughts flashed to Alice Endicott lying as he had left her beside the river—flashed backward to the moment of their first meeting, to the wild trip through the bad lands, to their parting a year ago when she had left him to become the bride of his rival, to the moment she had appeared as an apparition back there in the saloon, and to the incidents of their wild adventure on the flat-boat. Only last night, it was—and it seemed ages ago.

Thoughts of her made him strangely uncomfortable, and he swore softly under his breath, as his glance rested upon the girl who had stooped to release a rope from a saddle that lay beside the corral gate. She coiled it deftly, and stepping into the enclosure, flipped the noose over the head of a roman-nosed roan. The Texan stared. There had been no whirling of the rope, only a swift, sure throw, and the loop fastened itself about the horse's throat close under his chin. The cowboy stepped to relieve her of the rope, but she motioned him to the other animal, a gentle looking bay mare. "I'll ride Blue, you take the mare," she said.

He surveyed the roan dubiously: "He looks snorty. You better let me handle him."

She shook her head: "No, I've ridden him before. Really, I'm quite a twister. You can help saddle him, though."

The saddling proved to be no easy task. The animal fought the bit, and shied and jumped out from under blanket a half-dozen times before they finally succeeded in cinching him up. Then, Tex saddled the mare, and led both horses through the gate. Outside the corral, the girl reached for the roan's reins but the man shook his head. "I'll ride him, you take the bay."

The girl stared at him while the slow red mounted to her cheeks. There was a note of defiance in her tone as she answered: "I tell you I am going to ride him. I've ridden him, and I'll show him that I can ride him again."

The Texan smiled: "Sure, I know you can ride him—I knew that when I saw you catch him up. But, what's the use? He's got a bad eye. What's the use of you takin' a chance?"

The girl hesitated just a moment: "You're in no condition to ride him, you're hurt, and all tired out——"

The cowboy interrupted her with a laugh: "I ain't hurt to speak of, an' since I got that coffee inside me, I'm good for all day an' then some."

"Whose horse is Blue? And what right have you to tell me I can't ride him?"

"Whose horse he is, don't make any difference. An' if I ain't got the right to tell you not to ride him, I'll take the right."

"Well, of all the nerve! Anybody would think you owned the earth!"

The Texan regarded her gravely: "Not much of it, I don't. But, I'm goin' to own more——"

"More than the earth!" she mocked.

"Yes—a whole heap more than the earth," he answered, as his steady grey eyes stared straight into her own stormy, blue-black ones. Then, without a word, he extended the reins of the mare, and without a word, the girl took them and mounted.

As the cowboy swung into the saddle, the blue roan tried to sink his head, but the man held him up short, and after two or three half-hearted jumps the animal contented himself with sidling restlessly, and tonguing the bit until white, lathery foam dripped from his lips.

As the girl watched the animal the resentment died from her eyes: "That's the littlest fuss I ever saw Blue kick up," she announced.

The Texan smiled: "He's on his good behaviour this mornin'."

"He saw it was no use," she replied, quickly. "Horses have got lots of common sense."

The two headed up the little used trail that led upward to the bench by way of a shallow coulee. When they gained the top the man pointed toward the west: "The coulee we're hittin' for is just beyond that little butte that sets out there alone," he explained. "We better circle away from the river a little. The coulees won't be so deep back aways, an' I've got to catch up that cayuse. He hit straight back, an' the way his tracks looked, he sure was foggin' it."

They rode side by side at a sharp trot, the Texan now and then casting a glance of approval at the girl who rode on a loose rein "glued to the leather." A wide alkali bed lay before them, and the pace slowed to a walk. "Your partner," began the girl, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them, "maybe he will wake up and start out to find you."

The Texan glanced at her sharply: Was it his own imagination, or had the girl laid a significant emphasis upon the "He." Her eyes did not meet his squarely, but seemed focussed upon the edge of the bandage. He shook his head: "I reckon not," he replied shortly.

"But, even if he did, we could easily pick up his trail," persisted the girl.

"Dead easy." The man was battling with an impulse to tell the girl that his companion upon the river was a woman. The whole thing was so absurdly simple—but was it? Somehow, he could not bring himself to tell this girl—she might not understand—she might think—with an effort he dismissed the matter from his mind. She'll find out soon enough when we get there. He knew without looking at her that the girl's eyes were upon him. "Heavy goin'," he observed, abruptly.

"Yes."

Another long silence, this time broken by the Texan: "I don't get you quite," he said, "you're different from—from most women."

"How, different?"

"Why—altogether different. You don't dress like—like a nester's girl—nor talk like one, neither."

The girl's lips smiled, but the man could see that the blue-black eyes remained sombre: "I've been East at school. I've only been home a month."

"Learn how to rope a horse, back East? An' how to ride? It's a cinch you never learnt it in a month."

"Oh, I've always known that. I learned it when I was a little bit of a girl—mostly from the boys at the Y Bar."

"The Y Bar?"

"Yes, we used to live over on Big Box Elder, below the Y Bar home ranch. Father ran sheep there, and Mr. Colston bought him out. He could have squeezed him out, just as well—but he bought him out and he paid him a good price—that's his way."

The Texan nodded. "Yes, that would be his way."

"That was four years ago, and father sent me off to school. I didn't want to go a bit, but father promised mother when she died—I was just a little tike, then—and he promised her that he would give me the best education he could afford. Father's a Scotchman," she continued after a moment of silence, "he's sometimes hard to understand, but he always keeps his word. I'm afraid he really spent more than he can afford, because—he moved over here while I was away and—it isn't near as nice as the old outfit. I hate it, here!"

The Texan glanced up in surprise at the vehemence of her last words: "Why do you hate it?" he asked. "Looks to me like a likely location—plenty range—plenty water——"

"We're—we're too close to the bad lands."

The man swept the country with a glance: "Looks like there ought to be plenty room. Must be five or six miles of range between you an' the bad lands. Looks to me like they lay just right for you. Keeps other outfits from crowdin'."

"Oh, it isn't the range! You talk just like father does. Any place is good enough to live in if there's plenty of range—range and water—water and range—those two things are all that make life worth living!"

The man was surprised at the bitterness of her voice. The blue-black eyes were flashing dangerous lights.

"Well, he can build a bigger house," he blundered.

"It isn't the house, either. The little cabin's just as cozy as it can be, and I love it! It's the neighbours!"

"Neighbours?"

"Yes, neighbours! I don't mean the nesters—they're little outfits like ours. They're in the same fix we are in. But the horse-thieves and the criminals that are hiding out in the bad lands. There's a sort of understanding—they leave the money here, and father brings out their supplies and things from town. In return, they keep their hands off our stock."

"Well, there's no harm in that. The poor devils have got to eat, an' they don't dare to show up in town."

"Oh, I suppose so," answered the girl, wearily, as though the subject were an old one, covering the same old ground. "But, if I had my way, they'd all be in jail where they belong. I hate 'em!"

"An' you thought I was one of 'em?" grinned the man.

She nodded: "Of course I did—for a minute. I thought you're wanting to borrow a horse was just the flimsiest kind of an excuse to steal one."

"You don't know, yet—for sure."

The girl laughed: "Oh, yes I do. I didn't think you were, when I told you that this was McWhorter's ranch. The name didn't mean anything to you, and if you were a horse-thief, it would have meant 'hands off.' Then, to make sure, I asked you what Mr. Colston's chief worry was? You see if you were a horse-thief you might know Y Bar, but you'd hardly know him well enough to know about how he fusses over that little bald spot."

Tex laughed: "Little bald spot just about reaches his ears now. Top of his head looks like a sheep range."

"There you go," flashed the girl, "you mighty cattlemen always poking fun at the sheep. We can't help it if the sheep eat the grass short. They've got just as much right to eat as the cattle have—and a good deal better right than your old horse-thieves that you all stick up for!"

The Texan regarded her with twinkling eyes: "First thing we know, we'll be startin' a brand new sheep an' cattle war, an' most likely we'd both get exterminated."

Janet laughed, and as the horses plodded across the sodden range with the man slightly in advance, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. "He's got a sense of humour," she thought, "and, he's, somehow, different from most cowboys—and, he's the best looking thing." Then her eyes strayed to the bandage about his head and her brows drew into a puzzled frown.

They had dipped down into a wide coulee, and the Texan jerked his horse to a stand, swung to the ground, and leaned over to examine some tracks in the mud.

"Are they fresh?" asked the girl. "Is it your horse?"

A moment of silence followed, while the man studied the tracks. Then he looked up: "Yes," he answered, "it's his tracks, all right. An' there's another horse with him. They're headin' for the bad lands." He swung into the saddle and started down the coulee at a gallop, with the bay mare pounding along in his wake.

The little plateau where he had left Alice Endicott was deserted! Throwing himself from the saddle, the Texan carefully examined the ground. Here also, were the tracks of the two horses he had seen farther up the coulee, and mingled with the horse tracks were the tracks of high-heeled boots. The man faced the girl who still sat her bay mare, and pointed to the tracks on the ground. "Someone's be'n here," he said, in a low, tense voice.

"Maybe your partner woke up and caught his horse, or maybe those are your own tracks——"

The man made a swift gesture of dissent: "Well, then," uttered the girl in a tone of conviction, "that horrible Purdy has been along here——"

"Purdy!" The word exploded from the Texan's lips like the report of a gun. He took a step toward her and she saw that his eyes stared wide with horror.

"Yes," she answered, with a shudder, "I loathe him. He was at the ranch this morning before you came—wanted to see father——"

A low groan from the lips of the Texan interrupted her. With a hand pressed tightly to his brow, he was staggering toward his horse.