A month had passed since the rescue of the blunder colt. The air was warm and clear, the sky intensely blue. Moonstone CaÑon grew fragrant with budding flowers. The little lizards came from their winter crevices and clung to the sun-warmed stones. A covey of young quail fluttered along the hillside under the stately surveillance of the mother bird. Wild cats prowled boldly on the southern slopes. Cotton-tails huddled beneath the greasewood brush and nibbled at the grasses. The caÑon stream ran clear again now that the storm-washed silt had settled. On the peaks the high winds were cold and cutting, but on the slopes and in the valleys the earth was moist and warm.

Louise, humming a song, rode slowly along the Moonstone CaÑon Trail. At the "double turn" in the caÑon, where dwelt Echo and her myrmidons, Louise rode more slowly.

"Dreaming Fance, the cobbler's son, took his tools and laces,
Wrought her shoes of scarlet dye, shoes as pale as snow.
They shall lead her wild-rose feet all the faËry paces,
Danced along the road of love, the road such feet should go."

She sang slowly, pausing after each line that the echoes might not blur.

"Danced along ... along ... the road ... of love, the road ... of love ... of love," sang the echoes.

Louise smiled dreamily. Then the clatter of Boyar's shod hoofs rang and reËchoed, finally to hush in the gravel of the ford beyond.

Why Louise thought of Collie just then, it would be difficult to imagine. Still, she had, ever since his night's vigil with the blunder colt, caught herself noting little details associated with him and his work. He brushed his teeth. Not all of the other men did. He did not chew tobacco. Despite his lack of early training, he was naturally neat. He disliked filth instinctively. His bits, spurs, and trappings shone. He had learned to shoe his string of ponies—an art that is fast becoming lost among present-day cowmen. With little comment but faithful zeal he copied Brand Williams. This, of course, flattered the taciturn cowman, who unobtrusively arranged Collie's work so that it might bring the younger man before the notice of Walter Stone, and incidentally Louise. Of course, Louise was not aware of this.

The girl no longer sang as she rode, but dreamed, with unseeing eyes on the trail ahead—dreamed such dreams as one may put aside easily until, perchance, the dream converges toward reality which cannot be so lightly put aside.

Brand Williams had his own ideas of romance; ideas pretty well submerged in the deeps of hardy experience, but existing, nevertheless, and as immovable as the bed of the sea. He badgered Collie whenever he chanced to have seen him with the Rose Girl, and smiling inwardly at the young man's indignation, he would straightway arrange that Collie should ride to town, for, say, a few pounds of staples wanted in a hurry, when he knew that the buckboard would be going to town on the morrow, and also that there were plenty of staples in the storeroom.

Something of the kind was afoot, or rather a-saddle, as Louise rode down the Moonstone Trail, for beyond the turn and the rippling ford she saw a lithe, blue-shirted figure that she knew.

Louise would not have admitted even to herself that she urged Boyar. Nevertheless the reins tightened and slackened gently. Boyar swung into his easy lope. It pleased the girl that Collie, turning in his saddle at the sound of hoofs, waved a salute, but did not check his horse. He had never presumed on her frank friendship and "taken things for granted." He kept his place always. He was polite, a little reticent, and very much in love with Louise. Louise did not pretend to herself that she was not aware of it. She was all the more pleased that Collie should act so admirably. She had loaned him books, some of which he had read faithfully and intelligently. In secret he had kissed her name written on the flyleaf of each of them. He really rather adored Louise than loved her, and he builded well, for his adoration (unintimate as adoration must ever be until perchance it touches earth and is translated into love) was of that blithe and inspiriting quality that lifts a man above his natural self and shapes the lips to song and the heart to unselfish service. He knew himself to be good-looking and not altogether a barbarian. No morbid hopelessness clouded his broad horizon. He knew himself and cherished his strength and his optimism. He ate slowly, which is no insignificant item on the credit side of the big book of Success.

Collie lifted his broad-brimmed hat as Louise rode up. His face was flushed. His lips were smiling, but his dark eyes were steady and grave.

"'Morning, Collie! Boyar is just bound to lope. He never can bear to have a horse ahead of him."

"He don't have to, very often," said Collie.

"Of course, there are Kentucky saddle-horses that could beat him. But they are not cow-ponies."

"No. And they couldn't beat him if they had to do his work in the hills. About a week of the trails would kill a thoroughbred."

"Boyar is very conceited, aren't you, Boy?" And she patted the sleek arch of his neck.

"I don't blame him," said Collie, his eyes twinkling.

"Going all the way to town?" asked Louise.

"Yes. Brand wants some things from the store."

"I'm going to the station. We expect a telegram from some friends. Maybe they'll be there themselves. I hope not, though. They said they were coming to-morrow, but would telegraph if they started sooner. We would have to get Price's team and buckboard—and I'd be ashamed to ride behind his horses, especially with my—my friend from the East."

"Boyar and this here buckskin colt would make a pretty fair team," ventured Collie, smiling to himself.

"To drive? Heavens, Collie, no! They've neither of them been in harness."

"I was just imagining," said Collie.

"Of course!" exclaimed Louise, laughing. "I understand. Why, I must be late. There's the train for the north just leaving the station. I expected to be there in case the Marshalls did come to-day. But they said they'd telegraph."

"I can see three folks on the platform," said Collie. "One is the agent; see his cap shine? Then there's a man and a woman."

"If it's Anne, she'll never forgive me. She's so—formal about things. It can't be the Marshalls, though."

"We can ride," suggested Collie. And the two ponies leaped forward. A little trail of dust followed them across the valley.

At the station Louise found her guests, young Dr. Marshall and his wife; also the telegram announcing the day they would arrive.

"I'm sorry," began Louise; but the Marshalls silenced her with hearty "Oh, pshaws!" and "No matters!" with an incidental hug from Anne.

"Why, you have changed so, Anne!" exclaimed Louise. "What have you been doing? You used to be so terribly formal, and now you're actually hugging me in public!"

"The 'public' has just departed, Miss Lacharme, with your pony, I believe. He rides well—the tall dark chap that came with you."

"Oh, Collie. He's gone for the buckboard, of course. Stupid of me not to drive down. We really didn't expect you until to-morrow, but you'll forgive us all, won't you? You can see now how telegrams are handled at these stations."

Anne Marshall, a brown-eyed, rather stately and pleasingly slender girl, smiled and shook her head. "I don't know. I may, if you will promise to introduce me to that fascinating young cowboy that rode away with your horse. I used to dream of such men."

Young Dr. Marshall coughed. The girls laughed.

"Oh, Collie?" said Louise. "Of course, you will meet him. He's our right-hand man. Uncle Walter says he couldn't get along without him and Aunty Eleanor just thinks he is perfect."

"And Louise?" queried Anne Marshall.

"Same," said Louise non-committally. "I don't see why he took Boyar with him to the store, though."

The Marshalls and Louise paced slowly up and down the station platform, chatting about the East and Louise's last visit there, before Anne was married. Presently they were interrupted by a wild clatter of hoofs and the grind and screech of a hastily applied brake. The borrowed buckboard, strong, light, two-seated, and built for service, had arrived dramatically. Collie leaned back, the reins wrapped round his wrists, and his foot pressing the brake home. In the harness stood, or rather gyrated, Boyar and Collie's own pony Apache. It is enough to say that neither of them had ever been in harness before. The ponies were trying to get rid of the appended vehicle through any possible means. Louise gasped.

"Price's team is out—over to the Oro Ranch. I knew you wanted a team in a hurry—" said Collie.

"It looks quite like a team in a hurry," commented Dr. Marshall. "Your man is a good driver?"

"Splendid!" said Louise. "Come on, Anne. You always said you wanted to ride behind some real Western horses. Here they are."

"Why, this is just—just—bully!" whispered the stately Anne Marshall. "And isn't he a striking figure?"

"Yes," assented Louise, who was just the least bit uncertain as to the outcome of Collie's hasty assembling of untutored harness material. "It is just 'bully.' Where in the world did you unearth that word, Anne?"