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Title: The Ramblin' Kid

Author: Earl Wayland Bowman

Posting Date: December 22, 2009 [EBook#10374] Release Date: December 3, 2003

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAMBLIN'KID ***

Produced by Juliet Sutherland, DaveMorgan and PG Distributed Proofreaders

THE RAMBLIN'

KID

BY EARL WAYLAND BOWMAN

FRONTISPIECE BY W.H.D.KOERNER

1920

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I A NIGHT LETTER

II A BLUFF CALLED

III WHICH ONE'S WHICH

IV THE UNUSED PLATE

V A DUEL OF ENDURANCE

VI YOU'RE A BRUTE

VII THE GREEDY SANDS

VIII QUICK WITH A VENGEANCE

IX OLD HECK'S STRATEGY

X FIXING FIXERS

XI A DANCE AND A RIDE

XII YOU'LL GET YOUR WISH

XIII THE ELITE AMUSEMENT PARLOR

XIV THE GRAND PARADE

XV MOCHA AND JAVA

XVI THE SWEEPSTAKES

XVII OLD HECK GOES TO TOWN

XVIII A SHAME TO WASTE IT

XIX THE GREEK GETS HIS

XX MOSTLY SKINNY

XXI A GIRL LIKE YOU

THE RAMBLIN' KID

CHAPTER I

A NIGHT LETTER

Sand and gravel slithered and slid underthe heels of Old Pie Face as SkinnyRawlins whirled the broncho into the openspace in front of the low-built, sprawling,adobe ranch house of the Quarter CircleKT and reined the pinto to a sudden stop.Skinny had been to Eagle Butte and withother things brought back the mail. It washot, late June, the time between cutting thefirst crop of alfalfa and gathering, from theopen range, the beef steers ready for thesummer market. Regardless of the heat

Skinny had ridden hard and his horse wasa lather of sweat. A number of cowboyslounged, indolently, in the shade of thebunk-house, smoking cigarettes andcontentedly enjoying the hour of rest afterthe noon-day dinner. Another, lean-built,slender, boyish in appearance and withstrangely black, inscrutable eyes, steppedfrom around the corner of the house asSkinny jerked Old Pie Face to a standstill.

"Where's Old Heck?" Skinny askedexcitedly. "I brought the mail—here, takeit to him!"

The other, known on the Kiowa and therange of western Texas and Mexico onlyas "the Ramblin' Kid," strolled leisurelyout through the sagging, weight-swung gate

and up to the panting horse from whichSkinny had not yet dismounted.

"Asleep, I reckon," he replied in a voicepeculiarly low and deliberate, "—what'syour spontaneousness about? You act likea special d'livery or somethin'."

"Old Heck's got a letter," Skinny said,jerkily; "maybe's it's bad news an' heought to have it quick," as the Ramblin'Kid reached for a yellow envelope held inthe outstretched hand.

At that instant Old Heck, owner and bossof the Quarter Circle KT cow outfit,stepped from the shadow of the openranch-house door. He was short andstocky, red-faced, somewhere near the

fifties, and a yellowish-gray mustachehung over tobacco blackened lips.Overalls, a checked blue and white shirt,open at the throat, boots into which thetrousers legs were loosely jammedcomprised his attire. He was bareheadedand the sun glistened on a wrinklyforehead, topped by a thin sprinkling ofhair.

"What's the matter?" he asked drowsily,his small, gray-blue eyes blinking in theyellow sun-glare and still sluggish fromthe nap disturbed by the noise of Skinny'sarrival.

"Nothin'. Skinny's just got a letter an' isexcited about it," theRamblin' Kid said, handing the envelope

to him. "It's for you."

"My Gawd!" Old Heck exclaimed, "it's atelegram!"

The cowboys resting in the shade of thebunk-house rose to their feet, saunteredover and surrounded Old Heck and theRamblin' Kid, commenting meanwhile,frankly and caustically, on the faggedcondition of the broncho Skinny was on:

"Must 'a' been scared, the way you run thathorse," Parker, range foreman of theQuarter Circle KT, a heavy-built, sandy-complexioned man in the forties, remarkedwitheringly to Skinny as the cow-puncherclimbed from the saddle and slid to theground.

"He's mine, I reckon," Skinny retorted,"an' I figure it's nobody's darn' businesshow I ride him—anyhow I brought OldHeck a telegram!" he added triumphantly.

"Blamed if he didn't!" Charley Saunders,with a trifle of awe, pretended or real, inhis tone, said. "It sure is!"

"My Gawd!" Old Heck repeated, slowlyturning the envelope over in his hand, "it'sa telegram! Wonder what it's about?"

"Why don't you open it and see?" Parkersuggested.

"Yes, open th' blamed thing and find out,"Skinny encouraged.

"I—I've a notion to," Old Heck

whispered.

"Go on and do it, it won't take but aminute," Charley Saunders entreated.

"Maybe he's one of these mind-readersand can read it through the envelope," BertLilly volunteered.

"Aw, shut up and give him a chance!"

Trembling, Old Heck tore open theenvelope and silently read the message.

"My Gawd!" he groaned again. "Theworst has come to the worst!"

"That ought to make it middlin' bad,"Charley remarked soberly.

"Ought to," Bert added sententiously.

Parker crowded forward on sympathybent.

"Tell us what's in it," he said; "if it'ssorrowful we'll be plumb glad tocondole!"

"It's worse than sorrowful—"

"Melancholical?" Skinny inquired.

"My Gawd!" Old Heck said again, hisweatherworn features workingconvulsively, "it's more than a mortal mancan endure and stand!"

"Bet somebody's dead!" Bert whispered tothe Ramblin' Kid.

"Probably. Most everybody gets to besooner or later," was the answer withoutemotion.

Sing Pete, Chinese cook for the outfit,dish-rag over his shoulder, edged out ofthe kitchen door and shuffled around to thegroup. Glimpsing the yellow slip of paperheld in the shaking hand of Old Heck andthe awed interest of the cowboys gatheredabout the boss, he queried:

"Teleglam?"

No answer.

"Teleglam? Maybe alle samee somebodysickee?" he continued, cheerfullyconfident that questions enough would

ultimately bring a reply. He wasrewarded:

"What do you know about 'teleglams'?You slant-eyed burner of beef-steaks!"

"Who's it from?" Charley asked."Anybody we know—"

"My Gawd," Old Heck mourned oncemore, "she's comin'!"

"Who's she?" Parker coaxed.

"A female," Old Heck replied, "she's afemale!"

"The darned old cuss has had a wifesometime and run off from her anddeserted her and she's pursuing him and

trailing him down to earth!" ChuckSlithers, doubting Thomas of the outfit andstudent of Sherlock Holmes, cunninglysuggested. "I always imagined he was avarmint with a past—a' ex-heart breakerof innocent women or a train-robber or—"

"Aw, hell," the Ramblin' Kid rebuked,"him have a wife? Don't insult th' femalepopulation!"

"Carramba!" exclaimed Pedro Valencia,Mexican line-rider for the Quarter CircleKT, "perhaps she will stick him with thedagger, or shoot him with the gun whenshe arrive! The ladies with love kill quickwhen the love is—what you call him?—the jilt?"

"And I'd almost forgot I ever had one!"Old Heck continued talking as if tohimself.

"What'd I tell you?" Chuck exulted.

"Shut up! He's confessin'—let him alonean' he'll get it out of his conscience sooneror later!"

"Had a what?" Parker urgedsympathetically. "Maybe you didn't haveone—maybe you only imagined you did!"

"Had a brother—anyhow a half a one—our mothers was the same but differentfathers on account of mine dyin' when Iwas little and his marrying our motheragain; we was playmates together in our

innocent childhood and infancy until I runaway and went to sea and finally anchoredon the Kiowa and got to raisin' cattle—"

"Where does he come in at?" Parkerquestioned.

"He said it was a female, to start with,"Skinny added.

"—and his name is Simeon Dixon onaccount of his father's being the samething, and he went in the street railroadbusiness in a place named Hartville inConnecticut, and he got married and had awife—she was Zithia Forbes, and she'sdead, and I knowed that, and he's rich Ireckon and—"

"An' Amrak begat Meshak an' Meshakbegat Zimri an' Zimri was th' founder of th'House of Old Heck," the Ramblin' Kidchanted. "What in thunder does detailsamount to, anyhow?"

"But you was mournin' about a she!"Parker insisted.

"Well, I reckon it ain't a wife—at least notthe one I was thinking about," Chuckmurmured disappointedly, "but I bet he'shad one somewhere in his vari'gatedcareer and is hiding out from her in fearan' tremblin'—"

"And there will not be the grand, thebeautiful murder?" Pedro sighed,questioningly.

"Wait a minute," Skinny pleaded, "—givehim air!"

"—and he's got a female daughter—and Ididn't know that—and he's—oh, Gawd!—he's sending her out to the Quarter CircleKT!"

"How big is she?" Parker whispered.

"She's—she's twenty-two—"

"Inches around or what?" Charley gasped.

"—and Ophelia is coming with her—Ophelia Cobb—C-o-double-b it is—iscoming with her for a chaperon—"

"Great guns!" Skinny breathed,"—twofemales!"

"Hold still and I'll read it—no, you do it,Parker—I'm too full of emotion—myvoice'd quiver—"

Parker read:

"Josiah Heck, Eagle Butte, Texas:

"Am sending my daughter, CarolynJune, out to your ranch for a while.She needs a change. She has broke allthe he-human hearts in Hartville—thatis all of them old enough or youngenough to be broke—and is what'scalled a love-stimulator and won'tsettle. She is twenty-two and it's timeshe was calmed. Hoping six monthson the Kiowa range will gentle herquite a lot, I am sympathetically your

1/2 brother, Simeon.

"P.S.—Mrs. Ophelia Cobb, a ladywidow, is coming with her for achaperon. Beware of both of them.They will arrive at Eagle Butte the21st.—S."

"Gee, it's a long one!" Chuck saidadmiringly.

"It's one of these 'Night Letters,'" Parkerexplained.

"I knowed it was bad news," Skinnyexclaimed, "—poor old Heck!"

"Better say, 'Poor we all!'" Bert declared."Farewell peace and joy on the QuarterCircle KT!"

"The Lord have mercy on Old Heck!"Charley cried with dramatic fervor.

"Holy smoke," Parker murmureddesperately, "two of them on the twenty-first—and that's to-morrow!"

CHAPTER II

A BLUFF CALLED

The Quarter Circle KT was a womanlessranch. Came now, like a bolt from theclear sky or the sudden clang of a fire-alarm bell, the threat of violation of thisEveless Eden by the intrusion of a pair ofstrange and unknown females. The arrivalof the telegram telling of the coming ofCarolyn June Dixon, Old Heck's niece,and Ophelia Cobb, her chaperon, filledwith varying emotions the hearts of OldHeck, Parker and the cowboys.

To Old Heck their presence meant nothingless than calamity. Long years of he-manassociation had made him dread the pettyrestraints he imagined would be imposedby intimate contact with womankind.Good lord, a man wouldn't be able even tocuss freely, and without embarrassment,with a couple of women in the house andprowling around the ranch!

Skinny, Bert, Chuck, Pedro, Charley, theRamblin' Kid, even the Chink cook andParker, quivered with excitement andcuriosity behind thinly veiled pretense offear and horror. Secretly they rejoiced. Itwas marvelous news borne by thetelegram Skinny brought. Here would bediversion ample, unusual, wholly worthwhile and filled with possibilities of

romance as luring as the first glimpse of astrange new land shadowed with mysteryand promise of thrilling adventure.

Sing Pete paddled back to the unfinishedbusiness of the kitchen, chatteringexcitedly. The cowboys stood mutely andstared at Old Heck and the fatal slip ofyellow paper.

"What'll I do?" Old Heck asked the groupdespairingly. "They'll ruin everything."

"Can't you head 'em off, somehow?"Parker suggested.

"Can't be done. They're already on theirway and probably somewhere this side ofKansas City by now."

"Find out which train they're on and let theRamblin' Kid and me cut across to thePurgatory River bridge and wreck it,"Skinny Rawlins, always tragic, darklyadvised.

"I ain't particular about killin' females,"the Ramblin' Kid objected, "besides, weain't got no dynamite."

"Send them a telegram and say Old Heck'sdead and not to come," BertLilly volunteered.

"Aw, you blamed idiot, they'd comeanyhow then, just to attend the funeral—"

"I got an idea," Chuck Slithers exclaimed;it's a telegram too. Send them one C.O.D.

in care of the train that will get to EagleButte the twenty-first and tell them we'veall got the smallpox and we're sorry buteverybody's dangerously sick and toplease answer!"

"That might work," Parker said; "they'd bemighty near sure not to want to catch it."

"We'll try it," Old Heck agreed. "Chuckwants to ride over to Eagle Butte anywayand he can have the depot agent send itand wait for a reply."

"Go get your horse ready, Chuck," Parkersaid, "we'll write it while you're saddlin'up!"

Chuck hurried to the corral while Old

Heck went into the house for pencil andwriting-paper. Parker and the cowboysmoved in a group to the shade of the porchin front of the house.

"What'll we tell them?" Old Heck asked,reappearing with writing materials. "Here,Parker, you write it."

"Dear niece Carolyn June Dixon andChaperon: Sorry, but there's an epidemicof smallpox at the Quarter Circle KT andyou can't come. Chuck is dying with it.Old Heck's plumb prostrated, Bert isalready broke out, Pedro is starting to andSkinny Rawlins and the Ramblin' Kid arejust barely able to be up. I love you toomuch to want you to catch it. Please goback to Hartville and give my regards to

your pa and don't expose yourself. Answerby return telegram so I'll know yourintentions. Affectionately and absolutelyyour Uncle Josiah Heck," Parker readafter writing a few moments. "How'sthat?"

"Sounds all right."

"Got it ready?" Chuck called from thefence, while Silver Tip, the trim-builthalf-blood Hambletonian colt he wasriding, reared and pranced, eager for theroad and a run.

"For lord's sake hurry up, Chuck," OldHeck yelled as the Ramblin' Kid handedthe paper to Chuck and the cowboywhirled his horse into a gallop toward

Eagle Butte. "Have the agent send it incare of whatever train they might be onand get an answer, then come back asquick as possible —waiting is agony!"

It was a long afternoon for Old Heck andthe cowboys of the Quarter Circle KT. Aband of colts were in the circular corral tobe gentled to rope, saddle and hackamore.Old Heck sat on the top pole of the corraland moodily watched the struggle of themen and horses in the dry, dusty enclosureas one by one each young broncho wasroped, saddled and ridden. Frequently heturned longing eyes toward Eagle Butte,anxious for sight of the cloud of dust fromwhich Chuck would emerge bringing, hehoped, word that Carolyn June andOphelia Cobb had heeded the misleading

message.

The sun crept across the western sky anddropped lower and lower until it hung atlast, a blazing disk of fire, close above thehighest peaks of the Costejo mountainrange. The poplars in front of the houseflung slim black shadows across the lowadobe buildings and splashed the tip oftheir shade in the dust-cloud that filledwith haze the corral a hundred yardsaway. Sing Pete stepped from the doorand beat a tattoo on the iron trianglesuspended by a piece of wire from thelowest branch of a mesquit tree at thecorner of the house, announcing by themetallic clamor that the work of the daywas finished and supper was ready andwaiting. Parker swung back the heavy gate

at the corral entrance and the dozen colts,sweat streaks on heads and backs andbellies where hackamore, saddle andcinches told of the lessons of theafternoon, pushing and jamming and with aclatter of hoofs, whirled out to freedom,around the stable and down a lane into anopen meadow.

Kicking off their chaps the cowboystossed them on the riding gear, piledalready against the fence of the corral, andstraggled stiffly toward the house. On thewire enclosing the back yard Sing Petehad hung a couple of heavy towels, coarseand long. Some basins and several chunksof yellow laundry soap were on a benchbeside an irrigation ditch that ran alongthe fence just inside the gate. Old Heck,

Parker and the cowboys stopped at theditch, pitched their hats on the grass anddipping water from the ditch scoured thedust and sweat from their faces and hands.

All were silent as if each was troubledwith thoughts too solemn to be spokenaloud.

At last, Skinny, handing a towel to Bertafter drying his own sun-tanned face andhands, remarked inanely:

"Chuck ain't come, has he?"

"Slupper!" Sing Pete called.

They filed into the kitchen and each tookhis regular place at the long, oilclothcovered table. The food, wholesome,

plain and abundant, was already served.

Silently each heaped his plate with theviands before him while SingPete circled the table pouring coffee intothe white porcelain cups. TheQuarter Circle KT was famous for theexcellence of its grub and theChink was an expert cook.

"Lordy, oh, lordy," Old Heck groaned, "itdon't seem possible them women arecoming!"

"Maybe they won't," Parker sympathized."When they get that telegram they ought toturn around and go back—"

"Chuck's coming!" Bert Lilly exclaimed at

that moment and the sound of a horsestopping suddenly at the front of the housereached the ears of the group at the table.

"Go ask him if he got an answer,somebody, quick!" Old Heck cried.

As Charley Saunders sprang to his feetChuck yelled, "They got it and sent ananswer! I got one—" and rushed excitedlythrough the house and into the kitchenwaving an envelope, twin to the oneSkinny had brought earlier in the day."They're on Train Number Seventeen, theagent said—"

"My Gawd!" Old Heck gasped, "whatdoes it say? Give it here!" reaching for themessage the cowboy held in his hand.

"Good lord, it didn't work!" he groaned ashe read the telegram and handed it acrossthe table to Parker.

"Read it out loud," several spoke at once.

"'We've both had it,'" Parker read, "'andare not afraid. Anyhow we think you are adarned old lovable liar. Will arriveaccording to schedule. If you are not a liarwe'll nurse you back to health andhappiness. If you are, watch out! Youraffectionate but suspicious little nieceCarolyn June Dixon. Postscript: Are thereany nice wild, untamed, young cowboysout there?—Carolyn J.'"

"Hell-fire!" Skinny said, "what'll we do?"

No answer. Chuck went moodily out toattend to his horse, and the meal wasfinished in silence. Even Sing Peteseemed deeply depressed. After supperOld Heck straightened up and in a do-or-die tone said:

"We'll all go out where it's cool and holda caucus and figure what ought to bedone."

"There ain't nothing we can do butsurrender, as far as I can see," Parkerobserved gloomily as they gathered on theporch in front of the house. "They seemplumb determined to arrive—"

"I've already give up hope," Old Heckanswered, "but what will we do with them

when they get here? We can't just brand'em and turn them loose on the range."

"I make a motion we elect Skinny to rideherd on 'em!" Bert Lilly suggested.

"Damned if I do!" Skinny exclaimeduneasily.

"It's a good idea," Parker said. "From allaccounts the young one expects to be madelove to and if she ain't she'll probably beweeping around all the time—"

"Well, I can't stand sobbin'!" Old Heckdeclared. "Any female is hard enough toendure and one that gets to mourning isplumb distasteful!

"That's probably the best thing to do," he

continued, "just appointSkinny to be official love-maker toCarolyn June while she's at theQuarter Circle KT. It will probably saveconfusion—"

"I brought the telegram telling about themcoming and I've done my share," Skinnyprotested; "somebody else can bedelegated to do the love-making!"

"That's just the reason it ought to be yourjob," Old Heck argued; "you went and gotthe telegram in the first place and are sortof responsible for them being here."

"Aw, let th' Ramblin' Kid do it," Skinnypleaded, "he's an easy talker andeverything—"

The Ramblin' Kid straightened up andstarted for the gate.

"Where you going?"

"To catch Capt'n Jack," he drawled; "afterthat for a little ride down to th' Pecos orover in Chihuahua somewhere a couplehundred miles. I decline with enthusiasmto fall in love on th' spur of th' moment forany damned outfit!"

"You come on back," Parker called,"Skinny'll have to do it. He can have allhis time for it and just pretend he's in loveand sort of entertain her. He don't need togo and do it in earnest. Come on back, youdarned chump, I need you on the beefhunt!"

"What'll I have to do?" Skinny askedcautiously.

"Just set on the front porch with her atnight and make your eyes roll up like acalf's that's being branded and kind of sighheart-broken once in a while," Bertvolunteered. "It'll be easy when you getused to it—"

"If you know so much about it why don'tyou enlist yourself?" Skinny askedirritably. "Some of you fellows go on andvolunteer," he pleaded dolefully.

"I would in a minute," Chuck chipped in,"if I was good-looking likeSkinny and had a white shirt—"

"What's a white shirt got to do with it?"

"Listen to the innocent child," Chucklaughed, "as if any darned fool didn'tknow that the first thing a professionallove-maker has to have is a white shirt!"

"That settles it," Skinny declared withemphasis, "I won't wear a white shirt tomake love to no blamed woman—"

"Chuck's locoed," the Ramblin' Kidinterposed; "you don't need to have nowhite shirt—of course it would be betterbut it ain't downright necessary—womendon't fall in love with shirts, it's what'sinside of them."

"Where did you find out so much about

women?" Bert queried.

"I didn't find out—I'm just guessin'—"

"There ain't no use arguing," Old Heckbroke in. "Skinny will have to be expertlove-maker for that Carolyn June niece ofmine—I'll allow him ten dollars a monthmore wages while he's doing it. I ain'tgoing to have her writing letters to her paand telling him she didn't have noconveniences or nothing. Anyhow, she'syoung and I reckon it's sort of necessary."

"What about th' other one—Ophelia Cobbor whoever she is?" Bert Lilly asked.

"She's past the age for it, probably,"Parker said uneasily.

"They don't pass it," the Ramblin' Kidinterrupted laconically; "when females gettoo old to want to be made love to theydie—"

"I'd like to know where in hell a juvenilelike you got your education aboutwomen!" Bert insisted to the Ramblin'Kid.

"I ain't got none—I'm just guessing I toldyou," the other replied, "but it's the truth,anyhow."

"Well, if I've got to make love to theyoung one Old Heck or Parker orsomebody's got to do it for the other one,"Skinny declared positively.

"Ophelia don't need it," Old Heck saidhastily, "she's a widow and has done been—"

"Widows are th' worst," the Ramblin' Kiddrawled; "they've had experience an' don'tlike to give it up."

"Th' Ramblin' Kid's right," Chuck brokein. "I read a book once that said that's theway they are. It's up to Old Heck orParker to represent Cupid to the widow—"

"Who the hell's Cupid?" Skinny askedcuriously.

"He's a dangerous little outlaw that ain'tgot no reg'lar range," the

Ramblin' Kid answered for Chuck.

"I'll not do it—" Old Heck and Parkerspoke at once.

"Then I won't either," Skinny declaredflatly, "I'll quit the dog-gonedQuarter Circle KT first!"

"Let Sing Pete make love to the widow,"Bert suggested.

"No, no! Me busy cookee," Sing Pete, whohad been listening from the open doorway,jabbered and darted, frightened, back intothe house.

"Anyhow I'd kill him if he did," theRamblin' Kid said softly; "no darnedChink can make love to a white woman,

old, young or indifferent, in my presencean' live!"

"Well, Old Heck'll have to do it, then,"Skinny said; "hanged if I'm going to be theonly he-love-maker on this ranch!"

"Let Parker and Old Heck divide up onOphelia," Chuck advised, "one of themcan love her one day and the other the next—"

"That's reasonable," Bert declared, "she'dprobably enjoy a change herself."

"I tell you I ain't got time," Parkerprotested.

"Neither have I," Old Heck added.

"All right then, I ain't either!" Skinnydeclared. "If you two ain't willing to taketurn about with the widow and love heroff and on between you I'll beeverlastingly hell-tooted if I'm going tostand for a whole one by myself all of thetime! I'll go on strike first and start rightnow!"

"We'll stay with you, Skinny," theRamblin' Kid exclaimed with a laugh, "th'whole bunch will quit till Parker an' OldHeck grants our demands."

"We'll all quit!" the cowboys chorused.

"Oh, well, Parker," Old Heck grumbled, "Ireckon we'll have to do it!"

"It won't be hard work," the Ramblin' Kidsaid consolingly, "all you got to do is setstill an' leave it to Ophelia. Widows areexpert love-makers themselves an' knowhow to keep things goin'!"

It was settled. Skinny Rawlins, at anincrease of ten dollars a month on hiswage, protestingly, was elected officiallove-maker to Carolyn June Dixon, OldHeck's niece, speeding unsuspectinglytoward the Quarter Circle KT, and OldHeck and Parker between them were todivide the affections of Ophelia Cobb,widow and chaperon.

In the mind of every cowboy on the ranchthere was one thought unexpressed butvery insistent that night, "Wonder what

She looks like?" thinking, of course, ofCarolyn June.

Old Heck and Parker also were disturbedby a common worry. As each sank intofitful sleep, thinking of Ophelia Cobb, thewidow, and his own predestinated affinityhe murmured:

"What if she insists on getting married?"

CHAPTER III

WHICH ONE'S WHICH

Eagle Butte sprawled hot and thirsty underthe melting sunshine of mid-forenoon. Itwas not a prepossessing town. All told, nomore than two hundred buildings werewithin its corporate limits. A giant mound,capped by a crown of crumbling, weather-tinted rock, rose abruptly at the northernedge of the village and gave the place itsname. Cimarron River, sluggish andyellow, bounded the town on the south.The dominant note of Eagle Butte was apathetic mixture of regret for glories of

other days and clumsy ambition to assumethe ways of a city. Striving hard to bemodern it succeeded only in beinggrotesque.

The western plains are sprinkled withtowns like that. Towns that once, in thetime of the long-horn steer and the forty-four and the nerve to handle both, werefrankly unconventional. Touched later bythe black magic of development, bringingbrick buildings, prohibition, pictureshows, real-estate boosters, speculationand attendant evils or benefits as onechooses to classify them, they becameneither elemental nor ethical—meregawky mimics of both.

When western Texas was cow-country

and nothing else Eagle Butte at least waspicturesque. Flickering lights, gay laughter—sometimes curses and the sounds ofrevolver shots, of battles fought close andquick and to a finish—wheezy music,click of ivory chips, the clink of glasses,from old Bonanza's and similarrendezvous of hilarity lured to the dance,faro, roulette, the poker table or thehardwood polished bar.

The Mecca it was in those days forcowboys weary with months on the wide-flung range.

To-day Eagle Butte is modest, mild andsuper-subdued.

A garage, cement built, squatty and low

and painfully new, its wide-mouthedentrance guarded by a gasoline pumpfreshly painted and exceedingly red,stands at the eastern end of the single,broad, un-paved business street. All of thestores face one way—north—and looksleepily across at the railroad track, thelow-eaved, yellow, Santa Fe station andthe sunburnt sides of the butte beyond.Opposite the station the old OccidentalHotel with its high porch, wide steps,narrow windows, dingy weather-boardsides and blackened roof, still stands toremind old-timers of the days of long ago.

A city marshal, Tom Poole, a long, slim,Sandy-mustached Missourian, completesthe picture of Eagle Butte. Regularly hemeets the arriving trains and by the

glistening three-inch nickel star pinned tohis left suspender announces to thetraveling world that here, on the one timewoolly Kiowa, law and order at lastprevail. Odd times the marshal farms aten-acre truck patch close to the river atthe southern edge of the town. Pending thearrival of trains he divides his timebetween the front steps of the old hoteland the Elite Amusement Parlor, EagleButte's single den of iniquity where pocketpool, billiards, solo—devilishdissipations these!—along with root beer,ginger ale, nut sundaes, soda-pop, milkshakes and similar enticements are servedto those, of reckless and untamedtemperaments.

From the open door of the pool hall the

marshal saw a thin, black streak of smokecurling far out on the horizon—a dozenmiles—northeast of Eagle Butte.

"Seventeen's comin'," he remarked to thetrio of idlers leaning against the side ofthe building; "guess I'd better go over an'see who's on her," moving as he spoke outinto the sizzling glare of the almostdeserted street. Glancing toward the easthis eyes fastened on a cloud of dustwhirling rapidly along the road that camefrom the direction of the lower Cimarron.

"Gosh, lookey yonder," he muttered, "thatmust be Old Heck drivin' his newautomobile—th' darn fool is goin' to bustsomething some day, runnin' that car theway he does!"

Walking quickly, to escape the heat, hecrossed the street to the station.

Two minutes later the cloud of dust traileda rakish, trim-lined, high-powered,purring Clagstone "Six" to a stop in frontof the Occidental Hotel and Old Heck andSkinny Rawlins climbed glumly and stifflyfrom the front seat, after the thirty-minute,twenty-mile run from the Quarter CircleKT.

Old Heck had his peculiarities. One ofthem was insistence for the best—absolutely or nothing. The first pure-bred,hot-blood stallions turned on the Kiowarange carried the Quarter Circle KT brandon their left shoulders. He wanted qualityin his stock and spent thousands of dollars

importing bulls and stallions to get it.When the automobile came it was thesame. No jit for the erratic owner of thelast big genuine cow-ranch on theCimarron. Consequently the beautiful car—a car fit for Fifth Avenue—standingnow in front of the old hotel in EagleButte.

The smoke on the northeastern sky-linewas yet some miles away.

The lanky marshal had reached the station.

"It's a good thing there's prohibition in thistown," Skinny muttered as he stepped fromthe car and started brushing the dust fromhis coat;

"Why?"

"'Cause I'd go get drunk if there wasn't—.Wonder if a feller could get any boot-legliquor?"

"Better leave it alone," Old Heck warned,"that kind's worse than none.It don't make you drunk—just gives youthe hysterical hydrophobia!'

"Well, I'd drink anything in an emergencylike this if I had it,"Skinny declared doggedly.

"Train's comin'," Old Heck said shortly;"reckon we'd better go over to the depot—"

"Let's wait here till they get off first,"

Skinny said. "We can see them fromwhere we are and kind of size 'em up andit won't be so sudden."

"Maybe that would be better," Old Heckanswered.

A moment later Number Seventeen, west-bound Santa Fe passenger train, stopped atthe yellow station. The rear cars wereobscured from the view of Skinny and OldHeck by freight sheds along the track.With the exception of the engine, baggage,mail and express cars, which were hiddenby the depot, the rest of the train was inplain sight.

A couple of men got off the day coach.These were followed by a gawky, weirdly

dressed girl of uncertain age carrying anold-fashioned telescope traveling bag. Atsight of the girl Skinny caught his breathwith a gasp. Immediately following herwas the tallest, homeliest woman he hadever seen. Thin to the point of emaciation,a wide striped, ill-fitting dress of somecheap material accentuated the angularlines of her body. A tiny narrow-brimmedhat, bright green, with a white feather,dingy and soiled, sticking straight up at theback made her more than ever acaricature. The woman also carried a bag.The two stepped up to the marshal,standing at the cornet: of the station,apparently asking him a question. Heanswered, pointing as he did to Old Heckand Skinny leaning silently against theside of their car. The woman and girl

started toward them.

Fascinated, the cow-men watched themapproach.

"My Gawd!" Old Heck hoarselywhispered, "that's them!"

"Let's go!" Skinny exclaimed, sweatstarting in unheeded beads on hisforehead. "Good lord, let's get in the carand go while we got a chance!"

Old Heck made a move as if to comply,then stopped. "Can't now," he saidgloomily, "it's too late!"

As Old Heck turned the woman shriekedin a rasping voice:

"Hey—hey you! Wait a minute!"

The cow-men looked around and stareddumbly, dazedly, at her.

"Can I get you to take me an' my daughterout to that construction camp where they'rebuildin' a ditch or something?" she asked;"that policeman said maybe we could getyou to—" she continued. "I got a jobcookin' out there an' Lize here is goin' towait on table."

Old Heck, still looking up in her eyes,with horror written on every line of hisface, his lips twitching till he couldscarcely speak, finally managed to say:

"Ain't—ain't you Ophelia?"

"Ophelia? Ophelia who?" she asked, thenbefore he could speak she answered hisquestion: "Ophelia—huh! No, I ain'tOphelia! I'm Missus Jasamine Swope an'a married woman an' you'd better not tryto get fresh or—"

Simultaneous with Old Heck's question,Skinny, his eyes riveted on the dowdy girl,asked in a voice barely audible:

"Are you—are you Carolyn June?"

"No, I ain't Carolyn June," she snorted."Come on, ma; let's go! Them two's crazyor white slavers or somethin'!"

Expressing their scorn and disdain by theangry flirt of their skirts, the woman and

girl whirled and walked briskly awaytoward the garage at the end of the street.

"Praise th' heavens," Old Heck breathedfervently as he gazed spell-bound after theretreating pair, "it wasn't them!"

"Carolyn June and the widow probablywent back after all," Skinny said without,looking around and with the barest traceof disappointment, now that the dangerseemed past, in his voice. "Maybe they gotto thinking about that telegram anddecided not to come at last."

"More than likely that was it," Old Heckanswered.

Steps sounded behind them. Skinny and

Old Heck turned and again they almostfainted at what they saw. The marshal, aleather traveling bag in each hand,accompanied by two smartly dressedwomen, approached.

"These ladies are huntin' for you," he saidto Old Heck, dropping the bags andmopping his face with the sleeve of hisshirt. "Guess they're some kind of kinfolks," he added.

Concealed by the freight sheds CarolynJune Dixon and Ophelia Cobb had steppedfrom the Pullman at the rear of the train,unseen by Old Heck and Skinny. Nor hadeither noticed, being engrossed with thecouple that had left than a moment before,the trio coming across from the station.

As the cook and her daughter by their veryhomeliness had appalled andoverwhelmed them, these two, Opheliaand Carolyn June, by their exactlyopposite appearance stunned Old Heckand Skinny and rendered them speechlesswith embarrassment. Both were silentlythankful they had shaved that morning andSkinny wondered if his face, like OldHeck's, was streaked with sweat and dust.

For a moment the group studied oneanother.

Carolyn June held the eyes of Skinny inmute and helpless admiration. Despite theheat of the blazing sun she looked freshand dean and pleasant—wholly unsoiledby the marks of travel. A snow-white

Panama hat, the brim sensibly wide,drooped over cheeks that were touchedwith a splash of tan that suggested muchtime in the open. An abundance of hair,wonderfully soft and brown, showing theslightest glint of coppery red running it invagrant strands, fluffed from under the hat.The skirt of her traveling suit, some lightsubstantial material, reached the span of ahand above the ankle. White shoes, silkstockings that matched and through whichglowed the faint pink of firm, healthy,young flesh, lent charm to the costume shewore. Her lips were red and moist andparted over teeth that were strong andwhite. A saucy upward tilt to the nose,hinting that Carolyn June was a flirt;brown eyes that were level almost withSkinny's and that held in them a laugh and

yet deep below the mirth somethingthoughtful, honest and unafraid, finishedthe wreck of the cowboy's susceptibleheart. Trim and smooth was Carolyn June,suggesting to Skinny Rawlins a clean-bredfilly of saddle strain that has developedtrue to form.

Old Heck gazed in equal awe at the moremature Ophelia.

Somewhere near forty she may have been,cozily plump and solid. She had gray-blueeyes that were steady and frank yet clearlyaccustomed to being obeyed. Her hair wasa trifle darker in shade than the silkybrown on the head of Carolyn June. Shewas dressed with immaculate neatnessand taste and carried that well-preserved

assurance no woman in the world save theAmerican of mature developmentacquires.

There was energy in every line of herbody and Ophelia gave Old Heck, theembarrassed owner of the Quarter CircleKT, more thrills in that one moment ofsilent scrutiny than he ever before had feltin the presence of any woman.

As they looked, Skinny and Old Heckinstinctively, a bit awkwardly perhaps,removed the Stetsons they wore on theirheads.

"Howdy-do!" Old Heck finally managedto say.

Skinny gulped like an echo, another"Howdy-do!" in the direction ofCarolyn June.

"I reckon you are Carolyn June andMissus Ophelia Cobb," Old Heckstammered "Which one of you is which?"unconsciously paying tribute to the wellpreserved youthfulness of the widow.

"Oh, Ophelia, beware!" Carolyn Junelaughed, not in the least offended; "the gayold rascal is at it already!"

"He didn't mean nothing" Skinnyinterposed, sensing that Old Heck someway had made a blunder. "I guess youmust be Carolyn June?" lookingquestioningly at the girl.

"Excuse me," Old Heck said, "I'm youruncle, I suppose, and this isSkinny Rawlins—"

"Howdy-do; I'm glad to meet you," Skinnymuttered, reaching for the handCarolyn June frankly extended.

"I'm glad, too," she replied candidly; "andthis is Mrs. Ophelia Cobb—just Ophelia—Uncle Josiah," Carolyn added, turningto Old Heck who clumsily shook handswith the widow while his weather-tannedface flushed a burning, uncomfortably red.

"We was expecting you," he said,retaining life hold on her hand.

"That was very kind," Ophelia murmured.

"I am sure we are delighted to be here."

"Now I guess we are all acquainted,"Carolyn June said with a little laugh. "It'seasy for folks to get acquainted, isn't it?"turning suddenly to Skinny.

"Seems like it after they once get started,"Skinny answered.

"We'd better be heading for home Ireckon," Old Heck said, releasing at lastthe widow's hand and lifting the bags inthe car. "Sing Pete will have dinner readyby the time we get there."

"We have some trunks," Carolyn Junesaid, "can we take them with us?"

"Yes," Old Heck replied, "get in, and

we'll drive over to the depot and getthem."

With Carolyn June and Ophelia in the rearseat and Skinny and himself in the frontOld Heck drove the car across to thestation and the trunks were fastened withropes on the hood of the engine andrunning-boards of the car.

As they started away Carolyn June asked:

"Which way now, Uncle Josiah?"

"Out to the ranch."

"Hadn't we better stop at the drug store,"she asked soberly, "and get somemedicine?"

"Medicine? Who for?" Old Heck inquiredinnocently.

"Why, the patients, of course," CarolynJune answered with a mischievouschuckle.

"What patients?"

"Out at the Quarter Circle KT where thatepidemic of smallpox is raging!" sheanswered sweetly.

"That's all a mistake," Old Heck saidhastily; "we thought is was smallpox but itwasn't—"

"No, everybody's got over it," Skinnyadded nervously; "they're all cured!"

"Yes, they was just broke out with the heatand didn't have the smallpox at all—" OldHeck explained.

"Liars, both of them," Carolyn June saidlaughingly to Ophelia; "they just didn'twant us to come!"

"Very likely," Ophelia answered.

"No, honest, we thought we had it," OldHeck stammered.

"We were plumb uneasy for fear youwouldn't arrive," Skinny declared. "Afterwe found out it wasn't smallpox we weregoing to send a special delivery messageand tell you it was all a misunderstandingand to come anyhow!"

"Shall we forgive them?" Carolyn Juneasked the widow.

"Perhaps, this time—their first offense!"

"I'll tell you," Carolyn June said, "wellsuspend sentence pending good behavior!"

Skinny leaned close to Old Heck.

"Stop a minute at the Golden Rule," hewhispered; "I want to do some personaltrading."

"If it ain't important," Old Heck answered,"we oughtn't to take the time. What do youwant to buy?"

"I want to get me a white shirt—"

"Gosh," Old Heck exclaimed, "that badalready! What'll he be in week?"

"Did you speak, Uncle Josiah?" Carolynasked.

"Huh—no, I—Skinny just thought I wasgoing to hit a rock!" he answered, andgiving the engine more gas, he headed thecar, at a thirty-mile clip, toward the eastand the Quarter Circle KT.

The party rode in silence. The speed ofthe car and the fan of the warm windagainst their faces made conversationdifficult. A mile from Eagle Butte theycrossed the long, low, iron-railed bridgeover the Cimarron River and climbed outon to the bench away from the bottom

lands. From that point on to the QuarterCircle KT the road followed the brow ofthe bench on the south side of the river. Itwas smooth and good.

Carolyn June thrilled at the bigness of itall as they swept quickly past the irrigateddistrict close to the town and sped out onthe open unfenced range. For miles thecountry was level with here and therearroyos cross-sectioning into the rivervalley. Long stretches with the barestundulations made driving a joy and thewinding road was a natural speedway.Scattered over the plain were dusters ofmesquit and in the low sags wheremoisture was near the surface patches ofthorns. Carolyn June loved the width andbreadth of the great range, strange and

new to her. Here was freedom sweepingas the winds of heaven. Dimly, on thesouthern horizon she could see the blueoutline of Sentinel Mountain standingalone out on the plain. To the left greenpasture-lands lay along the river. Anarrow strip of cottonwood trees markedthe curving path of the Cimarron. Beds ofwhite quicksand, treacherous and fatal anddreaded by every rider of the open countrycould be seen, occasionally, throughopenings in the trees showing the bed ofthe river itself. In the distance behind themwas Eagle Butte, towering above the townthey had left a few brief moments before,and beyond that the Costejo Mountains,rugged and massive and covered in parton their lower slopes with blue-greenthickets of pine. Across the river was a

choppy sea of sand-dunes stretching awayto the north as far as sight could reach.Here and there a high-flung mound,smooth and oval or capped with ledges ofblack, glistening rode broke the monotonyof the view.

Engrossed in the study of the almostprimitive picture Carolyn June forgot theflight of time and the speed at which theywere traveling.

"Yonder's the ranch!" Skinny announcedsuddenly, turning half around in his seatand pointing ahead and to the left towardthe river.

The valley widened till it was a mile ormore across. The Cimarron swung sharply

to the north and hugged the foot of thebench as if unwilling to spoil themeadowlands past which it flowed. In agreat half-crescent—"Quarter Circle,"Old Heck called it—the green basin-likearea lay spread out before them. It was ahalf dozen miles in length, reaching fromthe canyon gate at the upper end of thevalley where the river turned abruptlynorthward, to the narrow gorge at thesouth through which it disappeared.

A blue crane lazily flapped across thevalley.

"Seven thousand acres in the bottoms,"Skinny volunteered.

"Beautiful!" Carolyn breathed.

"Splendid!" Ophelia exclaimed.

Half-way down the valley, a quarter of amile from the bench, the buildings of theQuarter Circle KT clustered together in agroup—the low adobe house, bunk shack,stables, graineries. Out in the fields werehay yards with half-built stacks of alfalfa—over the tops of the stacks whitetarpaulins. In a pasture beyond the housewere horses and cattle, perhaps a hundredhead in all. Climbing the hills north of theriver were a number of moving figures,dimly seen through the haze.

"Are those cattle," Carolyn June asked,"those things across the river?"

"Where?" Skinny inquired.

"Over there, on the hills," pointing towardthe objects.

Old Heck glancing in the direction sheindicated answered for Skinny:

"That's Parker and the boys, going over tothe North Springs—they're checking up onsome yearlings we just turned across fromthis side of the range." Then, speaking toSkinny: "They've already had their dinnerand won't be in till supper-time—"

"Are they cowboys?" Carolyn June asked.

"I reckon," Old Heck responded.

"Is Skinny one?" she inquired naively.

"Sort of, I suppose," Old Heck chuckled

while Skinny felt his face coloring up withembarrassment, "but not a wild one."

"Oh, who is that?" Carolyn June criedsuddenly as a lone rider whirled out of thecorral, around the stables, and his horsesprang into a gallop straight down thevalley toward the harrows at its lowerend.

"That," Skinny said after a quick glance,"oh, that's th' Ramblin' Kid—Where inthunder do you reckon the darned fool'sgoing now?" he added to Old Heck.

"Can't tell nothing about where he'sgoing," Old Heck said. "He's liable to beheading for anywhere. What's he riding?"he asked without looking up.

"Captain Jack," Skinny replied. "Wonderif he ain't going over to BattleRidge to find out if it's so about themsheep coming in over there?"

"Maybe," Old Heck grunted, "either thator else he's took a notion to hunt that GoldDust maverick again"—referring to astrange, wonderfully beautiful, outlawfilly that had appeared on the Kiowa rangea year before and tormented the riders byher almost fiendish cunning in dodgingcorral or rope—"if he's riding CaptainJack that's probably what he's after."

"Who is he, what's his real name?"Carolyn June asked with interest.

"Just th' Ramblin' Kid, as far as I know,"

Old Heck answered.

"Does he live at the Quarter Circle KT?"Carolyn June continued curiously as shestudied the slender form rising and fallingwith the graceful rhythm of his horse'smotion—as if man and animal were asingle living, pulsing creature.

"Off and on," Old Heck replied, "when hewants to he does and when he don't hedon't. He's a witch with horses and knowshe's always got a job if he wants it, and Ireckon that makes him kind ofundependable about staying in any oneplace long at a time. That's why they callhim th' Ramblin' Kid—he's liable toramble any minute."

The car curled down the narrow dugwayoff of the bench and a moment laterstopped at the gate in front of the ranchhouse of the Quarter Circle KT.

"We're here," Skinny said, as Sing Pete,the Chinese cook, appeared at the opendoor.

"They've come, Sing Pete," Old Heckcalled, climbing out of the car; "this isthem! Is dinner ready?"

"All leady—waitee!" the Orientalanswered, shuffling out to the car to helpwith the luggage and twisting andsquirming as he kept bowing in greeting.

"This is great!" Carolyn June said, as she

stepped on the long cool porch in front ofthe house and paused a moment beforeentering the open door, "—it's cool andpleasant, I'm going to like it," she added,as she went into the big low-ceilingedroom.

The floor was bare of carpet butspotlessly clean; shades, but no curtains,were over the windows; in the centerstood a large flat-topped reading table; atone end of the table was a Morris chairupholstered in brown Spanish leather; awolf-skin rug was thrown on the floorbefore an old-fashioned Mexican fire-place built into one corner of the room; inanother corner was a smaller table onwhich was a graphophone; a rocker andseveral chairs were set about the room

and against the north wall; between twodoors, evidently opening into twinbedrooms, was an upright grand piano—.

"Oh, a piano!" Carolyn June exclaimeddelightedly noticing the instrument. "Whoplays?"

"Nobody," Old Heck answered foolishly,"I—I—well, what's the use of lying?—Ibought it one day, before prohibitioncome, when I was drunk and just had itbrought out because I didn't know whatelse to do with it—"

"You funny old uncle!" Carolyn Junelaughed, "I love you already.—Opheliaplays," she added.

"Not so well or so much as Carolyn June,"Ophelia said.

"Maybe we'll have some music then someday; that ain't canned," Skinny suggestedeagerly.

"You women can use them rooms," OldHeck said, referring to the doors on eachside of the piano. "Parker and me did havethem but we've arranged to sleep in thebunk-house while you are here."

"Carolyn June and I need but one,"Ophelia said, "it isn't fair to run you out—"

"You ain't running us," Old Heckanswered, "we've talked it over and

would rather."

After dinner Ophelia and Carolyn Junespent their time in settling themselves intheir rooms. A small bath closet connectedthe two—crude a bit and somewhatunfinished; but a hot tub, the watersupplied from a tank at the kitchen range,was enjoyed by both.

Old Heck and Skinny helped with thetrunks and then withdrew to the bunk-house.

Old Heck shaved and Skinny put on aclean shirt.

Skinny was not sure but this official love-making job was going to be interesting

work and Old Heck himself was uncertainwhether to cuss or rejoice—sometimes hewas almost sorry to-morrow would beParker's day to love and entertain Ophelia.

CHAPTER IV

THE UNUSED PLATE

At sundown, when Parker and thecowboys rode in from the northern hills,the Quarter Circle KT lay under a mantleof sullen, torturing heat. Not a breath ofair fanned the poplars, straight andmotionless, in front of the house. The sunburied itself in a solid wall of black thatrose above the Costejo peaks, hidden nowin the shadow of the coming storm. Thehorses were dripping with sweat—theircoats as glossy and wet as if they hadswum the river. At the corral the animals

wearily tossed their heads, low hung withexhaustion, seeking to shift the stickyclutch of head-stall or hackamore, whiletheir riders dismounted and quicklyremoved saddle and riding gear. Freedfrom their burdens the bronchos draggedtired heels through the dust as theywhirled and trotted unsteadily away to thepasture, eager to roll and relax theiraching muscles.

"Holy cats, but it's hot!" Bert Lillyexclaimed as he slipped off his chaps andstarted toward the house, leaving saddleand outfit lying beside the gate of thecorral.

"Better put them things in the shed,"Parker advised, "looks like a whale of a

storm is coming."

"Reckon that's right," Bert answered,turning back and carrying his riding gearinto the shelter where the other cowboysalready had taken theirs.

"Wonder if them women come?" ChuckSlithers queried as they moved toward thegate.

"More than likely—Bet Skinny and OldHeck have had a hell of a time makinglove to 'em," Charley Saunders remarked.

"You want to be careful about cussin',"Parker warned. "It ain't polite whenwomen are around!"

"Listen at him!" Bert said with a laugh,

"practising already—Parker is gettingpolite—to-morrow is his day to beaffectionate to the widow, Ophelia—"

"Which is she, Parker," Charley askedsoberly, "a grass or natural?"

"Shut up, you blamed fools, they're liableto hear you," Parker growled angrily."Anyhow, it ain't my fault they come!"

"Parker oughtn't to kick," Chuck chimedin, "look at poor oldSkinny—he's got a steady job lovin' theother one!"

"Darned if I wouldn't rather love both ofthem at once," Charley observed, "than totake another ride like that was to-day. I'm

kind of anxious to see what they looklike," he continued.

"Well, don't go and get excited at thesupper table and eat your pie with aspoon!" Chuck laughed.

"Aw, hell," Charley retorted, "I guess Iknow how to act—"

"Old Heck's going to buy some finger-bowls for you to wash your hands in,"Bert said scornfully, "him and Parker—"

"Shut up, I told you, you darned idiots,"Parker snapped. "They're out on the frontporch and can hear you!"

"Be careful about your cussin'—" Bertmimicked with a snicker.

Notwithstanding their raillery every manin the group, including Pedro, gaveunusual care to scrubbing his face andsmoothing his hair preparatory to enteringthe kitchen for supper and where theywould meet, for the first time, Ophelia andCarolyn June.

Sing Pete glided out of the kitchen doorand hammered the triangle announcing theevening meal.

At the instant Parker and the cowboysfiled into the kitchen from the rear,Ophelia and Carolyn June, followed byOld Heck and Skinny Rawlins, bothlooking sheepish and somewhat ashamed,stepped into the room from the front.

All stood waiting and Old Heck, ill atease and in a voice that trembled, gave theparty formal introduction:

"Missus Ophelia Cobb and Miss CarolynJune Dixon," motioning first at the widowand then the girl, "Mister Parker, MisterBert Lilly, Mister Charley Saunders,Mister Chuck Slithers, Mister PedroValencia—" indicating each in turn withhis hand as he called the names, "—Ireckon you're already acquainted withSkinny!"

The cowboys mumbled greetings whichCarolyn June and Ophelia graciouslyacknowledged.

Sing Pete had laid two extra covers.

"You boys can take your regular places—all except you, Parker," Old Heck said,"—you set at that side on this end,"pointing to the seat at the left next to thehead of the table. "Carolyn June, you canset at that end and Ophelia at this end—I'llset here," taking the seat at the widow'sright and directly across from Parker.

This placed Old Heck, Bert Lilly, Pedroand Skinny Rawlins on the right of thetable in the order named, Skinny sitting atthe end on Carolyn's left. On the oppositeside sat Parker, Chuck Slithers andCharley. Next to Charley, at the right ofCarolyn June, and opposite Skinny, was avacant chair.

"Who is this for?" Carolyn June inquired,

indicating the unoccupied seat.

"That's th' Ramblin' Kid's place," OldHeck replied; "he may come in and againhe mayn't—"

"It was him you saw to-day," Skinnyadded, "riding down toward theNarrows when we was coming fromEagle Butte."

"Do you know; where he went, Parker?"Old Heck asked.

"No. When we started over to the Springshe was here. Said he reckoned we couldget along without him and he wouldn't go—"

"He's just got one of them lonesome

spells," Bert said, "and wanted to get offby himself somewhere."

"He knowed we was going to havecompany, too," Chuck observed.

"More than likely that's why he went,"Skinny suggested.

"Is he afraid of women?" Carolyn Junelaughed.

"Not particularly," Skinny replied; "hedon't bother with them, that's all."

"I think he went after that Gold Dustmaverick," Charley said. "He'll probablycome in when he sees how it's going tostorm—"

"He don't give a darn for storms," Bertdeclared. "—Pass them frijoles, Pedro.—Remember that time it blowed the hayderrick down and he wouldn't come to thehouse, just stayed out and watched thewind and lightning?"

"He is funny that way," Charley admitted.

"Well, he'll never catch that mare," Parkersaid, "she's too—"

"Oh, I don't know," Chuck interrupted,"look how he has tamed Captain Jack,"referring to the Ramblin' Kid's own horse,one time a famous renegade.

"How was that?" Carolyn June inquiredcarelessly.

"Captain Jack was an outlaw, too," Bertexplained. "He run over on the East Mesaon the Una de Gata. Charley and me andth' Ramblin' Kid got him to going one daywhen there was some ranch mares in hisbunch. One of them was a hand-raisedfilly, was a pet and she was—well, prettyhot! We worked them over the rim of theMesa and into the canyon, it was a box-gorge from where they hit it to its head,and at the upper end there was a wingcorral. The mare swung up the canyontowards the ranch and—Jack wouldn't quither! We was pounding right on their heelsand before he knowed it we had thempenned—"

"That shows what happens when a he-thing goes locoed over a female critter,"

Chuck whispered to Parker; "you and OldHeck want to watch out!"

"Be careful, you danged fool!" Parkerhissed as he kicked at Chuck's shins underthe table. Excited, he made a mistake inthe foot he should have used and viciouslyslammed his left toe against Ophelia'sdainty ankle.

The widow looked startled and suddenlysat up very straight in her chair.

Parker realized his error, turned red,choked, leaned close to Chuck andbreathed hoarsely, "I'll kill you some dayfor that!"

"He sure went crazy when he found he

was corraled," Charley said, "and forgotall about the mare."

"He sure did," Bert continued, whileCarolyn June listened intently, "and wasplumb wild to bu'st down the pen and befree again. Charley nor me didn't want himand so th' Ramblin' Kid said he'd take him.Just then Tony Malush—we was punchin'for him—come riding up and was going toshoot Captain Jack on account of wantingto clean the range of the outlaw stallions.He yanked out his gun and started to pull adrop on old Jack's head. Th' Ramblin' Kidjerked his own forty-four and told Tonyhe'd kill him if he shot the renegadebroncho. Tony backed up, but it made himsore and he fired th' Ramblin' Kid. Thedarned little cuss set there a minute

thinking, then slid off his horse, strippedhim of riding gear, flung saddle, blanketand bridle over the bars into the corral.Before we knowed what he was aiming todo he climbed up and dropped downinside, on foot, with just his rope, andfaced that outlaw battin' around trying toget outside—"

Carolyn June leaned forward on the tablelistening with breathless interest. Theothers stopped eating and gave all theirattention to the story Bert was telling.

"Captain Jack saw him, stopped for just asecond, sort of surprised, then went rightat th' Ramblin' Kid—head down, eyesblazin' like coals, mouth wide open, earslaid back and strikin' with both front feet

—"

"He was some wicked!" Charleyejaculated.

"He sure was," Bert went on. "Tony andCharley and me just set on our horsesstunned—thinkin' th' Kid had gone cleanloco and was flirtin' with certain andpronto death. As Captain Jack rushed himth' Ramblin' Kid give a jump sideways,his rope went true, a quick run to thesnubbin' post and he throwed him dead!The broncho hit his feet, give a squeal andcome straight back! Th' Ramblin' Kid runonce more, yankin' like blazes to get theslack! That time when he went down—well, before we realized it, th' Ramblin'Kid had him bridled and saddled and was

safe on deck—"

"I'm tellin' you too, Captain Jack wenthigher than a kite when he felt the rowelsin his flanks!" Charley interrupted.

"Th' Ramblin' Kid yelled for us to let himout," Bert continued. "Charley and meflung down the bars to the corral andCaptain Jack come out sun-fishin' andhittin' the breeze like a streak of twistedlightning! That was just before dinner inthe forenoon. That afternoon and night th'Ramblin' Kid rode the outlaw to theHundred and One—ninety miles away!We didn't see either of them any more fora month and when they hit the Kiowaagain Captain Jack was a regular babyafter th' Ramblin' Kid and would follow

him around like a dog—"

"That's the way he's been ever since,"Charley said, "them two are just likesweethearts."

"Nobody else ever rides him—" Bertadded.

"They can't," Chuck said. "He's a one-manhorse and th' Ramblin' Kid is the man.Captain Jack would die for th' Ramblin'Kid!"

"Yes, and kill any one else if he could!"Parker exclaimed.

"Has no one but—but the Ramblin' Kid"—Carolyn June hesitated queerly over thename—"ever ridden him?"

"Never that we know of," Bert said;"several have tried it—the last one was afellow from down on the Chickasaw.Guess he was trying to steal him. Anyway,we was all up at Eagle Butte and had leftour horses out in front of the OccidentalHotel while we was in the dining-roomeating our dinners. We got outside just intime to see the stranger hit the ground andCaptain Jack jump on him with all fourfeet doubled up in a bunch—he's buried inthat little graveyard you might havenoticed on the hill this side of the riverbridge."

"Killed him?" Carolyn June gasped.

"Seemed like it." Bert answered, with agrin; "anyway, we buried him."

"What did the—the Ramblin' Kid do?" sheasked.

"He just laughed kind of soft andscornful," Skinny said, "and got onCaptain Jack and rode away while wewas picking the fellow up!"

During the rest of the meal Carolyn June'seyes looked frequently and curiously at theunused plate at her right. She felt, someway, that an affront had been shown her bythe absence of the one for whom it waslaid. The other cowboys, it was quiteevident to her intuitive woman's mind, hadlooked forward with considerableeagerness to the arrival of herself andOphelia. The Ramblin' Kid, at the verymoment almost of their reaching the

Quarter Circle KT, had deliberatelymounted Captain Jack and ridden away. Itseemed like little less than an intentionalsnub! In addition to the half-resentmentshe felt, there remained in her mind aninsistent and tormenting picture of theslender, subtle, young rider swayingeasily to the swing of Captain Jack as hegalloped down the valley earlier in theday.

Bert, Charley, Chuck, before the meal wasfinished cast frankly admiring glances atCarolyn June and Skinny plainly wasgaining confidence at a rapid rate, whilePedro, silent throughout it all, kept, almostconstantly, his half-closed eyes fixed in asidelong look at the girl at the end of thetable.

Attention and admiration, Carolyn Juneexpected from men. They had always beenhers. She was beautiful and was consciousof it. Had the cowboys of the QuarterCircle KT not registered appreciation ofher charms by their looks Carolyn Junewould have believed something waswrong with her dress or the arrangementof her hair. Her eyes—she was sure ofthem—without effort lured men to her feet.

"It's hotter than blue blazes in here," OldHeck said when all had finished; "we'dbetter go out into the big room. MaybeCarolyn June will play some on thepiano."

"The boys and me will go on out on theporch," Parker said as they reached the

front room, speaking significantly to OldHeck, but in a tone both Ophelia andCarolyn June heard. "We'll leave you andSkinny with the ladies and not intrude—"

"You won't be intruding if you remain,"Ophelia said brightly. "Carolyn June and Iare not partial at all and want you to feelthat we enjoy meeting you all."

"Yes, stay," Carolyn June added,somewhat reluctant that of the entire grouponly one should be left to the wiles of herunconsciously intentional coquetry; "thereis plenty of room in here and it's cool—"

"We're much obliged," Bert said, "butwe'd better do the way Parker mentioned.Anyhow that was the agreement."

"Agreement?" Ophelia spoke with aquestioning lift of her brows.

"Yes," Chuck said, evidently trying torelieve the embarrassment of Old Heck,Parker and Skinny who looked daggers atBert when he spoke of an agreement,"Parker and Old Heck was to take turnabout—"

"Bert meant," Parker interrupted hastily,"—he meant they—they had to agree not toloaf in this room before Old Heck wouldgive them jobs on the Quarter Circle KT!"

"Yes," Old Heck added quickly, "that wasthe bargain on account of—of—getting itmussed up and everything and making toomuch work for Sing Pete to clean it up!"

Ophelia and Carolyn June lookedcuriously at each other as if they suspectedsome secret that had to do with theirpresence at the Quarter Circle KT.

Outside, the cowboys lounged on theporch or lay spread full length on the grasssmoking their cigarettes, and silent. Eachwas busy with thoughts of his own.Carolyn June had been very impartialduring the evening meal, distributing hersmiles and little attentions freely amongthem all. Now she was sitting at the pianoplaying snatches of random melodies asthey came to her mind, while Skinny satstiffly on a high-backed chair at the cornerof the instrument.

A drone of voices reached the ears of

Parker and the cowboys as Old Heck,skilfully led on by Ophelia, told about theranch, the Kiowa range and the traditionsof western Texas.

"Can you play La Paloma?" Skinny askedas Carolyn June paused after running overa dainty and vivacious one-step, memoriesof which made her think of Hartville andthe fashionable ballrooms where she hadreigned as princess at least if not asqueen, and which seemed now very faraway.

"I'm afraid not—unless I have the music,but I'll try," she answered, and her fingersagain sought the keys.

The dreamy Mexican air drifted

seductively out on the sultry motionlessnight.

Bert looked through the window and sawSkinny lean back in his chair, his eyesclosed and an expression of supremecontent stealing over his face.

"Skinny's gone—he's surrendered," hesaid to Chuck, lying full length on theporch at his side; "look at the poor cusswith his eyes shut and grinning as if hewas seeing visions of Paradise!"

"That combination would capture mostanybody," Chuck answered. "I'm startingto feel affectionate myself."

Bert didn't reply, Chuck having expressed

too nearly his own swelling emotions.

"Uncle Josiah!" Carolyn June called,suddenly whirling around on the pianostool as she finished the last bars of LaPaloma, "may I have a horse?"

Old Heck, grown silent under the spell ofthe music, and, like Skinny, sittingdreaming dreams that almost frightenedhim, started quickly.

"A—a what?" he asked.

"A horse—" she answered, "a broncho toride!"

"Oh, uh—sure! Skinny, go get her one!" hereplied confusedly.

"Not now," Carolyn June laughed, "to-morrow—any time, whenever I want touse it!"

"Can you ride?" Skinny asked eagerly.

"Ever since I can remember," CarolynJune said, "daddy has kept horses—I love'em! Ophelia rides, too," she added.

"In automobiles—" Ophelia corrected.

"That's a good arrangement," Skinny said;"it will make everything work out allright."

"I don't understand," Carolyn June said;"what arrangement?"

"We'd better be going to bed, Skinny," Old

Heck interposed anxiously, "it's gettinglate!"

"Guess we had," Skinny said reluctantly."Gosh, it's warm to-night!"

"You can leave the door and windowsopen," Old Heck said to Ophelia andCarolyn June as he and Skinny movedtoward the door; "we don't have burglarsout here."

Parker and the cowboys straightened upwhen they heard Skinny and Old Heckpreparing to leave and went around thecorner of the building toward the bunk-house.

Ophelia and Carolyn June stepped out on

the porch with Old Heck andSkinny.

The air was oppressively still and hot.The black cloud bank that had hung overthe Costejo Mountains earlier in theevening now covered the whole westernhalf of the sky. Night sounds seemedalmost stifled by the suffocating heat.From the pasture below the stables thefaint call of a kill-deer suddenly shrilledout, followed by intense silence. Nolightning flash filled the wall-likeblackness slowly creeping over the earthfrom the west. A pale glow on the rim ofthe rolling hills across the valley, heraldof the moon not yet above the horizon,intensified the pall beneath theapproaching cloud. A sullen roar,

throbbing angrily, rising and falling involume, could be heard coming out of thedepths of the storm.

"Acts like it's going to be a bad one," OldHeck observed, studying the cloud they allwere watching.

"Wicked," Skinny said, "one of themmutterin' kind until it breaks and then allhell tears loose."

"If th' Ramblin' Kid is out in the sand-hillsto-night he'll—"

A withering stream of fire poured from thecloud almost over their heads; it wasaccompanied by a crashing peal of thunderthat rocked the earth under their feet and

stopped the words on Old Heck's lips.The flame lighted the whole valley. Theyhad an instant's glimpse of a writhing,overhanging curtain of dust and rainsweeping toward them. In the glare theysaw a giant cottonwood that stood alone inthe meadow west of the house reel andsway like a drunken thing and pitch to theearth.

"It's here! It struck that tree!" Old Heckyelled. "Run for the bunk-house, Skinny,maybe we can make it! You women goinside and shut the door!"

Carolyn June and Ophelia sprang—wereblown almost—inside the house andslammed the door as another bolt fell,flooding the room with a blaze that made

the light from the lamp on the readingtable seem faint and dim. Old Heck andSkinny darted around the corner as thetempest pulled and tugged at the buildingsof the Quarter Circle KT.

For an hour Ophelia and Carolyn June satand listened to the storm and while it stillraged went to bed.

Carolyn June fell asleep watching theincessant glare of the lightning as flashafter flash filled the room with light andillumined the world outside, while therain and wind lashed the trees in thegarden near her window. Above the tumultthe words of Old Heck: "If the Ramblin'Kid is out in the sand-hills to-night"—keptrepeating themselves over and over in her

mind. Try as she would, she could not shutout the picture of a slender young rider,alone, far out on the range in the storm-mad night, unsheltered from the fury andwrath of the elements.

CHAPTER V

A DUEL OF ENDURANCE

When the storm broke over the QuarterCircle KT the Ramblin' Kid was twentymiles away following the Gold Dustmaverick. Old Heck's surmise that he hadgone in search of the outlaw filly was buthalf correct. It was not with the definitepurpose of trying for the renegade marethat he had mounted Captain Jack andheaded him toward the Narrows at themoment Carolyn June Dixon and OpheliaCobb arrived at the ranch. Nor was it toescape meeting the women. Their coming

meant nothing to the Ramblin' Kid.

He simply wanted to be alone.

The ride with Parker and the boys to theNorth Springs meant talk. The Ramblin'Kid did not want to talk. He wanted to bewith his thoughts, his horse and silence.

Should he happen on to the maverick hemight give her a run. Since her firstappearance on the Kiowa, the Ramblin'Kid had seen her many times. More thanonce, from a distance, he had watched themare, getting a line on her habits. Sooneror later he expected to test Captain Jack'sendurance and skill against the filly'sspeed and cunning. Without success otherriders of the Kiowa had tried to corral the

outlaw or get within roping throw of hershapely head. So far she had provedherself faster and more clever than anyhorse ridden against her. The Ramblin'Kid believed Captain Jack was master ofthe beautiful mare, that in a battle of nerveand muscle and wind the roan stallioncould run her down. Some day he wouldprove it.

At the Narrows the trail forked. Onebranch turned sharply to the right andfollowed a coulée out on to the dividebetween the Cimarron and the lower Unade Gata; the other swung toward the river,slipped into it, crossed the stream, andwas lost in the sand-hills beyond.

The broncho, of his own will, at the

prongs of the road wheeled up the couléeand climbed out on the level bench southof the Cimarron. A half-dozen miles awaySentinel Mountain rose abruptly out of theplain. Toward the lone butte Captain Jackturned. He knew the place. On the northslope there was a tiny spring, fenced withwire to keep the stock from trampling itinto a bog; near by was a duster of piñontrees; below the seep in the narrow gorgewas a thin strip of willows. It was afavorite rendezvous sought by theRamblin' Kid when in moods such as nowpossessed him. Silently he rode to thegroup of piñons and dismounted.

The Ramblin' Kid stretched himself underthe trees while Captain Jack drank at thelittle water course. Then, with his bridle

off, the broncho fed contentedly on thebunch grass along the hillside. After atime Captain Jack quit feeding and cameinto the shade of the piñons. The Ramblin'Kid, flat on his back, stared through thescant foliage of the trees into the sky—overcast now with a dim haze, forerunnerof the storm gathering above the Costejopeaks. Thousands of feet in the air abuzzard, merely a black speck, withoutmotion of wings, wheeled in great, lazy,ever-widening circles.

As the sun dropped into the cloud bank inthe west a band of mares and colts camefrom that direction and rounded a spur ofSentinel Mountain. At their heads was themost beautiful horse ever seen on theKiowa range.

In color a coppery, almost golden,chestnut sorrel; flaxen mane and tail,verging on creamy white; short-coupled inthe back and with withers that marked therunner; belly smooth and round; legs trimand neat as an antelope's and muscled likea panther's; head small, carried proudlyerect and eyes full and wonderfully clearand brown.

"Th' filly!" the Ramblin' Kid breathed,"with a bunch of Tony Malush'sAnchor Bar mares and colts!"

Captain Jack saw the range horses andlifted his head.

"Psst!" the Ramblin' Kid hissed and theneigh was stopped.

The rangers moved toward the east andover the crest of a ridge a quarter of amile away. On the flat beyond the rise theystopped, the colts immediately teasing themares to suck. The filly withdrew a shortdistance from the herd and stood alert andwatchful.

For half an hour the Ramblin' Kid studiedthe Gold Dust maverick.

He looked at the clouds climbing higherand higher in the west, then long andthoughtfully at Captain Jack.

"Let's get her, Boy!" he murmured; "let'sgo an' get her!"

His mind made up, the Ramblin' Kid

slipped the bridle again on Captain Jack,removed the saddle and with the blanketwiped the sweat from the broncho's back,smoothed the blanket, reset the saddle,carefully tightened front and rear cinchesand mounting the little stallion guided himslowly down the ravine in the direction ofthe horses on the flat. A hundred yardsaway the mares and colts, alarmed by thesudden half-whinny, half-snort, from thefilly, discovered the approaching horseand rider.

Instantly the wild horses crowded closelytogether and galloped toward the Una deGata. Captain Jack leaped into a run,rushing them. The maverick wheeledquickly and dashed away to the southalone.

"Her pet trick!" the Ramblin' Kid mutteredas he headed Captain Jack after the nimblecreature. "She absodamnedlutely will notbunch—seems to know a crowd means acorral, a rope and at last a rider on hershapely back!"

For two miles it was a race. The Ramblin'Kid held Captain Jack to a steady run acouple of hundred yards in the rear of thespeeding mare. At last he pulled thestallion down to a trot. The Gold Dustmaverick answered by running anotherfifty yards and then herself settling into theslower stride. "Like I thought," theRamblin' Kid said to himself, "it's a caseof wear her out—a case of seasoned oldmuscle against speedy young heels!"

It became a duel of endurance betweenCaptain Jack, wiry, toughened and fullymatured, with heavier muscles, and thenimble, lighter-footed Gold Dust mare.

At dark they were on the edge of theArroyo Grande and Captain Jack hadclosed the distance between them untilless than a hundred yards was between theheels of the filly and the head of thestallion behind her. She turned east alongthe arroyo, followed it a mile, seeking acrossing, then doubled straight northtoward the Cimarron. Captain Jack hung toher trail like a hound. In the blackness thatpreceded the storm she could not lose him.With almost uncanny sureness he pickedher out—following, following, nevergiving the maverick a moment's rest. Yet it

seemed that the distance she kept aheadwas measured, so alert and watchful wasshe always. Both were dripping withsweat. Try as he would, it seemedimpossible for Captain Jack to win thosefew yards that would put the filly in reachof the rope the Ramblin' Kid held ready tocast until the inky darkness made itimpossible to risk a throw.

The mare splashed into the Cimarron.

A dazzling zigzag flash of lightning, thefirst of the storm, and the Ramblin' Kidsaw the filly struggling in the yellowwind-whipped current. A moment laterand Captain Jack was swimming closebehind her. On the north side of the riverthe mare yielded to the drive of the

tempest and turned east down the stream.A rocky gorge running at right anglestoward the north offered shelter from thelashing wind and rain. Up the ravine themaverick headed. A rush of muddy waterdown the canyon sent pursued and pursuerslipping and sliding and climbing forsafety high up on the brush-covered,torrent-swept hillside. The constant blazeand tremble of lightning illumined thewhole range. A wolf, terrified by thestorm, seeking cover, crouched in theshelter of a black rock-cliff. The Ramblin'Kid saw the creature. His handinstinctively slipped under his slicker andgripped the gun at his hip.

"Hell! what's th' use of killin' just to kill?"he murmured. His hold on the gun relaxed.

A bolt of lightning slivered the rock abovethe wolf; there was an acrid odor ofburning hair. The next flash showed thewolf stretched dead twenty feet below thecliff. "Well, I'll be damned!" the Ramblin'Kid whispered as he bowed his headbefore the gale, "that was funny! GuessGod himself figured it was time for thatpoor cuss to die!"

In the last quarter of the night, at the NorthSprings, when the storm had spent itselfand the white moon looked down on adrenched and flood-washed earth, the'Ramblin' Kid dropped his rope over thehead of the Gold Dust maverick—barelytwenty feet ahead of the horse he rode—conquered by the superior nerve, muscleand endurance of Captain Jack, still the

greatest outlaw the Kiowa range had everknown!

The touch of the rope fired the filly to asupreme effort; she lunged forward;Captain Jack set himself for the shock—hethrew her cold, full length, in the soft mud;instantly the little stallion sprang forwardto give the mare slack, she came to herfeet, squealing piteously, and plungeddesperately ahead—again Captain Jackbraced himself for the jar and put herdown, "It's hell, Little Girl," the Ramblin'Kid said with a catch in his throat; "butyou've got to learn!" The third time themaverick tested the rope and the third timeCaptain Jack threw her in a helpless heap.That time when she got to her feet shestood trembling in every muscle until

Captain Jack came up to her side and theRamblin' Kid reached out and laid hishand on the beautiful mane. She hadlearned. Never again would the wonderfulcreature tighten a rope on her neck.

Trailing the filly, the Ramblin' Kid forcedher back toward the Cimarron, into itsraging flood, multiplied a hundredfold bythe torrential rain of the night; side by sideshe and Captain Jack swam the stream,and in the gray dawn, while the QuarterCircle KT still slept, he turned the mareand Captain Jack into the circular corral.He removed the saddle from Captain Jack,took the rope from the filly's neck, threwthe horses some hay and on the dry groundunder the shed by the corral, lay down andwent to sleep.

For fourteen hours, without rest, theRamblin' Kid had ridden.

The sun was up when Sing Pete electrifiedthe Quarter Circle KT into life and actionby the jangle of the iron triangle sendingout the breakfast call.

Old Heck stepped to the door of the bunk-house and looked out across the valley.The Cimarron roared sullenly beyond themeadow. The lower field was a lake ofmuddy water, backed up from the gorgebelow. He glanced toward the circularcorral.

"What th'—Who left horses up last night?"he asked of the cowboys dressing sleepilyinside the bunk-house.

"Nobody," Parker answered for the group.

Skinny Rawlins came to the door. "It'sCaptain Jack," he said, "and—and darnedif th' Ramblin' Kid ain't got the filly!"

"Aw, he couldn't have caught her lastnight," Bert Lilly said.

"Well, she's there," Skinny retorted,"somebody's corraled her—that's certain!"

Hurriedly dressing, the cowboys crowdedout of the bunk-house and down to thecircular corral. The Gold Dust maverickleaped to the center of the enclosure as thegroup drew near and stood with head up,eyes flashing and nostrils quivering, aperfect picture of defiance and fear. The

swim across the river had washed the mudfrom her mane and sides and she was asclean as if she had been brushed.

"Lord, she's a beauty!" Chuck Slithersexclaimed.

"Sure is—be hell to ride, though!" Bertcommented. "Wonder where theRamblin' Kid is—"

"S-h-hh! Yonder he is," Charley Saunderssaid, observing the figure under the shed,"—asleep. Come on away and let himrest!"

"Breakfast's ready anyhow," Old Heckadded.

"And Skinny ain't shaved or powdered his

face yet—" Chuck laughed; "these loversought to fix themselves up better!"

"Shut up, you blamed idiot, ain't you gotno respect?" Parker said as they turnedtoward the house.

"Listen at Parker, he's one of them, too,"Chuck continued; "this is his day to be asweetheart to the widow!"

"I'd rather have Skinny's job," Bert saidwith a snicker, "I'd be afraid of Ophelia—"

"Why?"

"She acts too gentle to start with"—"

"Give her time," Charley suggested,

"she'll bu'st loose when she gets betteracquainted!"

"Her and Old Heck got pretty wellintroduced last night, holding hands theway they did, and—"

"Dry up," Old Heck interposed with afoolish grin, "and come on to breakfast!"

Carolyn June and Ophelia werecharmingly fresh and interesting in daintyblue and lavender morning gowns. A bowlof roses, plucked by Ophelia from thecrimson rambler by the south window,rested in the center of the table. Thecowboys saw the flowers and exchangedglances. Old Heck and Skinny blushed.

Carolyn June noticed the vacant place ather right.

"Th' Ramblin' Kid ain't up yet," Skinnyvolunteered.

"Then the storm did drive him to shelter,after all?" Carolyn June asked with thebarest trace of contempt in her voice.

"I wouldn't hardly say that," Bert Lillyremarked, holding his cup forSing Pete to fill with coffee; "—hebrought in the Gold Dust maverick."

"Yes," Chuck said with mock gravity, "itwas quite an undertaking—he sprinkledsalt on her tail—"

"How clever!" Ophelia exclaimed,

looking interested, "and is that the waythey catch—mavericks?" stumbling overthe unusual word.

"Chuck's joking," Parker said; "he alwayswas foolish—"

"Uncle Josiah," Carolyn June askedsuddenly, "can you take Ophelia toEagle Butte to-day?"

"I—Parker can," Old Heck answered, "ifhe can drive the car. Still there areprobably some pretty bad washouts—"

Ophelia looked quickly at Old Heck,interested by the note she detected in hisvoice.

"I—I—got some work to do," he

continued, "if you could wait till to-morrow"—addressing the widow—"Icould more than likely go myself—"

"I guess I can handle the car all right,"Parker said, looking significantly at OldHeck; "the roads will be dried up in alittle while."

"It's Parker's day anyhow and he don'twant to miss—" Chuck started to say.

"After breakfast," Old Heck interrupted,scowling at the cowboy, "Chuck andPedro had better both ride-line on theupper pasture. The cattle probably wentagainst the fence in the storm last night andknocked off a lot of wire. Of course,Skinny will have to stay here," he added,

"and the rest of us, except Parker, ought tolook after the fences in the east bottoms—from the looks of the river this morning alot of posts and wire must be washed out."

"Whoever gets up the saddle horses hadbetter catch them in the pasture corral,"Parker declared, "it won't do to turn themin with that wild filly and Captain Jack."

"I think I shall go see that wonderful filly,"Carolyn June said as they left the table,"she may be the particular broncho I willwant to ride—"

"Not much," Old Heck objected, "theseoutlaws ain't exactly the kind of horses forwomen to fool with. You can use OldBlue. He's gentle."

"Did I tell you I wanted a 'gentle horse'?"Carolyn June asked with a bit ofimpatience.

"No, but I figured that was the kind you'dneed on account of being raised back east—"

"Well, I am going to see the Gold Dustmaverick," Carolyn June said withemphasis, "and if she suits me I'll—I'llride her!"

"I'll go with you," Skinny offered asCarolyn June stepped from the kitchendoor and started toward the circularcorral.

"Never mind!" she spoke shortly, "—you

can go catch 'Old Blue' and"—with scornin her voice—"if he's able to walk, maybeit will be safe for me to ride him to theend of the lane and back—Ugh! 'OldBlue!' The very name sounds as if he wasdead!"

"Old Blue's a good horse," Skinnyprotested, "—we work him on the hayderrick—"

But Carolyn June was gone, walkingrapidly across the open ground in thedirection of the corral in which theRamblin' Kid had turned Captain Jack andthe Gold Dust filly.

"Jumpin' eats!" Bert exclaimed as thecowboys started toward the stable, "didn't

the young one show her teeth sudden?"

"Skinny's going to have his hands full if hedon't look out," Charley Saundersremarked sagely. "Still that kind ain't asdangerous as the ones that act plumbgentle like the widow has acted so far."

"Any female is treacherous," Chuckobserved grimly. "They're just like cinch-binders—you can't tell when they're goingto rare up and fall over backwards!"

"I'll bet Ophelia turns out to be aW.C.T.U. or something," Bert predictedsolemnly.

"If she does it's all off with the QuarterCircle KT, because Parker and Old Heck

are both in love already," Charley said asthey rounded the corner of the barn.

Carolyn June gave a gasp of admiration asshe stepped up to the circular corral andsaw the Gold Dust maverick closely.

"Oh, you beauty! You adorable beauty!"she breathed.

Captain Jack and the filly were near thefence next to the shed. Carolyn Junepassed in between the low building andthe corral to be closer to the horses. Thesky was cloudless and a wonderful liquidblue; the sun glistened on the rich, golden,brown sides of the mare and made hercoat shine like delicate satin. WhenCaptain Jack and the filly saw Carolyn

June they stood for a moment as rigid asthough cast in bronze, heads held high,eyes fixed curiously yet without fear onthe slender girlish figure.

Captain Jack took a step forward in a half-challenging way. The maverick stoodperfectly still.

"You beauty," the girl repeated, "youwonderful golden beauty! You are goingto be my horse—I'm going to ride you—just you—"

"You'll get you're neck broke if you do!" avoice, deliberate and of peculiar softness,said behind her.

Carolyn June turned, startled, toward the

shed from where the voice had come. Sheknew, even before she looked, that thespeaker was the Ramblin' Kid. Evidentlyhe had just awakened. He had not risenand still lay stretched on the ground, hishead resting on the saddle he had used fora pillow. Carolyn June could not helpwondering how long he had been lyingthere studying her back. The thoughtconfused her. In spite of her efforts at self-control a slow flush crept over her cheeks.The Ramblin' Kid saw it and the faintesthint of a smile showed on his lips—orwas the suggestion of amusement in thetwinkling glance of his eyes? Carolyn Junecould not tell. The subtlety and queerlyhumble impudence of it filled her withanger.

While she looked into his eyes CarolynJune appraised the physical appearance ofthe Ramblin' Kid. Certainly he was nothandsome, sprawling there in his roughclothing. She knew his age wassomewhere near her own, perhaps he wasa year, surely no more than that, older thanherself. Yet there was an expression aboutthe face that suggested much experience, asort of settled maturity and seriousness.His mouth, Carolyn June thought, showeda trace of cruelty—or was it onlyfirmness? The teeth were good. If he stoodup her own eyes would have to angleupward a trifle to look into his and if herswere brown the Ramblin' Kid's werepositively black—yes, she would say, abrutal, unfathomable black, penetratingand hard. His cheeks were smooth and

almost sallow they were so dark, and shecould tell there was not an ounce of fleshsave tough sinewy muscle on his body. Hewas fully dressed except for the whiteweather-beaten Stetson lying beside thesaddle and the chaps and spurs kicked offand tossed with the bridle and rope nearby on the ground. A dark woolen shirtopen at the throat, blue overalls faded andsomewhat dingy, black calfskin boots on apair of feet that could not have been largerthan sixes, comprised his attire.

So this was the Ramblin' Kid, CarolynJune thought. Someway she had picturedhim a blue-eyed, yellow-haired sort ofcomposite Skinny Rawlins, Chuck, BertLilly, Charley Saunders all in one andwith the face of a boy in the teens!

He was different. She wondered, andalmost laughed at the absurd thought, if hewas bow-legged. A glance at the straightlimbs stretched in repose on the grounddispelled the doubt.

The suddenness with which the Ramblin'Kid had spoken and the tone he used,Carolyn June thought, was utterly unfair.She felt as if she had been ambushed.How could she know he was sleepingunder the shed? Why wasn't he in thebunk-house where he belonged? Her ownembarrassment made her cross. Shewanted to say "damn!" and stamp her footor throw something at him, lying there socompletely self-possessed! Instead, shelooked steadily into the eyes of theRamblin' Kid. Someway as she looked

they seemed not so unkind, moresorrowful they were, on closer scrutiny,than cruel. She started to speak, hercheeks began to burn—

Without a word she turned and walkedrapidly toward the house.

As she moved away Carolyn June feltsomething snap at her knee. She did notstop. Reaching down she gathered the softfolds of the loose gown about her andhurried away from the corral.

"God!" the Ramblin' Kid whispered as hestraightened up, "she's built like th' GoldDust maverick—an' just as game! Theywas made for each other."

He went to the corral and leaned againstthe fence, studying the filly thoughtfully,while Captain Jack with a friendly whinnycame and nosed at the fingers thrustthrough the bars. After a time the marecautiously moved up beside the roanstallion and stretched her own velvetymuzzle toward the hand the Ramblin' Kidheld out.

"You want to be loved, too, you littledevil!" the Ramblin' Kid laughed gently,"—you thought I was mean last night,didn't you?"

For a while he fooled with the horses,then started toward the kitchen. A fewsteps from where Carolyn June had beenstanding he glanced down at a broad pink

satin elastic band lying on the ground. Ithad been fastened with a silver butterflyclasp. The clasp was broken. TheRamblin' Kid stooped and picked it up.

"I'll be—!" he chuckled as he fingered,almost reverently, the dainty thing, "it's a—a—darned pretty little jigger!"

Smiling whimsically the Ramblin' Kidslipped his find in his pocket and soughtSing Pete to tease him for a bite ofbreakfast.

CHAPTER VI

YOU'RE A BRUTE

Carolyn June went directly to her roomwhen she reached the house. She wishedto investigate the feeling of looseness ather knee. The satin band that belongedthere was gone. She felt her cheeks growhot. Doubtless she had lost it at the corral—the Ramblin' Kid would pick it up! Thethought tormented her. Once more shewanted to swear vigorously and withextreme earnestness. Instead she—laughed! It was all so absurd. The strangeinterest this rough cowboy inspired in her;

the confusion she felt when he had spokento her—no man among all the clever,carefully groomed, ultra-sophisticatedsuitors she had left in Hartville everstirred her emotions as had the Ramblin'Kid with a few drawling words and onelong look from his black, inscrutable eyes.That look! She had the feeling, someway,that her whole soul was naked before it.She was almost afraid of him. It was silly!She detested him—or—anyway, heneeded punishment! No, he wasn't worthit! He was only an ignorant rider of therange—why trouble at all about him?

Quickly changing her dress for a ridingsuit of khaki—the skirt sensibly divided—and the morning slippers for stout, tan,laced boots, she stepped into the front

room. Ophelia was in her own roomdressing to go to town. Carolyn June heardvoices in the kitchen. Sing Pete's shrillchatter mingled with an occasional slowword from the Ramblin' Kid. Thought ofthe garter she had lost flashed into hermind. Perhaps the cowboy had not foundit. She would run out to the corral and see.Passing quickly out the front way CarolynJune hastened again toward the circularcorral. Old Heck and Parker were at thegarage getting the car ready for the driveto Eagle Butte; Pedro and Chuck wereriding across the valley toward the upperpasture. The other cowboys saddled theirhorses near the barn.

As she walked, Carolyn June scanned theground. At the corral she looked carefully

where she had been standing. Her searchwas fruitless. She smiled queerly. Againshe glanced at the Gold Dust maverick.

"You darling," she whispered, "I am goingto have you—I am—I absolutely am!"

Turning, her eyes rested on the saddle,chaps and riding gear lying in the shedwhere the Ramblin' Kid had slept.Carolyn June stepped close to the outfit.

"I have a notion to—to spit on you!" shesaid vehemently, "or kick—" but shedidn't finish the sentence. One tan shoehad been drawn back as if to be swungviciously at the inoffensive pile of ridinggear; it paused, suspended, then gently,almost caressingly, pushed the leather

chaps which suddenly seemed to CarolynJune to look limp and worn andpathetically tired.

As Carolyn June returned to the houseParker drove the car around to the front;Old Heck joined the cowboys, alreadymounting their bronchos, and with themrode down the lane in the direction of thelower field. Skinny came out of the barn,leading Pie Face and Old Blue. He left thehorses standing and at the back-yard gateovertook Carolyn June. As they steppedinside the yard the Ramblin' Kid appearedat the kitchen door.

"There's the Ramblin' Kid now," Skinnysaid as they approached. "Hello, Kid," hecontinued, "I see you got the filly—Excuse

me, I guess you folks ain't acquainted."

Haltingly he introduced them.

Without the flicker of an eyelid theRamblin' Kid looked into the eyes ofCarolyn June. He had seen her comingfrom the corral and guessed correctly thereason for her second visit to theenclosure. Indeed at that moment his handwas in his pocket toying with the delicatesouvenir for which she had gone to search.Yet his face was utterly without emotionas he lifted his hat and stood aside,acknowledging with formal words theintroduction. "It's sure a surprisin' day an'pleasant—" he finished, emphasizing"surprisin'" and "pleasant" till CarolynJune could have sworn there was a veiled

taunt in the words he spoke.

She was equally calm. Smiling sweetlyand with not a hint of a previous meetingshe said: "I think I have heard of theRamblin' Kid." Pausing a moment: "It'salways peaceful after a storm!" she addedenigmatically. And the Ramblin' Kid, asSkinny and the girl passed around to thefront of the house, knew that Carolyn Junehad hurled a lance!

"A natural born heart-breaker," he said tohimself as he went toward the bunk-house,"a genuine, full-grown vampire, partintentional an' part because it's in her—butshe's a pure-bred—" He grew pensive andsilent, a look of gentleness came to hisface, followed quickly by an expression of

extreme humility. "Oh, hell," he exclaimedaloud, "what's th' use!" Entering thebuilding the Ramblin' Kid seated himselfat the table at the end of the room. Hepulled the pink satin elastic from hispocket and gazed at it, rubbing the softfabric tenderly with the end of his thumb.His eyes lighted suddenly with anger andcontempt. He threw the band violentlyacross the room into a corner. "I wasn'traised to associate with luxuries likethat!" he exclaimed with mingledbitterness and scorn, "—a damned ign'rantcow-puncher dreamin' dreams about anangel!" he finished with a harsh laugh. Fora while he sat silent, gazing down at thetable. Then he got up, went over and liftedthe garter from where it had fallen andreplaced it in his pocket. "Oh, well," he

chuckled less bitterly and whimsicallyadded, "—any idiot can smile at th'mornin' star even if th' darned thing isbeyond his reach! Besides, she don't needto ever know—" Leaving the bunk-househe went toward the circular corral.

Parker climbed from the car and enteredthe house, asking if Ophelia was ready.

"In just a moment!" the widow called fromher room.

"What are you and me going to do?"Skinny asked Carolyn June as they steppedon to the porch, "take a ride?"

"On 'Old Blue'?" Carolyn June questionedscornfully, then, with resignation, as they

went inside the house: "Oh, well—Isuppose, after a while. I have some lettersto write now," and she entered her roomleaving Skinny standing perplexed by hervarying moods. He looked foolishly atParker a moment. Going to thegraphophone he put on a record—

"I'm forever blowing bubbles, prettybubbles in the air!"

wailed disconsolately through the house.

"Good heavens," Carolyn June called, "doyou blow bubbles this early in themorning?"

"Don't you like it?" Skinny asked soberly."I thought that was a pretty good tune."

"I'm crazy about it!" Carolyn Juneanswered sarcastically. "There and then,but not here and now—"

"Where and when?" Skinny queriedinnocently.

"In the valley of the moon at the end of aperfect day!" she laughed back. "—Forgive me, I couldn't help it!"

"What does she mean?" Skinny askedParker in a whisper. "Is she making fun ofme?"

"No, you blamed fool," Parker replied,"she feels good and is just joking—"

Skinny brightened up immediately.

"That's a good one," he called to CarolynJune with a snicker; "I never thought of itbefore!"

A ripple of laughter came from CarolynJune's room.

"Really, I don't mind," she said; "playBubbles as much as you like—I think it'srather soothing, but truly I must write myletters now so Ophelia can take them totown."

Half an hour later Ophelia appeareddressed for the drive to Eagle Butte.Carolyn June and Skinny went out on thefront porch and watched the widow andParker climb into the Clagstone "Six." AsParker started the engine Skinny suddenly

called to him. Parker sat with his foot onthe clutch while Skinny hurried out to thecar.

"What do you want?" he askedimpatiently, "We've got to be going!"

"Lean over here," Skinny said, his faceflushing scarlet, "I want to tell yousomething."

"Well?"

"Stop at the Golden Rule and get me awhite shirt size number fifteen and—apurple necktie if they've got any!" Skinnywhispered.

Ophelia heard and choked back a laugh.

"Thunderation, he's plumb locoed!" Parkerexclaimed, as he jammed the clutch intogear and the car sprang forward.

"Don't forget it, Parker," Skinny calledearnestly, "I actually need it!"

Carolyn June and Skinny stood on theporch and watched the car climb the gradeand out on to the bench. The storm of thenight before had washed the earth cleanand cooled the air. A faint after-breezefanned the tree-tops. The Costejo peaksstood out, with stereoscopical clearness,against a cloudless sky. The day was achallenge to one who loved the open.

"You may saddle 'Old Blue,'" CarolynJune said to Skinny. "—I'll see if

I can 'stick on him' long enough to ride asfar as the river!"

"He's already saddled," Skinny replied,"him and Old Pie Face both."

"Man, dear," she cried in mockmisunderstanding, "you surely are notexpecting me to ride the two of them atonce!"

"No," he answered meekly, "Old Pie Faceis my horse, I'm going to ride him and gowith you."

"Indeed!" she exclaimed, then laughingmischievously. "Oh, certainly—that's agood one—I hadn't thought of it before!"

"Don't you want me to go?" Skinny asked

doubtfully.

"Surely. I should be utterly unhappy if youdidn't—I'll get my hat."

"Blamed if I can figure her out," Skinnysaid to himself as Carolyn June ran lightlyinto the house. "She keeps a feller freezingto death and burning up all at once—sortof in heaven and hell both mixedtogether."

A white, medium-brimmed felt hat was setjauntily on the fluffy brown hair when shereappeared. Skinny's heart leapedhungrily. Carolyn June was a picture ofperfect physical fitness. The cowboysilently wondered how long he could keepfrom making "a complete, triple-

expansion, darned fool of himself!"

"I'm glad you want me to go," he said,renewing the conversation as they startedaround the house, "because I wanted toand, well, anyhow it's my job—"

"What do you mean 'your job'?" CarblynJune asked quickly.

Skinny was stricken silent. He realized hewas on dangerous ground. He wasn't sureit would be wise to tell her what he meant.Someway he felt Carolyn June wouldresent it if she knew he was drawingwages for acting the lover to her. Itseemed wholly impossible for him, just atthat moment, to explain that, although OldHeck was paying him ten dollars a month

extra salary to court, temporarily, hisattractive niece, he, Skinny Rawlins,would personally be overjoyed to reversethe order and give his entire income,adding a bonus as well, for the privilegeof continuing indefinitely and of his ownchoice the more than pleasantemployment. Yet this was the literal truth,so quickly had his susceptible heartyielded to the charms of the girl. But hedared not try to tell her. He knew thewords would not come and if they did hewould probably choke on them and she,not believing the truth, would detest him.Skinny had heard of men who courtedgirls of wealth to win their money andwith sincere contempt he despised thesedegenerates of his sex. Now, suddenly, hefelt that he himself was in their class. The

thought made him sick, actually caused hisstomach to quiver with a sort of nausea.

"Skinny Rawlins," Carolyn June saidsternly, stopping and looking straight atthe confused and mentally torturedcowboy, "tell me—and don't lie—whatyou meant when you said to go with mewas 'your job!'"

Skinny raised his eyes; in them waspiteous appeal.

"I meant—I—" he hesitated.

"Tell me the truth," she orderedrelentlessly, "or I'll—I'll—do somethingawful!"

"I meant it was my job—" suddenly

inspired, he blurted out, "to ride Old PieFace. He's—he's dangerous and has to berode every so often to keep him fromgetting worse and to-day's the day to ridehim!"

"Skinny," Carolyn June spoke gently, "Ifeel sorry for you. I want to like you andI'm disappointed. It breaks my heart to sayit but you are a liar—you're just a commondouble dashed liar—like Uncle Josiahwas when he sent that telegram sayingthere was smallpox at the Quarter CircleKT—"

"Am I?" Skinny asked humbly.

"You are," she retorted impatiently, "andyou know it—"

"Do I?" as if dazed.

"You do, and did all the time—"

"Did I?" he felt like a parrot.

"You did!" Carolyn June snapped. "Goodheavens," she continued, "why do menthink they have to lie to women? Commonsense and experience ought to teach themthey can never fool them long—I hopedout here in the big West I would find oneman who wouldn't lie—"

"Th' Ramblin' Kid won't," Skinny said asif suddenly struck by a bright thought, "—he wouldn't lie to you!"

Carolyn June laughed scornfully.

"Oh, yes he would," she declared, "all ofthem do—every last one of the poorfrail"—contemptuously—"turtles!"

"But th' Ramblin' Kid wouldn't," Skinnypersisted; "he won't lie to anybody."

"Not even to a woman?" she questionedincredulously.

"No," he answered positively, "I'm sure hewouldn't."

"And why wouldn't he?" she asked.

"Well," Skinny replied, "for one thing hedon't give a darn. Th' Ramblin' Kid don'tcare what anybody, man, woman oranything else thinks about him or whetherthey like what he says or not so there ain't

any use of him lying. Maybe he wouldn'ttell what was in his mind unless you askedhim, but if you did ask him he'd say what itwas whether he thought it satisfied you ornot. He's funny that way. He just naturallydon't seem to be built for telling lies andhe wouldn't do it—"

"Oh, Skinny, poor simple Skinny!"Carolyn June laughed. "You don't knowmen—men when they're dealing withwomen! Through all the unnamed years ofmy life I've never found one man who wasabsolutely truthful when talking with a'female.' They think they have to lie towomen. They do it either to keep fromhurting them—or else they do itintentionally for the purpose of hurtingthem, one or the other! And they are so

stupid! No man can hide anything longfrom a woman—"

Reaching over she jerked a spray of tinyroses from the rambler at the window nearwhich they were standing; tapping theblossoms against her lips, beginning tosmile whimsically, she continued: "Why, Ican almost read your own thoughts rightnow! If I wanted to I could tell you moreabout what is in your mind than youyourself could tell—"

"Could you?" Skinny said, a guilty lookcoming in his eyes.

"For one thing," Carolyn June went on,ignoring the inane question, "you are inlove—"

"I ain't!" the over-hasty denial slippedfrom his lips unintentionally.

"Lie!" she laughed, "you can't help telling'em, can you? And you are thinking—" Shepaused while her eyes rested demurely onthe roses in her hand.

"What am I thinking?" Skinny askedbreathlessly.

Before she could reply an agonizedspitting, yowling and hissing,accompanied by the rattle of tin, camefrom behind the kitchen. "What's that?"Carolyn June cried half frightened at theinstant a yellow house cat, his headfastened in an old tomato can, camebouncing backward, clawing and

scratching, from around the corner.

"Gee whiz!" Skinny exclaimed, "it's thatdarned cat again—Sing Pete goes anddabs butter in the bottoms of the cans andthe fool cat sticks his head in trying to lickit out and gets fastened. It looks like theblamed idiot would learn sometime. It'swhat I call a rotten joke anyhow!"

Sing Pete appeared at the kitchen doorcackling with fiendish joy at the successof his ruse.

Carolyn June stared, apparently strickendumb by the antics of the strugglinganimal.

"Sun-fish! Go to it—you poor deluded

son-of-sorrow!" The Ramblin' Kid, who,unnoticed by Carolyn June and Skinny, atthat moment had come from the corral andstood leaning against the fence, chuckledhalf pityingly, yet making no move towardthe creature.

"Catch him and take it off," Carolyn Junecried, "it's hurting him!"

Skinny started toward the rapidly gyratingjumble of claws, can and cat.

"I will if the darn' thing'll hold still aminute!" he said.

Carolyn June looked at the Ramblin' Kid,still leaning against the fence watching thecat's contortions.

"Why don't you help him?" she askedimpatiently. "Skinny can't do it alone—can't you see it's choking?"

"No, he's not choking," the Ramblin' Kidreplied without moving from where hestood, "—he's sufferin' some, but he ain'tchokin'. He's got quite a lot of wind yet an'is gettin' some valuable experience. Thatcat's what I call a genuine acrobat!" hemused as the terrified creature leapedfrantically in the air and somersaultedbackward, striking and clawingdesperately to free itself of the can tightlywedged on its head.

Carolyn June was accustomed toobedience from men creatures. TheRamblin' Kid's indifference to her request,

together with his apparent cruelty inrefusing to aid in relieving the cat from itstorturing dilemma, angered and piqued thegirl.

"Help Skinny take it off, I tell you!" sherepeated, "haven't you a spark of sympathy—"

The Ramblin' Kid resented her tone anddetected as well the note of woundedpride. Instinctively he felt that at thatinstant the cat, with Carolyn June, hadbecome a secondary consideration.

"Well, some, I reckon," he answered,speaking deliberately, "generally a little,but right now darned little for that oldyaller cat. I figure he's a plumb free moral

agent," he continued as if speaking tohimself; "he got his head in that can on hisown hook an' it's up to him to get it out orlet it stay in this time, just as he pleases—"

"But Sing Pete put butter in the can!"Carolyn June said, arguing.

"He's done it before," the Ramblin' Kidanswered with a glance at the Chinesecook still gleefully enjoying the results ofhis cruel joke. "He won't no more. But thatdon't make no difference," he laughed, "th'darn' cat hadn't ought to have yielded totemptation!"

"You're a brute!" she exclaimedpassionately, "—an ignorant, savage,

stupid brute—" The harsh words sprangfrom the lips of Carolyn June before shethought. The Ramblin' Kid flinchedinvoluntarily as if he had been struck fullin the face. A look came in his eyes thatalmost made her regret what she had said.

"I reckon I am," he replied, gazing steadilyat her without feeling or resentment andspeaking slowly, "yes, I'm an 'ign'rant,savage, stupid brute,'" deliberatelyaccenting each word as he repeated thestinging phrase, "—but—what's the use?"he finished with a mirthless laugh."Anyhow," he added, glancing again at thecat and Skinny's futile efforts to catch it, "Iain't interferin' this time, at least, with thatdamned cat!"

Carolyn June knew she had hurt with herunintentionally cruel words. For an instantthere was a humane impulse to tempertheir severity.

"I—I—didn't—" she started to say, but theRamblin' Kid had turned and, ignoring thecat, Skinny and herself, was leaning on thefence with his back to her, looking offacross the valley, apparently lost inthought. She did not finish the sentence.

The cat bucked its way to the fence. As itwent under the wire the can caught on abarb of the lower strand. Jerkingfuriously, the animal freed itself from thecan, leaving splotches of hair and hide onthe ragged edges of tin. Still spitting andclawing, with its tail standing out like an

enormous yellow plume, it dashed towardthe barn, eager to put distance betweenitself and the thing that had been torturingit.

"Gosh a'mighty," Skinny said, sweatingwith the exertion and the excitement oftrying to catch the cat, "it'll be noon beforewe get started for that ride!"

"We'll go now," Carolyn June answered,"—before some other horrible thingoccurs."

"We're going over to the river and maybeout on the sand-hills a ways," Skinnycasually remarked to the Ramblin' Kid asCarolyn June and he passed through thegate. "Oh, yes," he added, "Chuck said tell

you he took your rope—there was a weakspot in his and he didn't get it fixedyesterday!"

The Ramblin' Kid did not answer.

Skinny had been wrong about the Ramblin'Kid not caring what any one thought ofhim. He was supersensitive of hisroughness, his lack of education andconscious crudeness, and the words ofCarolyn June were still in his mind. WhenSkinny and the girl were going towardtheir horses the Ramblin' Kid turned andentered the gate. Sing Pete was still at thekitchen door.

The Ramblin' Kid stepped up to him.

"You damned yellow heathen," he said ina level voice, "if you ever play that trickon that cat again th' Quarter Circle KTwill be shy a cook an' your ghost'll beheadin' pronto for China!"

Without waiting for a reply he went backto the gate and watched Skinny andCarolyn June ride down the lane. Thedeftness and skill with which the girlhandled the horse she rode forced a smileof admiration to the lips of the Ramblin'Kid. She sat close in the saddle and aglance showed she was a born master ofhorses. "She's a wonder," he said tohimself, "a teetotal wonder—" A shade ofmelancholy passed over his face. "Anign'rant, savage, stupid brute!" hemurmured bitterly, "well, I reckon she

was right—Hell!" he exclaimed aloud, "Iwonder if Skinny'll remember about thatupper crossin' bein' dang'rous withquicksand after the rain—Guess he did,"he finished as the two riders turned to theright toward the lower and more distantriver ford and disappeared among thewillows and cottonwood trees that fringedthe Cimarron.

CHAPTER VII

THE GREEDY SANDS

When the Ramblin' Kid, working the rope-conquered and leg-weary Gold Dustmaverick from the North Springs back tothe Quarter Circle KT, crossed theCimarron at dawn Captain Jack and thefilly swam a raging, drift-burdened river.Less than twelve hours later Carolyn Juneand Skinny, at the lower ford, rode into astream that again was normal. Old Blueand Pie Face splashed through waterbarely reaching the stirrup leathers. Onlythe fresh rubbish flung out on the meadows

by the flood's quick anger or lodged in thewillows, still bent by the pressure of thetorrent that had rushed over them andslimy with yellow sediment left on theirbranches and leaves, told the story of theswift rise and fall of the Cimarron thenight before.

On the bluff north of the river CarolynJune and Skinny checked their horseswhile the girl gazed down on thepanorama of green fields, narrow lanes,corrals and low buildings of the QuarterCircle KT. The sight thrilled her. On allthe Kiowa range there was no moreentrancing view.

"It's kind of pretty, ain't it?" Skinnyventured.

"Beautiful!" she breathed.

"I'd—I'd like to stand here and look at italways—if you—if you'd enjoy it!" hesaid and was instantly appalled by hisown audacity.

Carolyn June flashed a quick look at him.

"We had better go on," she said, thenadded lightly: "Does it always affect youso when you get this view of the valley?"

"No. But, well, somehow it's different thismorning—maybe it's because you arehere!" he blurted out hurriedly.

"Please," she said, starting Old Bluetoward the west along the crest of theridge, "don't be sentimental. I'm afraid—"

she added, intending to say it would spoiltheir ride.

"You needn't be, with me along!" Skinnyinterrupted hastily, misinterpreting hermeaning.

She laughed and without explaining urgedher horse forward.

Skinny followed pensively on Old PieFace.

The Ramblin' Kid, while going from barnto corral, glanced across the valley andsaw Carolyn June and Skinny as they rodealong the ridge. It was two miles from theranch to the bluff on which they wereriding, but so clear was the rain-washed

air that the horses and riders were easilyrecognized. He watched them until theyreached the corner of the upland pasture.There the roads from the lower and upperfords came together. The couple turnednorth along the fence and disappearedbeyond the ridge.

For a mile Carolyn June and Skinny rodewithout speaking. He felt already areaction from his over-boldness of awhile ago and silently swore at himselffor his rashness. She was not eager toresume a conversation that had threateneda painfully emotional turn. She was quitecontent to enjoy the fresh air of themorning, the changing scenes throughwhich they passed and the easy motion ofthe horse on which she was mounted.

The bronchos pricked forward their earsat the sound of galloping hoofs.

"Somebody's coming," Skinny spoke asPedro, riding rapidly toward them,rounded the point of a low hill a littledistance ahead.

"What's wrong?" Skinny questioned, whenthe three met and stopped their horses.

"The pasture fence is bu'sted," Pedroanswered; "at the northeast corner it isbroke. The cattle are out. Ten—fifteenmaybe—are dead—the lightning strikethem perhaps. The others all of them aregone. They go pronto, stampede I think,toward the Purgatory. Chuck and me cannot get them alone—I go to tell Old Heck

so the boys will come and help!"

It was plain to Skinny what had occurred.The cattle had drifted before the stormuntil stopped by the wire. While crowdedagainst it a bolt of lightning had struck thefence, followed the metal strands, andkilled the animals touching or nearest to it.In the fright the others plunged madlyforward and had broken their way tofreedom. Five hundred Diamond Barsteers, recently bought by Old Heck andbrought from the Purgatory forty-fivemiles north of the Quarter Circle KT wereout and rushing back to their former range.

"You go help Chuck," Skinny said toPedro. "Carolyn June and me will turnaround and take the news to Old Heck and

send some of the boys to help you. If themcattle ain't bunched before they hit thePurgatory and get scattered over their oldrange it will take a month to gather themand get them back again!"

"Why don't you yourself go with Pedroand Chuck?" Carolyn June askedSkinny. "I can ride to the ranch alone andtell the others about it."

"I'm supposed to stay with—" he begun.

"With me, I presume," she interrupted."Well, this is one time you don't. Go onwith the boys. You are needed after thosesteers a lot more than you are to 'herd' meback to the ranch!"

Without waiting to argue she wheeled OldBlue toward the Quarter Circle KT.Skinny watched her a moment, then startedwith Pedro in the other direction.Suddenly checking his horse he swungaround in the saddle.

"Go back the way we came!" he calledafter the girl. "Don't try the upper ford!"

Carolyn June looked around and threw upher hand, motioning toward the north.Thinking that she understood, Skinnytouched Old Pie Face with the spurs andsoon overtook the Mexican.

He was mistaken. Carolyn June had notunderstood the warning. The distance wastoo great for his words to reach her

distinctly. She thought he was merelyprotesting against her going alone. At thefork of the road she saw that the trail thatled to the upper ford was much the nearerway to the ranch. Reining Old Blue into itshe rode swiftly along the ridge and downthe slope toward the dangerous crossing.

* * * * *

The Ramblin' Kid spent the morning at thecircular corral. He was studying themoods and working to win the confidenceof the Gold Dust maverick. He waswatching her and thinking always a littleahead of the thought that was in the mindof the mare. His love for a horse andunderstanding of the wonderfullyintelligent animals was as natural as were

the brown eyes, the soft low voice, thegentle but strong touch, by which it wasexpressed. He wooed the outlaw fillythoughtfully, carefully, as a lover courts asweetheart. The beautiful creaturereminded him of Carolyn June. "They wasmade for each other!" he repeated softlyas he worked with the mare. From thecorral he could see the road across theriver where Skinny and the girl had gone.Often he turned his eyes in that direction.

He was fingering the garter in his pocketand looking toward the river whenCarolyn June appeared on the ridge as shereturned alone to the ranch. He stood andwatched her. The ugly words she hadspoken at the gate came into his mind anda bitter smile curled his lips. Still he

watched the girl, expecting Skinny wouldride into view. She turned down the ridgetoward the upper ford.

"That's funny," he thought, "wonder whereSkinny's at?" Then it flashed through hismind that something must be wrong for thegirl was riding alone. "Hell!" heexclaimed aloud, "she's by herself an'headin' straight for th' upper ford!" Onlyan instant he paused. "Jack!" he criedsharply, running to the corral gate andswinging it partly open. "Come—quick!"

The roan stallion started at a trot towardthe gate, then, trained to obey instantly theword of the master he loved better thanlife, leaped nimbly through the opening.Slamming and fastening the gate the

Ramblin' Kid ran to the shed, the bronchoat his side. He threw the blanket andsaddle on the little roan, cinched quicklybut carefully the double gear, slipped thebit into the waiting mouth of the horse andwithout stopping to put on his chapssprang on Captain Jack's back and whirledhim in a dead run around the corner of theshed and down the lane toward the north.At the pasture corral below the barn heguided the broncho close to the fence andscarcely checking him leaned over andlifted a rope, coiled and hung on a postnear the gate, from its place—the oneChuck that morning had left because of theflaw.

"God!" he groaned, "—an' a bad rope!"

He glanced toward the ridge across theriver. Carolyn June had disappeared downthe trail that led to the upper ford.

"Go, Little Man, go—for th' love of God,go!" the Ramblin' Kid whispered as heleaned forward over the neck of the horse.Captain Jack answered the agonizedappeal as he would never have respondedto the cruel cut of spurs and leaped aheadin a desperate race to beat Old Blue andhis precious burden to the greedy sands ofthe Cimarron.

As he rode, the Ramblin' Kid slipped hishand around the coils of the rope till hisfingers found the broken strands that toldof the weakness that caused Chuck toleave it behind that morning. Bending over

it, while his horse ran, he workedfrantically to weave a rawhide saddlestring into the fiber and so strengthen thedangerous spot.

* * * * *

Thinking only to reach the ranch asquickly as possible Carolyn June guidedOld Blue down the trail and through thethin patches of willows and cottonwoodtrees that grew along the river. The streamlooked innocent enough and the crossingperfectly safe. Swift but apparentlyshallow water flowed close to thenorthern bank. Beyond that was a clean,pebble strewn bar and then a smaller,narrower prong of the river. On the southside stretched a white, unbroken expanse

of sand a hundred feet or more wide andending against the low slope of themeadow land.

At the brink of the stream Old Bluestopped short and refused to go on.

"What's the matter," Carolyn June laughedlightly, "—afraid of getting your 'littletootsies' wet?"

The horse reared backward when shetried to urge him ahead and wheeled halfaround in an effort to get away from thewater.

"Look here, Old Fellow," she spokesharply, tightening the reins as she touchedhis flank with her spur, "we haven't time

for foolishness! Generally, in factalways," accenting the last word, "horses—and men—go in the direction I wantthem to go! Why, you're as stubborn—as—as the Ramblin' Kid!" she finished withanother laugh as Old Blue, with a snort offear, yet not daring to resist further thefirm hand and firmer will of his rider,stepped into the water.

"Gee, when you do start you go in a hurry,don't you?" Carolyn June said as thebroncho went rapidly forward as if eagerto negotiate the crossing, seeming to knowthat safety lay in the quickness andlightness of his tread. As he lunged aheadthe girl had the sensation that the saddlewas sinking from under her. Reaching thefirmer footing of the gravel bar in the

center of the stream Old Blue tried againto turn about.

"Go on!" Carolyn June cried impatientlyyet with a feeling somehow of impendingdanger she could not wholly define, "—you've got to do it, so you had as well quityour nonsense and go ahead!" at the sametime raking the horse's sides sharply againwith the spurs.

Crossing the shallow branch of the riverthe broncho reached the smooth, firmappearing beach of sand.

With his head down, his muzzle almosttouching the ground, as if scenting, feeling,his way, he went forward steppingrapidly, easily, as possible. At each step

his foot slipped lower into the yielding,quivering mass. Carolyn June felt himtremble and the sensation that the horsewas being pulled from under her grewmore and more pronounced. She noticedhow he sank into the sand and observedalso the sweat beginning to darken the hairon the neck of her mount.

"Pretty soft, isn't it?" she said, speaking tothe broncho kindly as though to encouragehim and perhaps at the same time to allaya bit the queer sense of uneasiness shefelt, for even yet she did not realize thedanger into which she had unknowinglyridden.

Half-way to the firm black soil of thesouthern bank of the stream Old Blue's

front feet seemed suddenly to give waybeneath him. He began to plungedesperately. Then it was the truth came toCarolyn June. Her cheeks grew white.

"The quicksand!" she exclaimed aloud, atthe same time trying to help the horse witha lift of the reins. It was too late to turnback. Her only salvation lay in reachingthe solid ground such a few yards ahead—and yet so fearfully far away. Old Bluestruggled madly to go forward, gaining alittle but at each effort sinking deeper intothe sand. Carolyn June tried to encouragehim with words:

"Come on, come on! Good Little Horse—you can make it! Keep trying—that's it—now!—you're doing it! Brave Old Blue—

don't give up—don't give up, Boy!" shepleaded, pity for the horse causing heralmost to forget her own terrible peril.

It was useless.

Twenty-five feet from safety Old Blue'sfront quarters went down until his breastwas against the sand. The hind legs wereburied to the stifles. He wallowed andfloundered helplessly. His hoofs touchednothing solid on which to stand. Hestretched his head forward, straining-tolift himself away from that horrible,clinging suction. His efforts only forcedhim down—down—always down!

Carolyn June's own feet were in the sand.She threw herself from the saddle—as far

to one side and ahead of the horse as shecould. With her weight removed perhapsOld Blue could get out. Anyway it wasdeath to stay on the horse. Perhaps aloneshe could escape—she was lighter—thesand might hold her up—by movingrapidly surely she could go that shorttwenty-five feet to the firm ground aheadof her. At the first step she sank half-wayto her thigh. She fell forward thinking tocrawl on her hands and knees. Her armswent into the mass to the shoulder.Silently—without a word—but withhorrible fear gripping her heart she foughtthe sand. She sank deeper—slowly—steadily—surely. The hellish stuff closedabout her body to the waist. If she onlyhad something—anything—solid to holdto! She took off her hat, grasped the edges

of the brim, reached her arms out and triedto use the frail disk of felt for a buoy. Itheld a moment then gradually settledbelow the surface of the shifting, elusivesubstance. Again and again she lifted thehat free from the sand and sought to placeit so it would bear a part at least of herweight. Her efforts were vain. Theinsidious mass crept higher and higher onher body. She remembered reading thatone caught in the quicksand by hisstruggles only hastened his owndestruction. She tried to be perfectly still.In spite of all she was sinking—sinking—the sand was engulfing her.

During all her struggles Carolyn Juneremained silent. She had not thought to cryout. Somehow she could not realize that

she was to die. The sun was bright, the skycloudless, the trees along the river-bankbarely swayed in a little breeze! Howbeautiful the world! How queer that such alittle distance away was the green grass ofthe meadow and the firm black earth inwhich it was rooted and she—she washeld fast and helpless in the embrace ofthe deadly sand! Strange thoughts rushedthrough her mind. She wondered what theywould think at the ranch when night cameand she did not return. Would they know?Would they guess the thing that hadhappened? Would the sand draw her down—down—until it covered her so nonewould ever know where or how she died?She looked at Old Blue. "Poor oldfellow!" she whispered, "I am sorry—Ididn't know—it looked so white and firm

and safe!" The sand was half-way up thesides of the horse and he swayed his bodyin pathetic, futile efforts to free himself.

A strange calm came over Carolyn June.So this was the end? She was to die alone,horribly, in the treacherous sands of theCimarron? Surely it could not be—Godwould not let her die! She was so young!She had just begun to live—She thought ofHartville, her father, the old friends. Howfar away they seemed! How queer it was—she could not image in her mind any ofthe familiar scenes, the face of her fatheror any of the friends she had known sowell! She tried to think of her UncleJosiah, Ophelia, Skinny Rawlins—poorfellow, how susceptible was his big,innocent, boyish heart! She called each

one up in a mental effort to remember howthey had looked, the sound of their voices—they were only names—dim shadowynames! There was nothing in the wholeworld but Old Blue—herself—and thesand—the sand—an eternity of sandpulling, dragging, sucking her down! Sheclosed her eyes tightly, thinking to shut outthe impression of utter loneliness. Theface of the Ramblin' Kid flashed into hermind! She could see him! She saw himlying under the shed, as he had looked thatmorning, his head resting on the saddle,his eyes gazing steadily into her own; shesaw him again as he had looked when shestung him with her harsh words at the gate.She seemed to see the agonized humility inhis expression and hear the low tensenessof his voice as he repeated aloud the

words she had used—"An ign'rant,savage, stupid brute!" She laughed almosthysterically. "Why can I see him—just him—and not the others? Has he come to—to—haunt me?" she finished with a gasp.

The sand had reached her breast. Howlong before it clutched at her throat? Hermouth? Her eyes? Ah, would she hold upher arm as she went down—down—andreach out her hand as if to wave the worlda last, long farewell? "I will—I will!" shecried, the pressure around her body almoststopping her breath, "I—I—will—and—wiggle my fingers to the end!" she addedwith a choking half-hysterical laugh, sotightly did she cling to life. Her moodchanged. "I—guess—I ought to pray!" shesaid, "but—I—God—God knows

anyhow!" her voice trailing away to awhisper as if she had grown suddenly,utterly, tired. She stretched out her handsonce more with the hat, trying to use it tobuoy her up. Under the weight of her armsit sank in the sand. She tossed it to oneside. "It will—stay—on top by itself," shechoked. "I—I—will leave it—maybe theywill find it—and know—" She felt hersenses were leaving her. Even yet she hadnot called for help. It had not occurred toher that rescue was possible. As if it werean echo to her thoughts there came thethrobbing tattoo of hoofs pounding theearth. She listened intently. Some one wasriding down the lane toward the riverfrom the ranch! The horse was evidentlyrunning—running madly, desperately.Would he cross at the upper or lower

ford? Her heart pulsed with heavy dullthrobs. The sand was crushing her chest.A wave of weakness swept over her. Shealmost fainted. At that instant CaptainJack, carrying the Ramblin' Kid, leapedthrough an opening in the willows andstopped—his front feet plowing the firmground at the edge of the quivering beachof sand.

"Pure luck!" the Ramblin' Kid breathedfervently, his eye quickly measuring thedistance to the nearly exhausted girl;"she's close enough I can reach her withth' rope! God, if it'll only hold!" Alreadythe coils were in his hand. With a singlebackward fling of the noose and forwardtoss he dropped the loop over the head ofCarolyn June.

"Pull it up—close—under your arms!" hecommanded shortly, "an' hang on withyour hands to take th' strain off yourbody!"

The girt obeyed without a word.

He double half-hitched the rope to thehorn of the saddle, swung Captain Jackaround. "Look out!" he called to the girl ashe started away from the brink of the sand."Steady, Boy, be careful—" to thebroncho. The slack gradually tightened.The strain drew on Carolyn June's armstill it seemed they would be pulled fromthe sockets. The rope cut cruelly into herbody under her shoulders. She wanted tocry—to scream—to laugh. She didneither. She threw back her head and

clung with all her strength to the roughlariat, stretched taut as a cable of steel.

The Ramblin' Kid leaned forward in thesaddle, his body half turned, eyes lookingback along the straight line of the severelytested rope. He swore softly, steadily,under his breath. "God—if it will onlyhold—if it only don't break!"

Slowly, surely, the little stallion leanedhis weight against the tensely drawn riataand Carolyn June felt herself lifted, inchby inch, out of the sand that engulfed her.At last she fell forward—her body free.Without stopping the horse the Ramblin'Kid continued away from the river-bankand dragged the girl across the yieldingsurface to the solid earth and safety. The

instant she was where he could reach herhe whirled Captain Jack and rode quicklyback. Carolyn June was trying to get to herfeet when he sprang from the broncho andhelped her to the firm ground on which hestood. She was panting and exhausted.

"Get—get—Old Blue out!" she gaspedand dropped limply down on the grass,fingering at the rope to remove it fromaround her body.

"Danged if she ain't got more heart than Ithought she had!" theRamblin' Kid said to himself as he liftedthe loop from over her head."I'm goin' to," he said aloud, "if I can—but—I'm afraid he's gone.I'll try anyhow—you lay there an' rest—"

at the same time remountinghis horse.

The sand covered the rump of Old Blue.The saddle, Parker's it was, was nearlysubmerged, only the horn and cantleshowing above the slimy mass. His head,neck and the top of his withers were yetexposed. He still struggled, wallowingfeebly, vainly resisting the downward pullof the sand. Crouching, as if fascinated bythe terrible scene, Carolyn June watchedas the Ramblin' Kid, waiting hisopportunity, at the instant the horse in thesand lifted his head deftly flung the ropeover his neck. With a short jerk of thewrist he tightened the noose till it closedsnugly about the throat of the broncho.Again turning Captain Jack away from the

bank he urged him slowly forward. Therope stiffened. The little stallion bunchedhimself and desperately strained againstthe dead weight of Old Blue, multipliedmany times by the suction of the sand. TheRamblin' Kid leaned far over the neck ofCaptain Jack to give the horse theadvantage of his own weight and lookedback, watching the supreme efforts of themired broncho as he fought to climb out ofthe sand. A moment it looked as if thelittle roan would drag him out. Slowly heseemed to be raising and moving forward.There was a sharp snap. Half-way downits length the lariat parted. At the weakspot the strain was too great. Captain Jackplunged forward to his knees, his noserooting the earth, and the Ramblin' Kidbarely saved himself from pitching over

the horse's head.

"That's what I was dreadin'—" he said ashe turned and rode back to the edge of thesand.

Carolyn June gazed, wide-eyed,speechless with horror, at the horse in thesand. When the rope broke, Old Blue,with a groan almost human, sank back andquickly settled down until only his headand part of his neck were exposed toview. The Ramblin' Kid looked at thebroken rope—the end fastened around thethroat of Old Blue had whipped back andwas lying far beyond the cowboy's reach.The piece half-hitched to the saddle hornwas too short for another throw. Old Bluewas doomed. Carolyn June saw him

sinking gradually, surely, into the sand. Itseemed ages. His eyes appealed withdumb pathos to the group on the bank.They could hear his breath coming inharsh, terrible gasps. The sand seemed tobe deliberately torturing him as though itwere some hellish thing, alive and offiendish cunning, that grasped its victimand then paused in his destruction to gloatover his hopeless agony.

The Ramblin' Kid sat Captain Jack andwatched.

"Why did God ever want to make that stuffanyhow!" sprang hoarsely from his lips.He was torn between blind unreasoninganger at the quicksand and pity for thestruggling horse. Suddenly he jerked the

forty-four, always on his saddle, from itsholster. As the gun swung back and thenforward there was a crashing report andOld Blue's head dropped, with aconvulsive shudder, limp on the sand.

Carolyn June screamed and buried herface in her hands.

At the sound of the shot Captain Jackstiffened and stood rigid. The Ramblin'Kid, his face white and drawn, sat andlooked dry-eyed at the red stream oozingfrom the round hole just below the brow-band of the bridle on the head of the horsehe had killed.

"I—I—would have wanted somebody todo it to me!" he said softly and rode to the

side of the girl huddled on the ground. Hedismounted and stood, without speaking,looking down at her shaking form. After atime she looked up, through eyes drenchedwith tears, into his face. Then as if drawnby an irresistible impulse—one she couldnot deny—she turned her head and lookedat the spot where Old Blue had fought hislast battle with the quicksands of theCimarron. A crimson stain, alreadydarkening, on the white surface; a fewsquare feet of disturbed and broken sand,even now settling into the smooth,innocent-looking tranquillity that hid thedeath lurking in its depths; a short lengthof rope, one end drawn beneath the sand,the other lying in a sprawling coil; her hatresting a little distance to one side, wereall that remained to tell the story of the

grim tragedy of the morning. Sheshuddered and looked once more into thepain-filled eyes of the Ramblin' Kid.

"We'd better be goin'," he said quietly,"you're wet an' them clothes must beuncomfortable. You can ride CaptainJack!"

She stood up weak and trembling.

"I—I—thought Captain Jack was anoutlaw," she said with a faint smile. "Hewon't let me ride him, will he?"

"He'll let you," the Ramblin' Kidanswered dully, "no woman ever has rodehim—or any other man only me—but he'lllet you!"

As she approached the stallion he raisedhis head and looked at her with a queermixture of curiosity and antagonism,curving his neck in a challenging way.

"Jack!" the Ramblin' Kid spoke sharplybut kindly to the horse, "be careful! It's allright, Boy—you're goin' to carry doublethis one time!"

The broncho stood passive while theRamblin' Kid helped Carolyn June to hisback.

"You set behind," he said, "it'll be easierto hold on an' I can handle th' horsebetter!"

She slipped back of the saddle and he

swung up on to the little roan. With onehand Carolyn June grasped the cantle ofthe saddle, the other she reached up andlaid on the arm of the Ramblin' Kid—thetouch sent a thrill through her body and thecowboy felt a response that made his heartquiver as they turned and rode toward theQuarter Circle KT.

For a mile neither spoke.

"I—I—am sorry for what—I said thismorning," Carolyn June whispered at lasthaltingly, feeling intuitively that the cruelwords—"an ignorant, savage, stupidbrute"—were repeating themselves in hercompanion's mind.

"It's all right," he answered without

looking around and in a voice withoutemotion, "it was th' truth—" with ahopeless laugh. "I'm a damn' foolbesides!"

CHAPTER VIII

QUICK WITH A VENGEANCE

Old Heck rode in advance of Charley andBert as the trio returned from repairing thefences wrecked by the flood that hadswept over the east bottom-lands of theQuarter Circle KT. All morning he hadbeen silent and morose. Only whennecessary had he spoken while he directedthe cowboys at their labor, helped themreset posts, or untangle twisted wires andbuild up again that which the rush of waterhad torn down. The damage had not beengreat and by noon the fence was as good

as new. As soon as the breaks weremended the moody owner of the QuarterCircle KT mounted his horse and startedfor the house.

"Them women coming or something hasgot Old Heck's goat," Bert remarked toCharley as they climbed on their horsesand followed a moment later.

"Something's got it," Charley answered,"he ain't acted natural all day—do youreckon he's sore because Parker took thewidow to town?"

"Darned if I know," Bert said doubtfully,"that might be it."

"Well, he's feverish and disagreeable for

some reason or other and that's the waypeople generally get when they'rejealous," Charley observed sagely.

"He hadn't ought to be," Bert argued, "it'sParker's day to keep company withOphelia, and Old Heck and him agreed tosplit."

"If he's in love he won't split," Charleyretorted with conviction, "I never saw twomen take turn about loving the samewoman yet. It can't be done!"

"The woman wouldn't object, would she?"Bert queried.

"Probably not," Charley replied, "at leastnot as long as double doses of affection

was coming her way. From what I'veheard most of 'em sort of enjoy having asmany men make love to 'em as possible,but—" he paused.

"But what?"

"They kick if a man loves several womenat once!" was the sophisticated reply. "Butas far as that's concerned," he continued,speaking as a man wise in the ways of theworld, "men and women ain't muchdifferent in that respect. When it comes toloving, both sides are plumb willing todivide up 'a-going' but want it to be cleanexclusive when it comes to 'coming!'"

"It's funny, ain't it?" Bert commented.

"No, it ain't funny," Charley declared. "It'sjust natural—"

"Maybe Parker and Old Heck will have afight about Ophelia," Bert suggestedhopefully. "Which do you suppose wouldlick?"

"It's hard telling," Charley saidthoughtfully. "Old Heck's the heaviest, butParker's pretty active."

"Well, it sure does seem like whereverwomen are trouble is, don't it?"Bert observed meditatively.

"Blamed if it don't," Charley agreed;"there's something about them that's plumagitating!"

Old Heck, riding a short distance ahead ofthe cowboys, was troubled with similarthoughts. He was trying to analyze his ownfeelings. Years without association withwomankind had made him come to regardthem with a measure of indifference andsuspicion. He had developed the idea thatwomen existed chiefly for the purpose ofdisorganizing the morale of the masculinemembers of the race. He was very sincerein this belief. Yet he was forced, now, toconfess that he found something interestingin having a couple of attractive females atthe Quarter Circle KT. The situation wasnot so disagreeable as he had expected.Already he was proud of his kinship toCarolyn June. She was a niece worthwhile. Ophelia also had proved herself apleasant surprise. He had pictured her as a

strong-minded, assertive, modernizedcreature who would probably discoursecontinuously and raspingly about the evilsof smoking, profanity, poker, drinking andother natural masculine impulses. Instead,she had proved herself, so far, a perfectlady. Without doubt she was the mostsensible widow he had ever met. Thethought of Parker's long, intimate ride withher to Eagle Butte made himuncomfortable. It was a darned foolarrangement—that agreement that he andhis foreman were to divide time in theentertainment of Ophelia. He could havedone it alone just as well as not. Anywaythe dual plan was liable to causeconfusion. Oh, well, Parker would be outon the beef hunt next week. By rights itought not start for ten days yet, but—well,

it wouldn't hurt to move it up a little. Hewould do that. Then he remembered thefrank admiration the cowboys had showntoward Carolyn June. This suggestedcomplications in that direction.

"Thunderation!" he said aloud, "it's a goodthing we fixed it up for just Skinny tomake love to her—if we hadn't there'dhave been a regular epidemic of bu'stedhearts on this blamed ranch! Therewouldn't have been a buckaroo on theplace that could have kept from mooningaround sentimental—unless it was th'Ramblin' Kid," he added; "that blamedcuss is too independent and indifferent tofall in love with any female!"

At the barn Charley and Bert overtook Old

Heck. The three unsaddled and fed theirhorses and started toward the house fordinner. Sing Pete had seen them comingand immediately pounded the triangle.

"Th' Ramblin' Kid's gone somewhereagain," Bert observed as he noticed theGold Dust maverick alone in the circularcorral. "Captain Jack's not with the filly—"

"Yonder th' Ramblin' Kid comes now,"Charley said, looking toward the north;"he's been over to the river—what thedevil kind of a combination is that?" heexclaimed as he got a better view of thehorse coming up the lane. "Him and thatgirl both are riding Captain Jack."

"Blamed if they ain't," Bert said curiously;"it's a wonder Captain Jack'll let them. Buthow does that come, anyhow? Where'sSkinny? I thought it was his job to rideherd on Carolyn June—"

"It is his job," Old Heck interrupted, "Idon't understand—something must havegone wrong," he added excitedly as thestallion with his double burden drew near."Carolyn June's all wet and she's lost herhat."

Turning his horse toward the house, whenhe reached the end of the lane and with buta glance at the trio standing at the barn, theRamblin' Kid rode straight to the back-yard gate. Old Heck and the cowboyshurried across the open space and reached

the gate just as Carolyn June rather stifflydismounted from the little roan. Her hairwas disarranged, her riding suit soiledand wet from the sand and water, but hereyes were bright, cheeks flushed, and sheshowed only a trace of nervousness.

"What's the matter?" Old Heck askeduneasily, "what's happened? Where'sSkinny?"

In a few words, while the Ramblin' Kidsat silently on the back of Captain Jack,Carolyn June told of the ride across theriver; the meeting with Pedro and themessage he brought that the cattle were outand some had been killed by lightning; ofsending Skinny with the Mexican to helpwith the steers; of her return alone toward

the ranch, the struggle in the quicksand andthe death of the horse she had been riding.

"Poor Old Blue—poor old fellow!" shefinished with a little catch in her voice.

Old Heck's cheeks whitened as helistened.

"Good lord," he half-groaned, "you had aclose call! It's lucky th' Ramblin' Kid sawyou coming toward the upper ford—if hehadn't—you'd never got out! But go on intothe house and get some dry clothes on.Boys, we'll have to hurry up and eatdinner and then go help get them steersback. I wish Parker was here—we'll needall the help we can get. You'd better catchup another horse," he continued, speaking

to the Ramblin' Kid, "Captain Jack isprobably worn out from chasing that GoldDust maverick last night, and if you ain'ttoo tired yourself, go with us—"

"I ain't too tired," the Ramblin' Kidreplied quietly, "I'll go—an' ride CaptainJack—he ain't done up." He took thebroncho to the corral, removed the saddleand turned him in with the outlaw mare.After giving the horses fresh hay—therewas water in the corral, supplied by asmall ditch that was fed from the largerirrigation canal and which ran under oneside of the fence—he joined the others atdinner.

An hour later Old Heck, Bert, Charley andthe Ramblin' Kid rode away from the

ranch to help Chuck, Skinny and Pedroround up and return to the big pasture thecattle that had broken out and wererushing toward their old range on thePurgatory.

Carolyn June was left alone with SingPete, the Chinese cook at the QuarterCircle KT. She still felt somewhat shakenfrom her experience of the morning,although a bath, clean dry clothing and themeal had refreshed her considerably. Shecarried a chair to the front porch, thinkingto spend the afternoon resting. The eventsof the day raced in review through hermind. It did not seem possible so muchcould have happened in so short a time.Only yesterday had Ophelia and shearrived at the ranch. Already she had the

feeling that they both were fixtures, andhad been indefinitely, at the QuarterCircle KT. The elemental atmosphere ofthe range country had completelyenveloped her, seemed to have absorbedher, and made her a part of it. Some wayshe rather delighted in this sensation ofpermanency. Her rescue by the Ramblin'Kid and the close view she had been ableto get of his impulses made her thrill witha queer mixture of admiration and pity forhim even while his brutal answer whenshe had apologized for her harsh wordsstill echoed in her mind.

"Gracious," she thought with a whimsicalsmile, "things move fast in this westerncountry!"

She had seen, already, that both her UncleJosiah and Parker were yielding to thecharms of Ophelia. The fancy made herchuckle. She remembered Skinny's toorapidly developing tenderness towardherself. "Poor fellow," she murmured,slowly shaking her head, "I wish hewouldn't! But I suppose he can't help it—Iwonder why men are always falling inlove with me, anyhow? I'm sure I don't tryto make them! I never saw one yet I reallywanted to care—" she stopped suddenlywhile a warm flush spread over her bodyas the Ramblin' Kid was imaged rathervividly in her mind. "Nonsense!" she saidaloud with a soft, throaty laugh. "CarolynJune, you are getting silly!"

She sprang up and went into the house.

"Sing Pete," she said, stepping into thekitchen, "may I have some sugar—I'd likethe lumpy kind if you have it?"

"Sure! You have him sugal—how mucheeyou want?" as he held out to her a tincontaining squares of the desired article.

"Oh, enough to win a heart!" Carolyn Juneanswered laughing, at the same time takinga handful from the can.

"You eat him?" Sing Pete asked with agrin.

"No," she replied, "I feed it to broncho—to Gold Dust maverick. Some folkssprinkle salt on bird's tail to catch him—Iput sugar on horse's tongue to make him

love me—"

"Lamblin' Kid, he do that. Allee time himgettee sugal for Clap'n Jack!"

"Feeds 'Clap'n Jack' sugar, does he?"Carolyn June said pensively."Captain Jack's a nice little broncho," sheadded, "he deserves sugar."She paused a moment. "'Lamblin' Kid's' afunny fellow, don't you thinkso, Sing Pete?" she finished idly.

"Not funny—him dangelous!" theChinaman replied earnestly. "He getteevelly mad 'cause I puttee butter in can socat catchee his head in an' go lound an'lound—buckee like a bloncho—havee lotsa good time! He not talkee much, Lamblin'

Kid don't—just dangelous—that's all!"

Carolyn June felt sudden interest.

"When did he get mad about the cat?" sheasked quietly.

"Allee same to-day—when you an' Skinnygo 'way. Lamblin' Kid cussee me lot—tellee me not do him any more. Himdangelous! I not do him next time!" SingPete explained seriously.

"You are wise, Sing Pete," Carolyn Junelaughed as she left the kitchen by the backdoor and started toward the corral wherethe Gold Dust maverick was restlesslypacing about. "Don't do it any more!'Lamblin' Kid' is 'dangelous'—dangerous

in ways that you don't understand!" shefinished softly, her eyes lit with a strangelight and her heart elated and beatingquickly because of what the Chinese cookhad told her.

The outlaw filly leaped to the far side ofthe corral and stood trembling, her headup and breath coming in whistling snortsof defiance and fear, as Carolyn Juneopened the gate and stepped boldly inside.Apparently paying no attention to thefrightened horse, the girl walked to thecenter of the corral and facing the mareleaned her back against the snubbing post.Both stood perfectly still while the eyes ofeach appraised the other.

After a time the filly seemed to relax and

she slowly lowered her head, yetwatching, alertly, the motionless figure ofCarolyn June. The girl talked to the horse,her words gentle, her voice soothing andlow. The Gold Dust maverick becamequieter still. Presently she circled thecorral, trotting swiftly and crowdingclosely against the fence. Carolyn Juneturned, keeping her eyes always on thebroncho, and continued the quiet pleadingof her voice. It was an hour before thefilly shyly and cautiously came up to thegirl—before curiosity mastered her fear.Carolyn June held out her hand and theoutlaw nosed it timidly, ready instantly tospring away. A lump of sugar was pressedinto the Gold Dust maverick's mouth—shedrew back, working the morsel about withher tongue and lips and finally spitting it

out. Several times this was repeated. Atlast the beautiful creature tasted the sugarand greedily ate the lumps, permittingCarolyn June gently to stroke the velvetymuzzle. Then the girl's hand crept higherand higher on the horse's neck and after alittle an arm was slipped over the filly'sneck.

"You darling!" Carolyn June breathedsoftly, "I love you! I wonder what theRamblin' Kid would say if he knew I wasstealing your heart?" she added demurelyas she laid her face against the silky maneof the mare.

She remained at the corral until theafternoon was nearly gone. The poplarsalong the front-yard fence were beginning

to throw their shadows across the corral.When at last Carolyn June started to returnto the house the filly followed her to thegate of the corral and whinnied a littleprotest against her going.

"I don't believe you are a bit mean," thegirl said as she looked back affectionatelyat the nervous, high-strung animal; "youare just lonely and want to be loved—andunderstood—that is all, and I doubt ifyou'd buck a single buck if I rode you rightthis minute!"

As she reached the gate the Clagstone"Six" glided quietly down the grade fromthe bench and a moment later Ophelia andParker joined Carolyn June on the porch.The widow's cheeks were glowing and

Parker looked embarrassed and ratherupset. His arms were full of bundles.

"Have a good time?" Carolyn June greetedthem.

"Fine," Ophelia replied, "spent oodles ofmoney shopping, saw the minister's wife,talked with the editor of the paper and weare going to organize a Chapter—I thinkwe shall call it 'The Amazons of EagleButte.'"

"Great," Carolyn June laughed, "you are ahustler, Ophelia! UncleJosiah will have a fit. Does Parkerknow?"

"Yes," the widow answered, her eyes

twinkling, as she looked at the sweatingforeman of the Quarter Circle KT. "I toldhim all about it and he is going to give ushis moral support."

"Where is Skinny?" Parker interruptedhastily, looking more uneasy and foolishthan ever; "why ain't he here?"

Carolyn June told of the happenings of themorning.

"My dear, my dear!" Ophelia cried,shuddering when she heard of CarolynJune's narrow escape from the quicksand."You must never cross that terrible riveragain! It's too horrible to think about!"

"It was just 'experience,'" Carolyn June

said lightly. "I don't mind it a bit now thatit is over. Of course," she addedseriously, "I feel badly about Old Blue—and losing Parker's saddle."

"Don't worry about the saddle, I can getnew riding gear lots easier than Old Heckcould have got another niece!"

"Carolyn June needs a saddle of her own,"Ophelia suggested.

"I am going to get one; and then I'll ridethe Gold Dust maverick!"

"I doubt if th' Ramblin' Kid will let youride the filly," Parker said, "he's funny thatway—"

"I think he will," Carolyn June interposed.

"I'll steal her if no other way!"

"Maybe he will, but it's doubtful," Parkercontinued, "but Old Heck is aiming to getyou a saddle. He spoke about it thismorning when we were getting the car outto go to town—"

"Dear old uncle," Carolyn June saidwarmly, "I love him already—don't you,Ophelia?"

Parker colored and looked quickly, with aworried expression on his face, at thewidow. She flushed also.

"That's personal, my dear," she answered,"and rather abrupt!"

Parker went out to put the Clagstone "Six"

in the garage.

"Carolyn June," Ophelia said when theywere alone, "I have made a discovery—"

"It is?" questioningly.

"That western Texas is the 'quickest'country in the world!" the widowanswered.

"Please explain," Carolyn June said,"although," demurely, with certainmemories fresh in her mind, "I fancy I canalmost guess—"

"Yesterday," Ophelia continued ratherbreathlessly, "we arrived at the QuarterCircle KT; last night at the supper table Imet Mr. Parker for the first time; ten

minutes later he kicked me—accidentally,I think—on the shins; I saw him again atbreakfast this morning; to-day we drove toEagle Butte and this afternoon"—shepaused and then with a quick, nervouslaugh finished—"he asked me to marryhim!"

"Good lord," Carolyn June gasped, "that is—'pronto'—as these cowboys say! 'Quick'with a vengeance! There must besomething in this western air that makesthem do it!"

"It was all I could do this morning to keepSkinny from—" she started to say, thenshifted again to the subject of Parker. "Didhe know that you are—"

"National Organizer for the 'Movement,'"Ophelia filled in. "Yes, I had alreadyconfessed. I told him as we were drivingto town—and the other—the shock—camejust after we crossed the bridge when wewere returning home!"

"He is a bold, dangerous man!" CarolynJune exclaimed, in mock seriousness,"trying to get ahead of Uncle Josiah!"

"I inferred as much," the widowexplained; "he told me that to-morrowwould be your uncle's 'day'—whatever hemeant by that; the next he, Mr. Parkerhimself, would be 'around' again. 'UnlessOld Heck took some fool notion or other;'before long he would be away on the beefhunt and one can never tell what might

happen while one is gone and, well, that'sthe way he felt about it, so he just said it—"

"And you?"

"Naturally was completely surprised,entirely non-committal, and made nodefinite agreement!" Ophelia laughedsoftly.

CHAPTER IX

OLD HECK'S STRATEGY

It was late when Old Heck and thecowboys returned to the ranch. Therunaway cattle had been overtaken on thesand-hills beyond the North Springs and ittook the entire afternoon to bunch themand work the restless animals back to theQuarter Circle KT, into the big pasture,and repair the fence so it was safe toleave them for the night.

Ophelia, Carolyn June and Parker were inthe front room when Old Heck and the

hungry cowboys clattered, long after dark,into the kitchen for the supper Sing Petehad kept warm for them.

After the meal Skinny went into the roomwhere Parker and the women were. OldHeck followed and talked for a fewmoments with Parker about the affairs ofthe ranch, then joined the cowboys at thebunk-house where they had gone directlyafter leaving the table. On Skinny's bedParker had tossed a bundle.

"What in thunder do you reckon Skinny'sbeen buying, now?" Chuck questioned ashe picked up the package and examined itcuriously. "Blamed if it don't feel like ashirt."

"I'll bet that's what it is," Bert said with alaugh as Old Heck stepped inside thedoor, "the darn fool has gone and got hima white shirt—"

"Who has?" Old Heck asked, hearing onlythe latter part of Bert's remark.

"Skinny," Charley answered for Bert,"he's fixing up to make love in style—"

"Aw, the blamed idiot," Old Heckgrunted, then glancing over towardParker's bed: "—Did you notice whetherParker got him one, too, or not?"

Before the question was answered Parkerand Skinny appeared at the bunk-housedoor.

"What's the matter?" Chuck said, stillholding the bundle in his hand, "—ain't ittoo early for lovers to bu'st up for thenight? Or did the widow and Carolyn Juneblow out the lights on you—"

"Forget it, you danged fool!" Skinny saidcrossly. "Can't you ever get over yourdog-goned craziness? They was just tiredand went to bed. Give me that package,it's mine and private!" reaching for thebundle.

Chuck, with a laugh, threw it at him. Itlanded on the Ramblin' Kid's bunk wherethe latter was lying, his clothing still on,his eyes staring straight up while hesmoked a cigarette.

"When are you going to ride the Gold Dustmaverick?" Skinny asked as he picked upthe package.

For a moment the Ramblin' Kid did notanswer. Then, without changing hisposition, replied:

"I don't know as I'll ever ride her. MaybeI'll turn her loose again on th' range."

"What did you catch her for?" Bertqueried. "Don't you want her?"

"I caught her, 'cause I wanted to," theRamblin' Kid answered, "but that ain't nosign I intend to keep her. Hell, what's theuse?" he finished indifferently.

"If you want to sell her," Old Heck said,

"I'll buy her."

"She ain't for sale," the Ramblin' Kidanswered shortly, "not to anybody."

"She would be a thunderin' sight better offif she was used."

"Would she?" the Ramblin' Kidquestioned dully. "I ain't so sure aboutthat."

"Of course she would," Old Heck insisted,"she'd be fed regular and—"

"An' be mauled around by some darnedhuman!" the Ramblin' Kid interrupted withsudden vehemence. "If I was a horse," hecontinued, speaking passionately while hisblack eyes burned with the spirit of

rebellion, "I'd rather be a short-grass cay-use nippin' th' scatterin' feed on th' northhills an' be free to snort an' raise hellwhen I blamed please than have my bellystuffed with alfalfa hay three times a dayan' have to gnaw th' iron of some damnedman's bit in my mouth or carry his saddleon my back!"

Silence followed the outburst.

Old Heck and the cowboys knew theRamblin' Kid was in one of his "moods,"and experience had taught them that atsuch times argument was neither discreetnor safe. The thing they did not know wasthat his heart was torn by memory of theagony of Old Blue in the quicksand andhis mind tortured by the picture of dumb

suffering a bullet from his own gun had,that morning, mercifully ended.

After a time he spoke again, more quietlyand with a note of weariness in his voice:

"Oh, well, I reckon I'll keep th' filly. In aday of two, when she gets rested up alittle, I'll ride her,"

"You ought to break her for Carolyn June,"Skinny suggested.

"Had I?" the Ramblin' Kid said with aqueer laugh—it was just the thought thatwas in his mind and against which he wasstruggling. "That's a bright idea! MaybeI'll study about it an' take a notion to do it.If I do she can ride th' maverick When you

an' her go on your honeymoon—"

"What's a honeymoon?" Skinny queriedinnocently.

"It's what two people take when they firstget married; go off somewhere bythemselves—like they was locoed—tofind out how bad they got stung!" theRamblin' Kid laughingly answered.

"We'd better all go to bed," Old Hecksaid; "it's late and we have to get up earlyin the morning. Parker, you and some ofthe boys will have to go skin them deadsteers—we've got to save the hides atleast."

"Old Heck wants to go to sleep so he can

dream about the widow," Chucksnickered, "it's his turn again to-morrowto love her—"

"How did she act to-day, Parker?" Bertbroke in; "was she pretty affectionate?"

"Aw, shut up! Ain't you got any respect foranything—"

"I'll bet he proposed to her and shethrowed him down," Chuck hazarded, notrealizing how nearly he had come toguessing the truth.

Parker looked angrily at Chuck, then hischeeks grew red, he bent over and begantugging at his boots in an effort to hide thetell-tale confusion in his eyes.

Old Heck furtively studied the face of hisforeman.

"Or else she confessed to being aBolshevik or local-optionist or somethingand the news broke his heart," Charleyvolunteered, joining in the baiting of therange-boss.

"She didn't neither confess," Parkerdenied hastily, aggravated into a reply,"she ain't either one of them! She's an'Organizer—'"

Dead silence greeted this suddenannouncement. Every eye was turned inastonishment on Parker while Old Heckand the boys awaited further explanation.Parker offered no additional information.

"She's a what?" Old Heck finally managedto whisper, leaning towardParker, while a look of fear andincredulity spread over his face.

Parker noticed the anguish in Old Heck'seyes and a sudden new look of cunningcame into his own.

"An 'Organizer' I said," he repeatedimpressively, "she's an 'Organizer' forsome kind of 'Movement' or other—"

"A dis-organizer, you'd better say!" Chucklaughed uncertainly, "judging from theway she's got you and Old Heckstampeding already!"

"Great guns!" Old Heck half groaned,

"what—what sort of a—a—'Movement'did she say it was, anyhow?"

"Swiss, probably!" came in a chucklingundertone from the direction of theRamblin' Kid's bed. "Hell, what's thedifference?"

"She said it was connected someway with'feminine obligations and woman'sopportunity,'" Parker answered, ignoringthe frivolous interruptions.

"I know what she is!" Charley exclaimed,"—it's just what I expected! She's one ofthese self-starting female suffragettes!That's what she is. I knowed she was toogentle acting to be harmless!"

"She just had to break loose sooner orlater," Bert said in an awed voice.

"My Gawd!" Old Heck murmuredhopelessly. "Holy gosh a'mighty!"

The owner of the Quarter Circle KT wasreally shocked and worried. He hadsurrendered quickly to his first impressionconcerning the widow. The originalmeeting at Eagle Butte, when she andCarolyn June appeared as visions offeminine loveliness, as contrasted with thehomely cook and her daughter whom heand Skinny had mistaken for, and fearedwere, the Quarter Circle KT's prospectiveguests, had caused a psychic effect on hisfeelings toward Ophelia. The sense ofrelief that came when he found that the

cook was not Ophelia, together with thewidow's unexpected graciousness, hadinstantly disarmed his suspicions and,metaphorically speaking, hurled his heartinto her lap. He had found the widowcharming, interesting, very feminine, andalready dreams had shaped themselves inhis mind. The sudden revelation thatParker had made brought tremendousdisappointment. Ophelia had not shownthe least indication of obnoxious strong-mindedness or that disagreeableintellectuality which Old Heck firmlybelieved was a necessary attribute of allwomen who participated in politics or"movements."

Ophelia was an "Organizer"! It wasunbelievable! The thought gave him a

sickening feeling at the pit of his stomachand actually made his head ache.

Old Heck's first impulse, when Parkermade the startling announcement, was toassert his authority as boss of the outfitand annul the every-other-day arrangementwhereby he and his foreman were to shareand share alike in the widow's society. Hewould let Parker do it all—have her all ofthe time! He wouldn't take any chances!On second thought he decided to wait atleast another day. Besides, it was againsthis principles, contrary to the ethics of therange, to back up on a bargain and henever asked an employee to do a thing hehadn't the courage to do himself. Hewould stick it out, come what may, andsee the thing through to a finish. However,

there was still a means of escape. IfOphelia developed any really serioussuffragette tendencies during the next dayor two he would go on the beef hunthimself and let Parker remain at the ranch!

When finally he went to sleep Opheliawas still on his mind. The first thought thatcame to him when he awakened the nextmorning was the sickening news Parkerhad brought.

Old Heck and the cowboys were silentand had about them an air of depressionwhen they filed into the kitchen forbreakfast.

Each cast furtive, curious glances atOphelia. The information that she was an

"Organizer"—presumably for a"Movement" involving woman's politicalrights—caused them to view her with akind of reverential awe and fear. Thewidow and Carolyn June, apparently,were wholly unconscious of the thoughtsin the minds of the men. Both women wereas innocent-looking and attractive as ever—matching with their early morningfreshness the bowl of roses Carolyn June,before the call to breakfast, had gatheredand placed on the table.

The Ramblin' Kid sat at the right ofCarolyn June. It was the first time they hadmet at the table. He said nothing andseemingly was lost in thought. When theyhad entered the kitchen Carolyn June andhe had spoken and for a moment he looked

into her eyes with an expression thatcaused her own to drop and the warmblood to rush over her throat and face. Shehad felt that same sensation of "soul-nakedness" she experienced when shelooked into his eyes that first time whenshe was at the circular corral and he waslying under the shed. Neither spoke of theincidents of the previous day.

The other cowboys and Old Heck studiedOphelia with a sort of fascination, castingshy upward glances at her from over theirplates.

Parker and the Ramblin' Kid only, were atease and undisturbed.

"You wouldn't think she was one by

looking at her, would you?" Chuck said inan undertone to Charley.

"Some of them's so blamed slick they can'thide it."

"I reckon that's right," Chuck whisperedback, "it's an awful jolt toOld Heck, ain't it?"

"Yes, he's taking it pretty hard," Charleymumbled.

"Her forehead does bulge out a good dealin front, when you come to look at it, don'tit?" Chuck observed under his breath.

"Quite a lot," Charley answered in thesame tone; "that's one indication!"

Parker gazed at the widow with anexpression undeniably adoring. Old Hecksaw it and straightened up with a look ofsudden resolution on his face. If Parkerwasn't afraid of Ophelia, by golly, hewouldn't be! The widow had returned theforeman's look with understanding, whilemore than a trace of tenderness andsympathy was registered in her eyes.

"To-morrow is Sunday," Old Heckannounced suddenly with startlingdistinctness, "and we'll get things in shapeto begin the beef round-up on Monday!"

There was immediate interest.

"I'll be darned," the Ramblin' Kidmurmured half audibly, "Old Heck is goin'

to 'Uriah' Parker!"

"Huh?" Skinny queried across the table.

"Nothin'," the Ramblin' Kid answeredwith a laugh, "I was just reminded ofsomethin' I read in a book one time—"

Carolyn June caught the subtle referenceto the Bible story of KingDavid's unfortunate romance with anotherman's "woman" and chuckled.

"Ain't you starting the beef hunt tooearly?" Charley asked.

"I don't know as I am," Old Heckanswered doggedly.

"Aw, that'll put us right in the middle of it

on the Fourth of July when the Rodeo isgoing on in Eagle Butte—" Bert began.

"And I ain't going to miss that, either,"Chuck interrupted, "that Y-Bar outfit overon the Vermejo took everything in the two-mile sweepstakes last year and they'vebeen bragging about it ever since. Theythink that Thunderbolt horse of theirs can'tbe beat. I was going to put Silver Tip inthis year. He can put that black in secondplace—"

"No, he can't," the Ramblin' Kid remarkedquietly, "—you'd lose your money. There'sonly one animal on th' Kiowa range thatcan outrun that Vermejo horse."

"What animal is that?" Charley asked.

"She's in th' circular corral," the Ramblin'Kid answered laconically.

"The Gold Dust maverick?" Bertquestioned.

"That's the one I mean," the Ramblin' Kidreplied in a low voice, "for two miles—or five—there ain't nothin' in westernTexas, or Mexico either, that can catchher."

"Why don't you take her in when theRodeo is on and run her in thesweepstakes then?" Chuck asked eagerly."I ain't caring what Kiowa horse gets themoney just so that Y-Bar outfit is takendown a notch or two. Ever since they gotthat Thunderbolt horse and beat Old

Heck's Quicksilver with him they've beencrowing over the Quarter Circle KT andI'm getting plumb sick of it—"

"Old Heck lost three thousand dollars onthat race!" Bert interrupted rathertriumphantly.

"I didn't neither," Old Heck correctedsullenly, "it was only twenty-fivehundred!"

"Well, that Vermejo crowd has got ahundred of mine," Chuck saidvindictively, "but I don't give a darn forthat—I'd be willing to lose twice thatmuch again just to set that Thunderbolthorse of theirs back in second place!"

"Why don't you run the outlaw filly?"Charley asked coaxingly of theRamblin' Kid.

"Yes, go on and put her in," Skinny urged,"—you ought to!"

The Ramblin' Kid remained silent,seemingly indifferent to the teasing of theothers.

Carolyn June leaned over and said, in avoice audible only to him, while her eyesgrew mellow with a look that tested hiscomposure to the uttermost but whichwrung no sign from him:

"Please, race the maverick—I—want youto—Ramblin' Kid!"

It was the first time she had used his namein speaking directly to him and the tone inwhich it was spoken made him tremble inspite of himself. For a moment he returnedher gaze. Her words and manner were sodifferent that by their very difference theyreminded him of what she had called himyesterday—"an ignorant, savage, stupidbrute"—when he had refused to interferewith the cat when its head was caught inthe can. He started to make a cynicalreply. Then he remembered her sympathyfor Old Blue, her apology later for theharsh words—anyhow he knew or felt inhis heart they were true—and suddenly heseemed to see the pink satin garter he stillcarried in his pocket. The look that cameinto his eyes made Carolyn June lower herown. He smiled a whimsical but hopeless

smile, as, replying apparently to thepleading of Charley and Skinny, he said,softly, the single word:

"Maybe!"

Old Heck had forgotten the annual Rodeoheld in Eagle Butte, for some days eachsummer, around the Fourth of July. Hissudden determination and eagerness tohave the beef round-up begin earlier thanusual in order to get Parker away from thewidow had driven all else but that oneidea from his mind. The protests remindedhim of his oversight. He had not intendedto deprive the cowboys of the opportunityto enjoy the one big event happeningyearly in the Kiowa country and whichtemporarily turned Eagle Butte, for a few

days each summer, into a seethingmetropolis of care-free humanity.

"I think it's a darned shame to spring thebeef hunt so it will interfere with theRodeo," Bert grumbled, "—and us have tobe out on the hills wrangling steers whilethe celebration is going on!"

"I'm not-goin! to be out on th' hills then,"the Ramblin' Kid said quietly but withunchangeable finality.

"You can all go to the Rodeo," Old Heckinterposed, not feeling just right in hisconscience about sending Parker away inadvance of the time expected, and wishingto make amends,"—Parker and all of you.You can 'break' the round-up for a few

days during the Rodeo and what cattleyou've got gathered by then can be turnedinto the big pasture and held there till it'sover. That'll let you all get into EagleButte for the Fourth—I'd like to see thatblamed Thunderbolt horse beat myself!But we'll start the beef hunt Monday theway I said in the first place—"

"Who's going to cook, this year, on theround-up?" Charley queried. "You can'ttake the Chink from here this time, canyou?"

"I reckon Sing Pete'll have to go along asusual," Old Heck answered; "it'll make ita little unhandy at the ranch, but—"

"Ophelia and I can 'batch' while you are

gone," Carolyn June suggested."We won't mind being alone and it will befun to cook our own meals."

"We will enjoy it," Ophelia addedagreeably.

"You ain't going to be alone," Old Hecksaid; "Skinny and me will be here. Whenit comes to the cooking maybe between thefour of us we can get along some way!"

"Well, if the round-up's got to startMonday," Parker declared sullenly as theyleft the table, "I'll have to go down totown again to-day and get me a newsaddle. Mine was on Old Blue."

"I'll go with you," Old Heck said in a

conciliatory way. "Charley and the otherboys can be working on them dead steerstill we get back. We'll go in the car andought to make the round-trip by noon."

CHAPTER X

FIXING FIXERS

The widow and Carolyn June were aloneat the house. Old Heck and Parker wentimmediately from the breakfast table to thegarage to get the car out to go to EagleButte. The cowboys were at the barnpreparing to begin the day's work. Skinnyhad excused himself, ostensibly to attendto some ranch chores, but in reality to getaway to the bunk-house and "fix up" forthe day's courtship of Carolyn June. Heplanned, when the cowboys were gone, toput on the white shirt Parker brought,

yesterday, from Eagle Butte.

"Ophelia," Carolyn June said mysteriouslyas they stepped out on the front porch andfilled their lungs with the clean air of themorning, "you made a 'discovery'yesterday, I believe?" pausingquestioningly.

"Yes," the widow smiled, recalling theirconversation relative toParker's abrupt proposal of marriage.

"To-day," Carolyn June continuedimpressively, "it is my turn—I have madeone!"

"And it is?"

"You and I have been 'framed!'" was the

answer spoken solemnly yet scarcelylouder than a whisper, while the browneyes of Carolyn June sparkled with amixture of suppressed anger, merrimentand indignation.

"Framed?" the widow repeatedinquiringly, "just what does 'framed' mean,my dear?"

"Framed means," Carolyn June repliedwisely, "'tricked,' 'jobbed,' 'jinxed,''fixed,' or whatever it is people do topeople when they scheme to do somethingto them without the ones to whom they aredoing it knowing how it is done!"

"Exceedingly lucid, my love," the widowlaughed, "but you are so agonizingly fond

of suspense—"

"Come inside," Carolyn June said as sheled the way into the house, "and in a darkcorner—no, that would be too near to thewalls and their proverbial 'ears,' in thecenter of the room is better—I will exposethe whole diabolical plot!"

At the end of the reading table theystopped and faced each other.

"And now?" Ophelia said, expectantly.

"And now," Carolyn June repeated, hervoice low and carefully guarded. "Listen:Before Ophelia Cobb and Carolyn JuneDixon ever arrived at this Quarter CircleKT their 'lovers' were already picked out

for them—officially chosen, delegated,appointed, foreordained and everything!The 'arrangements' had all been made—"

"I don't understand," the widow said,bewildered by the rapid flow of legal-sounding words.

"Nor did I at first," Carolyn June went on,"but I have figured it all out! I have'discovered' what all this mysterioushinting about 'arrangements,' 'theagreement,' 'Old Heck's day,' 'Parker'stime,' 'Skinny's job,' and so forth means! Ihave studied it out. Why is SkinnyRawlins thrown into my lap as my'regular' lover? It's his 'job'—that is why!And why the day-and-day-about courtingof yourself by Uncle Josiah and Parker? It

is the 'agreement'—the one is to have youone day and the other the next! Before wecame some such arrangement was fixedup. I am sure of it—"

"Impossible," Ophelia protested,"preposterous!"

"Outrageous!" Carolyn June addedvehemently, "but truth just the same! Tostart with they didn't want us to come.That telegram lying about them all havingthe smallpox proved as much. We were,for some reason or other, considered'afflictions,' Why, I don't know. I guessthey thought we were a pair of femalevampires or something and had to bedisposed of in advance to prevent ourstirring things up and causing a lot of

murders or suicides or duels on theQuarter Circle KT!"

"I can't believe it," Ophelia muttered as ifstunned. "Why, that would be 'dealing'with us just as though we were cattle!"

"That's it!" Carolyn June exclaimedvindictively, her anger for the momentgetting the better of her sense of theridiculous, "they 'dealt' in us! More thanlikely they played poker to decide how todivide us up—to see who should love youand which should love me! As if the heartof a woman can be made to run in agroove cut to order by the hand of anymasculine—insect!" she finished,thoughtless of the incongruous metaphor.

"Then Skinny and your Uncle Josiah," thewidow murmured, "andParker—are—are—pretending?"

"No," Carolyn June answered, "theystarted out 'pretending,' but they'vestepped into their own trap! They arepainfully serious now—they are'intending!'"

"What shall we do about it?" Opheliaasked helplessly.

"We ought to assassinate them!" CarolynJune snapped, then laughed as theabsurdity of the situation dawned upon herand her sense of humor overcame themoment of anger and indignation. "I haveit—I've got it! We will Vamp' them in

dead earnest! We'll fix the 'fixers,' we'llframe the 'framers'!"

"But how?" doubtfully.

"From now on," Carolyn June replieddecisively, "I am going to flirt,individually and collectively—desperately and wickedly—with thewhole male population of this ranch!We'll show them what premeditated love-making really is! When it comes to UncleJosiah and, well, possibly Parker, youwill have to take care of that giddy pairyourself and, incidentally, you might worksome on Charley Saunders," mentioningthe oldest of the cowboys. "I'll just flickeran eyelid occasionally at Parker, unlessyou object?"

"Not in the least," Ophelia answered,blushing a trifle.

"Well, then, we will make it a free-for-all," Carolyn June said, "and—"

"How about the Ramblin' Kid?" thewidow interrupted, "do you think he is oneof the conspirators—is in on the—the—'frame-up?' Is he also to be a 'Victim'?"

Carolyn June colored the least bit, pauseda moment before she replied, then saidrather stiffly:

"He—yes, he is probably having more funwatching us being 'officially' made love tothan any other one of the entire bunch. TheRamblin' Kid will have to take his

medicine along with the rest! Every man-thing on the Quarter Circle KT—eliminating Sing Pete from thatclassification —is my meat!"

"When does the slaughter begin?" Ophelialaughed.

"Right now!" Carolyn June answered."War is declared—"

She stopped suddenly as a step soundedon the porch and a moment later Skinnyentered the room. He was painfully"dressed up." The instant Old Heck andParker, in the Clagstone "Six," started forEagle Butte and the cowboys disappeareddown the lane in the direction of the bigpasture, Skinny struggled into the white

shirt. He planned to try its effect onCarolyn June while the others were away.If it did not produce results he would slipback to the bunk-house before theyreturned and change again to his normaldress.

When Skinny stepped into the room hewas fully conscious of his unusualappearance. The morning was warm andhe had not put on a coat. The shirtbillowed over his shoulders, arms andchest in a snowy cloud. It seemedimpossible to Skinny that anything in allthe world could be so vividly, persistentlywhite as the cloth that literally envelopedthe upper half of his body. It actuallygleamed. The sleeves of the shirt were toolong. A pair of sky-blue, rosette-fastened,

satin ribbon sleeve-holders above hiselbows kept the cuffs from slipping overhis hands. Parker had been unable to getthe purple necktie and had brought,instead, one that was a solid Shamrockgreen. Skinny swore when he saw the tie,but decided to wear it anyhow. Parker hadexplained by saying he had forgotten theerrand until he was starting from town andthen stepped into Old Leon's—a cheapgeneral store in Eagle Butte—andpurchased the outfit from the Jew. Thataccounted also for the surplus length ofsleeve—the shirt was a size and a halflarger than Skinny had ordered and forwhich Parker declared positively he hadasked. Eternal hatred for all Hebrews wasborn in Skinny's heart the moment he sawthe layout. But, well, it was there; he was

anxious to see if a white shirt would haveany effect, and he would wear it anyway.

Skinny knew instantly that he made animpression on Carolyn June.

She looked at him once and wasspeechless!

"By gosh," he said to himself, "Chuck wasright! It sure does beat hell how clothesaffect a woman!"

Carolyn June, unquestionably, wasovercome. The surprise had been toomuch for her. He had knocked her cold!The shirt had done the work! She bitnervously at the nail of her thumb, presseddesperately against her teeth. Her whole

body trembled. Her face flamed scarlet.Skinny saw her agitation and resolved atthat moment that he would never again bewithout a white shirt!

Ophelia also was visibly affected. Thewidow gave one look at Skinny, glancedquickly at Carolyn June, then, with herhands clasped tightly against her breast,she leaned weakly against the table andchewed at her underlip. She started tospeak and stopped.

"Well, I—I—got back!" Skinny said,breaking the spell while he grinnedsomewhat sheepishly and yet with an airof complete satisfaction.

"I—I—see you—did!" Carolyn June

choked hysterically.

"I was gone longer than I aimed to be,"Skinny continued, rapidly gainingconfidence as he saw the confusion of thewomen; "after I got the chores done Iconcluded to fix up a little. This is the firsttime I ever wore this shirt," he went on,feeling that a bit of explanation wasentirely proper and would probably helpin restoring the composure of CarolynJune and the widow. "Parker just broughtit out yesterday and it was a good deal oftrouble to make the collar work right. Itseemed like it was pretty stiff orsomething. Generally speaking the wholeoutfit's bigger than it really ought to be,but maybe it'll shrink up some when it'swashed," he finished in a casual matter-

of-fact way.

"It—it—is wonderful!" Carolyn Junestammered, "it is—I don't think I ever sawone that was—was—whiter—"

"It looked that way to me," Skinnyinterrupted as if glad some one else hadnoticed a peculiarity of the garment thatalready had troubled him somewhat, "Ithought it was uncommonly white!"

"Perhaps it just seems that way becausewe are not used to it," Ophelia suggestedsympathetically.

"That's it!" Carolyn June exclaimedfeverishly, "it is because we are not usedto it—it will be perfectly all right when

we have looked at it a little more!"

Skinny decided he would risk the gauntletof comment from Parker, OldHeck and the cowboys and wear the shirtthe rest of the day.

Carolyn June was really sorry for Skinny,but—she needed air—she felt she musthave it.

"Please," she cried suddenly and with, aneffort, "excuse me! I—I—have somethingI wish to do! You," speaking to Skinny,"and Ophelia stay here and visit eachother a while!"

Without waiting for an answer she steppedquickly into the kitchen, asked Sing Pete

for a handful of sugar and hurried out tothe circular corral.

"Oh, Skinny, Skinny, you are so funny,"she laughed aloud as she went through theback-yard gate. "It breaks my heart tobreak your heart—but you are one of the'fixers' and you've got to be 'fixed.'"

The Gold Dust maverick at first was shywhen Carolyn June opened the gate andentered the corral. After a few momentsshe recognized the girl and was sooneating the sugar from the hand of CarolynJune. Before the supply was exhausted thefriendship and confidence of the two,begun yesterday, was firmly reestablished.The maverick allowed Carolyn June toswing her weight from the glossy withers,

to clasp her arms tightly about the trim,clean-built neck, and when, after an hour,the girl started toward the house, theoutlaw mare protested so eagerly againstbeing left alone that she turned back to thecorral and leaning against the fencestroked the soft muzzle thrust between thebars.

Carolyn June was cooing endearing termsto the filly and playing with the quiveringunderlip when she heard a horse gallopingswiftly up the lane and past the barn.Instinctively she stepped back and turnedjust as the Ramblin' Kid, riding CaptainJack, wheeled around the end of the shednear the corral.

His sudden appearance surprised her. She

had thought he was with the cowboys overat the upland pasture helping skin thesteers killed by the lightning.

When they left the ranch the Ramblin' Kidhad ridden away with Charley and theothers, but not with any intention of goingto the big pasture. Where the road turnedtoward the lower ford he held CaptainJack to the left.

"Ain't you going with us," CharleySaunders asked, "and help skin themsteers?"

"No," the Ramblin' Kid replied quietly. "Iain't. I've got something else to do.Anyhow, I ain't a butcher—I work withlive cattle, not dead ones!" he concluded

as Captain Jack continued in the directionof the upper crossing.

"He's the independentest darn' cuss I eversaw!" Charley remarked to hiscompanions as the Ramblin' Kiddisappeared. "It's a wonder Old Heckdon't fire him."

"He can't," Bert laughed. "Th' Ramblin'Kid don't stay at the Quarter Circle KT bythe grace of Old Heck, but by the choiceof th' Ramblin' Kid! Anyhow, he's toogood with horses—" His voice trailedaway to a low mutter as they turned inamong the willows and cottonwood treesalong the bank of the Cimarron.

At the upper crossing on almost the same

spot where he had lifted Carolyn Junefrom the quicksand to the solid ground ofthe meadow land, the Ramblin' Kidstopped Captain Jack. He looked out overthe placid, unbroken surface of the sand-bar and saw the end of the broken ropecoiled loosely where Old Blue had beendrawn under. A few yards away the whitefelt hat Carolyn June had tossed to oneside, to be a mute and pathetic messengerof her fate, when she thought death wascertain, still rested on the smooth surfaceof the sand. It was to get the hat theRamblin' Kid had come again to the sceneof yesterday's tragedy. He had seen itlying there when Carolyn June and he rodeaway on Captain Jack and thought then oftrying to get it, but the part of the brokenrope attached to his saddle was too short

to reach it and it was impossible to secureit in any other way. Chuck had returned theRamblin' Kid's rope to him yesterdaywhen they were after the runaway steersand it was now on his saddle. He lightlytossed the noose so that it fell circling theobject he sought. Gently flicking the ropetoward him he tightened the loop about thecrown of the hat and drew it to the edge ofthe quicksand. He picked up the hat,looked curiously at it, remounted CaptainJack, paused a moment and gazed at thetreacherous surface beneath which thebody of Old Blue was hidden and with asavagely muttered something about "th'damned stuff!" whirled the little stallionand rode rapidly in the direction fromwhich he came.

As Captain Jack galloped along the lanethe Ramblin' Kid looked at the hatcuriously, turning it first one way and thenthe other. With a laugh he reached into hispocket and drew out the pink satin garter.An expression of tenderness, followed bya look of deep humility that quicklychanged into savage anger, came into hiseyes as he looked first at the hat, soiledand dirty, and then at the dainty bit ofelastic he held in his hand.

"A swell pair of souvenirs," he saidbitterly, "for an 'ign'rant, savage, stupidbrute' of a cow-puncher to be packin'around!"

Before reaching the barn the Ramblin' Kiddropped the garter again into his pocket.

Rounding the end of the shed he rodeCaptain Jack directly up to Carolyn June.Dismounting, he left the little roanstanding, not troubling to drop the reinsover the broncho's head, stepped towardthe girl and extended the hat, sayingsimply and without emotion.

"Here's your hat!"

There was no embarrassment now orhumility in his eyes as he looked steadilyat Carolyn June. His expression was ascold as if the one to whom he spoke wasan utter stranger.

"I—" Carolyn June hesitated, "oh, I thankyou! It was kind of you to think about itand ride back—back—there," she

involuntarily shuddered when she thoughtof the upper crossing, "and get it!"

The simple, unexpected thoughtfulness ofthe deed touched her. It was the natural,instinctive act of a gentleman. She hadforgotten the hat. He had not. As shelooked at him she felt that, someway, shemight have known such a thing wasexactly what he would do.

"You're welcome," he said quietly,starting to turn away.

A spirit of mischief suddenly flared up inher heart. She thought of the pink elasticshe had lost and which she believed hewas carrying now in his pocket.

"Is the hat all—didn't you—" she intendedto say "find something else?" but quicklystopped. The Ramblin' Kid paused andturned again toward Carolyn June. Shehesitated in confusion. It had flashed toher mind that if he had the garter he wouldnot lie about it. He would say as much andoffer to return it to her. Someway, she didnot wish that—she wanted him to keep it,but she did not want him to know that shewanted her garter to be carried by him!

His black eyes looked keenly at her, as ifthey would force from her lips the thingshe evidently dared not say.

"I—I was just getting acquainted with theGold Dust maverick!" CarolynJune finished lamely with a nervous laugh.

"You want to be careful," the Ramblin'Kid said with the slightest curl of his lipsat her obvious shifting of meanings, "sheain't exactly a 'lady's animal' yet. She'llfight. Skinny started to go in th' corral thismorning an' had to back up. Th' maverickwent at him to kill. She's goin' to be a'one-man' horse th' same as Captain Jack."

"Perhaps it was because she was afraid ofhim," Carolyn June suggested.

"Maybe it was because Skinny was afraidof her," the Ramblin' Kid chuckled.

"Aren't you going to ride the filly in thatrace at Eagle Butte?" she asked suddenlywith a hint of coquetry in her eyes andvoice.

"Why?" he shot back at her, observing thechanged inflection and look.

"I—I—would like you to," Carolyn Junemurmured demurely as she followed upthe feminine method of mastering a man,"it would be fun to see her run!"

"Is that all?" the Ramblin' Kid askedgently and with a peculiar emphasis.

"Isn't that enough?" the girl countered in atone bordering close to the tender.

The answer was slow in coming.

"Th' Gold Dust maverick will be in th'sweepstakes," the Ramblin' Kid finallysaid, a note of contempt in his voice. "I'llride her"—as he jerked the saddle from

Captain Jack, turned the stallion into thecorral, then started toward the bunk-house,while Carolyn June moved away in thedirection of the back-yard gate—"I'll rideher," he repeated, emphasizing stronglythe last ten words, "to beat thatThunderbolt horse from over on th'Vermejo".

CHAPTER XI

A DANCE AND A RIDE

Old Heck and Parker returned from EagleButte before noon. Parker climbed silentlyfrom the Clagstone "Six" and lifting out anew saddle went toward the stable. OldHeck carried another—a beautiful thing,artistically scrolled, the horn and stirrupssilver trimmed—and laid it on the frontporch as Carolyn June, Ophelia andSkinny stepped out of the big room.

"It's yours," he said to Carolyn June.

"Oh, you darling old uncle!" sheexclaimed, throwing her arms around hisneck and giving a tight squeeze while shekissed him full on the mouth.

He reddened. "I ain't so darned old!" helaughed as he withdrew from her embraceand, glancing up, caught sight of Skinny inthe immaculate shirt. "My Gawd!" hewhispered under his breath.

Parker immediately saddled a horse androde away to join the cowboys at theirwork. Lunches for the party had beentaken with them when they left the ranch inthe morning. During the trip to Eagle ButteOld Heck and his foreman had talked butlittle. There was a feeling of restraintbetween Parker and him that made each

hesitate to start a conversation that wouldbe almost certain to work around to adiscussion of Ophelia—a subjectuppermost in the minds of both.

At noon the Ramblin' Kid came to thehouse for dinner.

He and Skinny occupied their usualplaces. He looked once at Skinny's shirt,murmured softly and in a tone of infinitedisgust and pity, "Hell!" then ate his foodin silence. During the meal Carolyn Juneignored him, but smiled tenderly and oftenat Skinny. Old Heck and the widow, at thefar end of the table, carried on a low-voiced dialogue.

During the afternoon the Ramblin' Kid

remained away from the house. A coupleof times, glancing out of the window,Carolyn June saw him at the circularcorral petting and caressing Captain Jackor the Gold Dust maverick.

When Sing Pete hammered the irontriangle announcing supper Parker and thecowboys had returned, the hides from thedead steers had been unloaded and themen were ready for the meal.

As Carolyn June and Ophelia went intothe kitchen they exchanged a look ofunderstanding. Skinny lagged behind OldHeck. He dreaded the shock of the whiteshirt on the other cowboys. When hestepped into the room his face flamedscarlet and beads of sweat stood out on

his forehead. He expected merciless,sarcastic chiding—thinly veiled but cruel.He was disappointed. The cowboyslooked at him for a moment, exchangedwinks, then sat silently and solemnlydown to the table. The presence of thewomen had saved, for the time being, thesuffering Skinny.

Carolyn June distributed tender words andvelvety looks impartially among theyounger cowboys, while Opheliaalternated sweet nothings between Parkerand Old Heck, with an occasionalsidelong glance at Charley that brought aheightened color to his sun-brownedcheeks.

Chuck sighed dolefully.

"Why so sad?" Carolyn June asked gently,looking with melting sympathy at thepensive cowboy.

"I—I—was just thinking of a—a—funeralI saw once!" he answered, gazing steadilyand with pretended awe at Skinny's whiteshirt. "Some colors always remind me offunerals or—or—weddings!" heexplained.

A suppressed snicker circled the table.

"Don't be down-hearted," Carolyn Junelaughed, "it may not go that far.

"Uncle Josiah," she added suddenly,"Ophelia and I have a wonderful surprisefor you and the boys."

Old Heck looked at her without replyingwhile he awaited an explanation.

"We are going to give a dance!" CarolynJune went on.

"A dance?" he repeated incredulously,"when—"

"To-night—in the front room," shehastened to explain, "not a big dance—justa little one for you and the boys. Thegraphophone will furnish music, there aresome good one-step and waltz records—Skinny and I were playing them thisafternoon—and every blessed cowboy onthe Quarter Circle KT must be there!"

A short silence followed her words, then

a chorus of "We'll be there!" greeted her.

"In an hour," Carolyn June said, smilingsweetly at the cowboys, as they left thekitchen, "everybody be back at the house.We'll fix the room and have it ready—don't any one bother to 'dress up,'" sheadded as an afterthought.

"Old Heck's niece acts kind ofstampedish, don't she?" Bert remarked asParker and the cowboys filed out of theback-yard gate toward the bunk-house.

"Yes," Charley answered. "I'm going toshave."

"So am I," said Chuck, as they hurried inthe direction of their sleeping quarters.

"Me, too," laughed Bert. "Gee, didn'tSkinny shine in that shirt?" as theydisappeared inside the building and therewas a rush to hunt out razors, brushes andother toilet necessities or cleanhandkerchiefs and ties.

The Ramblin' Kid alone seemeduninterested. He dropped down on his bedand idly watched the others prepare forthe evening's diversion.

"Ain't you going?" Chuck asked him,noticing his indifference.

A short, half-cynical laugh with "Oh,maybe I'll go set on the porch an' listen toth' music!" was the answer.

When Parker and the cowboys reappearedat the house it was plain that all haddisobeyed Carolyn June's injunction not to"dress up." Each had paid tribute in someway, by a smooth-scraped face, a deanshirt, a tie or something, to the vanity ofhis own heart and the desire for the goodopinion of either Carolyn June or thewidow.

Both women noticed it. They exchangedglances while Carolyn June softlywhispered to Ophelia: "Stir them up—it'scoming to them!"

The widow smiled understandingly.

Old Heck fidgeted uncomfortably. Thesituation was entirely beyond his control.

By right he and Ophelia ought to be sittingthere quietly making love, while Skinnyand Carolyn June, in another corner of theroom or out on the porch, were doing thesame thing. He would just have to awaitdevelopments.

Parker was elated. Carolyn June'sproposal had broken up Old Heck'sevening alone with the widow. Perhaps—the thought thrilled the foreman —Opheliaherself had planned it!

"Skinny can keep the graphophoneworking," Carolyn June laughed. "Put on aone-step first," she said as he rathergrudgingly went to the corner and startedthe music. "Come on, Bert, we'll dancethis one," she cried merrily, as she

stepped up to the blushing cowboy and puther hand, with a tender little pressure, onhis arm. "It's 'ladies' night,' you know—Ophelia, pick your pardner!"

"Aw—don't you reckon you ought tochoose one of the others first?" Bert,considerably embarrassed by the suddenattention, mumbled as he moved withpretended reluctance but secret eagernessout on to the floor.

"I know who I want to dance with!"Carolyn June whispered significantly withanother squeeze of his arm while herwarm breath fanned his cheek.

For a moment Ophelia stood as ifundecided while Old Heck and Parker

each tried by their looks to registerunconcern, their hearts meanwhile leapingwith uncertain expectancy and hope.Suddenly turning from both and going upto Charley, she said softly and with well-feigned shyness:

"I—I—please, won't you dance this onewith me?"

"With the most exceeding pleasure!"Charley replied gallantly, arising andreaching out his hands.

Parker and Old Heck gulped theirastonishment and disappointment—eachswallowing as if he had something in histhroat that would not go down—andglared savagely at each other.

Skinny next put on a waltz record. CarolynJune and Chuck swung through its dreamyrhythm while her hair brushed thecowboy's neck and her eyes, half closed,looked alluringly into his. "I—I—coulddo this forever—with you!" she breathed,accenting the last word and making Chuckwant to yell for joy.

At the beginning of the waltz Opheliapaused a moment before Old Heck,glanced demurely at Parker, took a steptoward the latter, turned quickly to thefirst and flooding him with a look oftenderness held out her hands while shespoke the simple entreaty:

"Please!"

Old Heck leaped to his feet, hitchednervously at the belt of his trousers, ranhis fingers around the inside of his collar,and, with a look of triumph at Parker, ledthe widow through the dance. Shepermitted her body to relax and leanagainst her partner, dancing with anabandon that not only fired the emotions ofOld Heck to fever heat, but was as welllike dippers of oil on the flame of theforeman's jealousy.

Parker gritted his teeth and followed OldHeck with a look that meant nothing lessthan the desire to kill!

As Ophelia and Old Heck, and CarolynJune with Chuck circled the room Skinnyleaned weakly against the graphophone.

He was tortured agonizingly by the strangeaction of Carolyn June. He was her lover,her official, absolute lover! Why did shewant to go and get things all mixed up likethis? It wasn't fair. The other boys werenot supposed to make love to her! Theyhad elected him to do it and he was gettingalong all right till she thought of havingthis blamed fool dance. He began to doubtthe efficacy of the white shirt andfrequently drew one of the loose, baggysleeves—rapidly losing their snowyspotlessness—across his face to ridhimself of beads of perspiration.

The waltz was followed by another one-step and Ophelia granted this favor toParker while Old Heck sat and sworesteadily under his breath—regretful that he

had not sent the foreman and the cowboysout on the beef hunt a week ago!

Outside, the Ramblin' Kid half-reclined onthe edge of the porch. With a cigarettebetween his teeth, a sneering smile on hislips, he watched, through the open door,the group within. He was convinced nowthat Carolyn June was utterly frivolous.She danced and flirted with Bert, Chuck,Charley—and even Pedro—one after theother and occasionally Parker. PoorSkinny alone was neglected. She seemedto have forgotten that he existed savewhen, from time to time, she suggestedthat he put this or that record on thegraphophone. To each of the cowboys shewhispered tender little sentiments, gavesoulful looks and insinuating smiles—all

but caressed them openly. Ophelia didlike things to Old Heck, Parker andCharley.

In very truth it was a "slaughter."

It was hot. After an hour Carolyn Junestepped out on the porch for a breath of airwhile Skinny sought in the cabinet for arecord she had asked him to play. TheRamblin' Kid straightened up as she cameout of the door. He was disgusted, angry,heart-sickened. He had seen enough andwas starting to leave.

Carolyn June had noticed the absence ofthe Ramblin' Kid. She had believed, allevening, he was on the porch and that wasthe real reason she had come outside. She

saw him. "Oh, is—is—that you, Ramblin'Kid?" she exclaimed as if surprised, andwent quickly to where, at the sound of hervoice, he had paused.

He did not answer. The light shone full onhis face and he knew that she knew—andhad known before she spoke—that he wasthere. His eyes were filled with a lookqueerly blending scorn, loathing, pity andpain.

"Why—why—don't you come in anddance?" she asked lightly, not certain ofhis mood.

"I don't want to," he replied coldly:"anyhow—" he added with a sneer and abrutal laugh as he slowly moved away in

the darkness, "when I decide to hug I'llhug in private!"

Carolyn June started almost as though hehad struck her. The taunt was an insult! Aflood of anger swept over her. "Thebrute!" she whispered passionately andwith utter contempt in her voice. Shestood a moment. Suddenly sheremembered the reckless abandon withwhich she had been dancing and flirtingwith the cowboys inside the house. Herface flamed scarlet. She looked out intothe blackness toward the circular corral.Her expression changed and a pityingsmile crossed her lips: "Poor Ramblin'Kid—he just—does not understand!" shemurmured and stepped back into thehouse.

As the Ramblin' Kid passed through theback-yard gate he muttered savagely underhis breath: "Playin' with their hearts likemarbles—th' damned fools!" He paused amoment and added, as though tired, "Oh,well, I reckon she thinks she has to do it—it's her breed—she was raised that way Iguess!"

The snuffling sound of a horse blowinghay-powder or other dust from its nostrilscame from the direction of the circularcorral. The Ramblin' Kid stopped in hiswalk and turning went thoughtfully throughthe darkness toward where Captain Jackand the Gold Dust maverick were quietlyfeeding. He leaned against the bars of thecorral and looked at the shadowy forms ofthe two horses standing a little distance

away. Captain Jack quit eating and cameto the fence.

"God! Little Horse"—the Ramblin' Kidspoke tensely and without repression—"why can't humans be as decent an'honest as you?"

The black dome of night was studded withinnumerable stars that gleamed like pointsof silver sprinkled over a canopy ofsomber velvet some infinite hand hadflung, in a great arch, from rim to rim of asleeping world. The call of a night birdshrilled softly from the cottonwood treesalong the Cimarron. A hint of a breezeswung idly from the west and rustled theleaves in the tops of the poplars in front ofthe house. Faintly as a distant echo came

the wailing strains of a waltz, drifting outfrom the lighted windows and the opendoor of the room where Carolyn June andOphelia, in a spirit of sport and forrevenge, juggled the hearts of men afraidof nothing in all the world but the look in aWoman's eyes.

The music tortured the soul of theRamblin' Kid. It breathed theunfathomable strife of life—of love,longing, hope, despair—almost, yetsubtly, elusively, would not tell the eternal"Why?" of all things.

Not heeding time, he stood and listened.The crunching sound made by the GoldDust maverick, munching at the pile of hayon the ground in the corral, blended with

and seemed a queer accompaniment to themelody that came from the scene ofrevelry up at the house.

The orange disk of a late-rising moonshowed above the rim of the sand-hills atthe lower end of the valley. The Ramblin'Kid watched it—until it grew into arounded plate of burnished, glisteningsilver. The Gold Dust maverick wassuddenly flooded with a glare of light asthe moonbeams poured over the top of theshed and streamed through the bars of thecircular corral. The filly lifted her head.

An impulse to ride—ride—ride, to getaway from it all—far out on the wideunpeopled plains where there was nothingabove but God, and the unmeasured depths

of His heavens, and nothing beneath butthe earth and the rhythmic beat of hishorse's feet, came over the Ramblin' Kid.Men, and the works of men—theirpassions, their strifes, their foolishness—and women—women who played withlove—he wanted to forget, to leave milesand miles behind.

He started to open the gate, thinking tosaddle Captain Jack and obey the impulseof the moment. Carolyn June's words,spoken of the Gold Dust maverick: "Itwould be fun to see her run!" and utteredlightly and in a spirit of coquetry thatmorning when she teased him to enter theoutlaw filly in the race against theThunderbolt horse from the Vermejo,came to his mind. The selfishness of the

plea maddened him. She cared nothing forthe price in effort—the straining muscles,the panting breath—the agony the beautifulmare must pay to defeat the black wonderfrom the other part of the range. Shewanted only to see the maverick run—tocoax him to yield and run the filly merelyto please the cheap vanity of her sex! Nodoubt also she counted on entertainmentwhen, to-morrow, he would ride theoutlaw for the first time. It would be akind of show—the battle for masterybetween himself and the high-breduntamed mare. The whole bunch—OldHeck, Parker, Ophelia, Carolyn June, thecowboys—yes, even that damned Chink—unquestionably would be crowded aboutthe corral to watch the fear and pain of themaverick as she learned her first hard

lesson of servitude to man! They wouldlaugh at her frenzied efforts to throw him.

He would fool them. He would ride thefilly to-night!

He went to the shed, slipped his legs intothe worn leather chaps, took saddle,bridle, blanket and rope and returned tothe corral.

Stepping inside he closed the gate behindhim.

Captain Jack came to him and nosed at hisshoulder.

"No, Little Man," the Ramblin' Kid saidgently, "this ain't your turn.You can go with us though, if you want

to!" he laughed.

The Gold Dust maverick stood, half-afraid, at the other side of the corral. Shehad not yet wholly conquered her dread ofhim. She did not, however, offer to fightas she had done that morning when Skinnyentered the enclosure.

The Ramblin' Kid spoke to the filly and,as she began to move shyly away, withone toss threw the loop over her head. Theinstant the mare felt the rope she stoppedand stood trembling a moment, then camestraight up to him. She was "rope-wise."The experience at the North Springs thenight he caught her, and when she had,three separate times, been cruelly thrownby this same rope; had taught the Gold

Dust maverick the power that lay in thosepliant strands.

She flinched from the touch of the blanket.The Ramblin' Kid worked easily,carefully, but in absolute confidence, withher. As he cautiously saddled the mare hetalked in a low, drawling monotone,uttering endearing phrases andoccasionally slipping a lump of sugar—asupply of which he had got that night fromthe kitchen—into her mouth. She ate itravenously.

"Darn, Little One," he laughed, "you surehave got a sweet tooth—you gobble thatsugar like an Indian squaw eatin' choc'latecandy!"

At last the mare was saddled. Still holdingto the rope, the Ramblin' Kid, withouttrying to get the filly to follow, movedover and opened the gate, giving it a pushand swinging it wide. During theperformance the Gold Dust maverickstood perfectly still, save for a constantchewing at the iron bit between her teeth.

The Ramblin' Kid went quietly up to her,coiling the slack of the rope as headvanced. Without bothering to tighten thereins, but watching closely the look in themaverick's big brown eyes and thenervous twitching of her ears, he laid onehand on the withers of the outlaw, with theother he grasped the horn of the saddleand slipping his foot in the stirrup swungquickly and lightly on to her back.

For the space of a deep breath themaverick crouched, grew tense in everymuscle, slowly arched her back, gatheredherself together for a great effort.

A quiet smile curled the lips of theRamblin' Kid as he looked down on thecurving neck of the beautiful creature.

With a tremendous leap the Gold Dustmaverick sprang high into the air, lungingforward while all her hoofs were off theground. Her forefeet came down acrossthe back of Captain Jack—she had all butcleared the little roan. The shock almostthrew the stallion to the ground. As hesurged from under her the filly slid andsprawled on her shoulder and side.Instantly she was on her feet, the Ramblin'

Kid still in the saddle. His spurs had nottouched the mare—instead he had beencareful not to let their steel points so muchas ruffle the golden-chestnut hair of herbelly or flank. Only when the outlaw fellhad he thrown forward his right leg andhooked the sharp rowels into the strongfiber of the forward cinch. With the lefthand he loosely held the reins, giving themaverick her head—the other hand hebrushed with a caressing upwardmovement along her glossy neck.

Twice the Gold Dust maverick circled thecorral, plunging, bucking "side-winding,"desperately—her nose between her knees,squealing pitifully—as she tried vainly torid herself of the weight of the Ramblin'Kid.

"Go to it, Baby Girl, go to it!" hechuckled; "you've got to learn! Sooner orlater you'll find out it can't be done!" Herode limply, loosely, low in the saddle,and while he made no effort to urge thefilly into greater frenzy he did not try inany way to prevent her bucking herhardest in, the futile attempts to hurl himoff her back.

The second time the outlaw mare came tothe gate she whirled and dashed throughthe opening, out of the corral, across theopen space, past the corner of the front-yard fence and along the road that led upto the bench and toward Eagle Butte.Captain Jack trotted around the corralonce, then followed at a long, swinginggallop.

The noise of the filly bucking inside thecorral reached the ears of the dancers inthe big room at the house.

"What in thunderation's that commotion?"Old Heck exclaimed, starting up—he andOphelia had just finished a two-step andSkinny was winding the graphophone toplay his favorite, the alluring La Paloma.

There was an instant's pause, then a rushfor the door.

Carolyn June reached the porch just intime to see the Gold Dust maverick"hitting the breeze"—careering madly,wildly pitching as she ran past the openingin front of the house and up the road out onthe bench. It was almost as though a

phantom horse and rider had passedbefore her sight.

"Lord! Look at them go!" Charley criedadmiringly.

At first the girl had not recognized theoutlaw mare or her rider.

"Who—what—is it?" she asked Chuck,who was standing beside her.

Bert answered for Chuck. "It's that darn-fool Ramblin' Kid—he's riding the GoldDust maverick!" he said. "Ain't that justlike the blamed idiot—to go and ride thatfilly to-night?"

"Aw, he's liable to do anything," Charleycommented, "he's—"

Before the sentence was finished thebeautiful mare and her apparently carelessrider, with Captain Jack a hundred yardsbehind, disappeared over the brink of thebench and in the silence that followed thegroup on the porch heard only the distantthudding of hoofs beating an ever faintertattoo through the calm, moonlit night.

Carolyn June went back into the housewith conflicting emotions surging throughher heart. She believed she knew why theRamblin' Kid had elected to ride theoutlaw filly to-night. But her thoughts shekept to herself.

For an hour longer the dance continued.But not with the spirit of earlier in theevening. The interruption took something

of the eagerness to punish Old Heck,Parker and the cowboys, out of the heartof Carolyn June. A bit of doubt that therole she and Ophelia were playing wasworthy of true womanhood crept into hermind.

When the widow and Carolyn June werealone Ophelia laughed.

"Whew!" she exclaimed, "that was astrenuous party! I've danced till my feetache! Do you think our little 'counterplot'was a success?"

"Entirely!" Carolyn June replied with anuncertain chuckle. "Uncle Josiah, Parkerand Charley will dream dreams about youand fight duels in their sleep to-night!"

"I think the others—" the widow started tosay, then pausing, finished: "Wasn't itqueer the Ramblin' Kid decided to ridethat outlaw horse to-night instead ofcoming to the house to dance?"

"Oh, I don't know," Carolyn Juneanswered indifferently.

"I guess it's as Charley says," Opheliaremarked: "'You can't tell what th'Ramblin' Kid's liable to do'—"

"I suppose not," Carolyn June repliedwearily as she went into her room."Good night!"

"Good night!" Ophelia echoed.

CHAPTER XII

YOU'LL GET YOUR WISH

It was a silent group that gathered in thebunk-house after the dance. Old Heck,Parker, Charley and the other cowboyshad been unduly stimulated by the music,the laughter and the bright smiles ofCarolyn June and Ophelia. When theystepped out of the house into the cool nightthese all were left behind. The cow-menquickly sobered down and by the time theyreached their sleeping quarters on thefaces of all were half-ashamed looks as ifthey had been playing at a game not quite

dignified enough or proper for men ofmaturity and seriousness.

All were thoughtful and none seemedeager to start conversation.

Skinny was dejected and utterlymiserable.

He felt that he had been cruelty treated.Carolyn June had acted all evening asthough his only object in living was tostand in the corner and wind up thatblamed graphophone, while she openlyflirted with the other cowboys. Skinnywas grateful to the Ramblin' Kid who,alone of all the cow-punchers, haddecency enough to stay away and notinterfere with the original agreement. The

Ramblin' Kid had some sense and wassquare. He had realized that any fellowofficially elected to make love—especially when he didn't want to do it inthe first place—ought to be allowed to goahead and make it without having a lot ofdarned buckaroos butting in on the job.

The way the others had acted was aregular disgrace!

Chuck, Bert, Charley and Pedro werenervously happy. In the heart of each wasa thrill, caused by the memory of somesecret—or what he thought was a secret—manifestation of Carolyn June's interest.Perhaps it was no more than the brushingof a stray whiff of odorous brown hairagainst a weather-tanned cheek, the

pulsing of a warm breath on the side of amuscular neck, a melting look from a pairof luminous eyes, some low-spoken wordor the pressure of a hand, but whatever itwas, each of the cowboys was reasonablycertain he had been singled out for specialfavors. Charley was doubly blessed. Inaddition to Carolyn June's seductiveadvances he had the memory, also, ofOphelia's attentions. His mind was awhirlwith the effort to figure out which one, byrights, he ought to consider as a permanentpossibility.

Old Heck and Parker were in a quandary.

Neither was sure of his standing withOphelia although each had reason tobelieve that he was her favorite. Her

interest in Charley added an unexpectedand perplexing equation to their problem.

"Gosh," Chuck finally exclaimed, "thatdance sure was some blow out!"

"I should say it was!" Bert agreedemphatically and with a satisfied grin."But didn't that widow act funny for an'anti-he' suffragette?"

Old Heck looked up, startled, as if he hadbeen reminded of a disagreeable subjectand one he wished to forget.

"Are you plumb positive that she is one,Parker?" Chuck asked.

"I told you what she was," Parkergrowled, "she's an 'Organizer' for some

sort of 'Movement' or other."

"Well, I'll be blamed if her 'movements'to-night showed any 'anti-he' inclinations,"Charley interrupted. "She carried on morelike a female vampire than one of theseadvocaters of woman's rights!"

"Aw, shut up and go to bed," Old Heckgrunted. "It's too late to start anyargument!"

The moon crept across the heavens andwas hanging above the shadowy peaks ofthe Costejo Mountains when the Ramblin'Kid returned to the sleeping QuarterCircle KT, slipped the saddle from theback of the Gold Dust maverick andturned the filly and Captain Jack into the

circular corral.

He had ridden the outlaw mare almost toEagle Butte.

She had learned her lesson. She knew,when he caressed her muzzle and pressedthe last lump of sugar into her mouth,before he turned away to the bunk-house,that the Ramblin' Kid was not only hermaster but her friend as well—understanding and sympathetic. Neveragain would she doubt his will or resistthe gentle yet firm strength of his hand.From that moment the Gold Dustmaverick, like Captain Jack, was a one-man horse, ready to serve, to trust andobey only the Ramblin' Kid.

"You little beauty," he laughed tenderly ashe playfully shook the underlip of the fillyand started toward the gate, "—you're arunner—gee!—but you're a runner!"

The others were fast asleep when theRamblin' Kid noiselessly opened the doorof the bunk-house, went in, and withoutundressing, stretched himself on his bed.

Old Heck awakened the cowboys as thesun poured its first slanting rays throughthe open un-draped window.

The stir aroused the Ramblin' Kid.

He made no move to arise.

"Ain't you going to get up?" Old Heck saidgarrulously.

"When I damn please!" was theindependent reply. "Skinny, tell th' Chinkto keep me a cup of hot coffee!"

Old Heck snorted but said no more.

Parker and the cowboys dressed silently,half-moodily. They hardly knew yet howthey felt after the excitement of the nightbefore. Skinny started to put on the whiteshirt, looked at it contemptuously amoment, and with a muttered oath threw itviciously on the bed.

In a few moments the Ramblin' Kid wasleft alone in the bunk-house. He lay, handsclasped at the back of his head, studying.His eyes were closed, but he was notasleep. Presently he smiled and opened

his eyes. He drew the pink satin elasticfrom his pocket and looked at it. "That's ahell of a thing to be packin'—wonder whyI keep it?" he muttered. It suddenlyoccurred to him that if he was not atbreakfast Carolyn June would think hewas afraid or ashamed to meet her. He gotup, straightened his disarranged clothes,went to the house and after stopping at theditch by the fence and washing his face,walked indifferently into the kitchen andsat down at his regular place. The othersalready were eating. Carolyn June glancedat him with a meaningless smile andacknowledged, without feeling, his quiet"Good morning!"

The cowboys were nervous. Memory oflast night was fresh in their minds.

It made them cautious in their talk.

Ophelia and Carolyn June, also, were abit restrained.

They were not sure but they had startedmore than it would be easy to stop. Theexpressions in the eyes of the cowboyspaid tribute to the success of the twowomen's efforts at wholesale heart-wrecking. The child-like acceptance of asimple flirtation as the real thing, by thesehusky riders of the range, was little lessthan appalling.

It all but frightened Carolyn June and thewidow.

Old Heck saw the worship in the eyes of

the cowboys.

"Things sure are in a devil of a mix-up!"he growled to himself.

Skinny was so dejected Carolyn June felthalf-guilty and tried to cheer him up. Shebegan talking, in a low voice, directly tothe melancholy-looking cowboy.

"To-day—or some time—when the othersare away," she said caressingly, "you andI will dance all the dances by ourselves!"

His heart leaped joyously. He was sorry,now, that he had not put on the white shirt.He resolved, after a while, to sneak out tothe bunk-house and change.

The confidential talk between Carolyn

June and Skinny galled Chuck. He decidedto break it up.

"What was your idea in riding the GoldDust maverick last night?" he saidabruptly to the Ramblin' Kid.

There was a general pause for the answer.Carolyn June stopped in the middle of asentence and looked curiously at theRamblin' Kid. He took his time to reply.

"Because I wanted to!" was the slowunsatisfactory retort.

"Why didn't you wait till to-day, so therest of us could see how she acted?"Charley asked.

"What do you think you are"—he started

to say—"a bunch of lawyers cross-examinin' a witness?" thought better of itand with a careless laugh answered: "Ifyou're huntin' entertainment, why don't yougo up to Eagle Butte to th' picture show?Th' maverick an' me ain't no exhibition!"

"Did she buck?" Charley continued,ignoring the sarcastic remark.

"Some," the Ramblin' Kid drawled.

"What you going to do with the filly whilewe're out on the beef hunt?"Chuck queried, wishing to keep theconversation general.

"Ride her!" was the laconic reply.

"Ain't you afraid she'll break away from

the caballero and you'll lose her again?"Charley asked.

"When I ain't usin' her I'll 'neck' her toCaptain Jack," the Ramblin' Kid answeredpatiently, referring to the method offastening a wild horse to one that is gentleand prevent its running away, by attachinga short length of rope to the neck of each."I don't believe she'd leave th' stallionanyhow!"

"By golly," Chuck said earnestly and half-pleadingly, "I wish you'd put her againstthat Y-Bar outfit's Thunderbolt horse inthe two-mile sweepstakes this year! Itwould be—"

"Fun to see her run!" the Ramblin' Kid

interrupted, looking up quickly andstraight into the eyes of Carolyn June as hefinished the contemptuous quotation of herwords, spoken the day before at thecorral. She flushed, but gazed back at himwithout flinching. "Well," he continued, "Ireckon you'll get your wish—th' maverickis goin' to run against th' Vermejo horse!"

"The Fourth of July is a week from nextWednesday," Charley said calculatingly."The Rodeo starts on Tuesday, the ropingand bucking finals come on Thursday.That makes the big race come Friday—aweek from next Friday, ain't it?"

"That's right," Bert concurred. "Th'Ramblin' Kid's got nearly two weeks toget the maverick in shape."

"Nothing will be in shape for anything,"Old Heck broke in, getting up from thetable, "unless we move around and getthings ready to begin the beef round-up to-morrow morning. Some of you boys willhave to bring in those saddle horses fromacross the river. Each one of you can rideyour regular 'string' this year"—alludingto the term used to designate the group ofseveral horses used exclusively by eachindividual rider working on a round-up."Skinny won't be with you, but you'dbetter take his horses along for extras.Parker can be getting the grub-wagon inshape—I reckon you'll have to work OldTom and Baldy on it. Sing Pete ought to beable to handle them."

"Where do we start in?" Charley asked as

they went toward the barn.

"Over in the Battle Ridge country," OldHeck answered, "and work everythingeast of the big pasture first. It'll take justabout a week to clean up that side—it'spretty rough riding over there. Then youcan finish the west end after the Rodeo isover."

"What all you aiming to gather?" Bertqueried.

"Everything above a three-year-old," OldHeck replied in a businesslike way; "pickup the dry cows, too, if they're fat enough.Prices are better than usual and I want tosell pretty close on account of that stormknocking the hay the way it did the other

night. There'll be three hundred and fiftyor four hundred good beef critters on theeast range. You ought to have thembunched and in the big pasture by Saturdaynight. Then, until the Rodeo is over youcan all do what you darn' please—"

"I know what I'm going to do," Chucklaughed.

"What?" Bert asked.

"Draw all my wages, borrow all I can,and make a clean-up on that Y-Bar outfiton the race between the Gold Dustmaverick and Thunderbolt!" he exclaimedvindictively.

"Probably there will be some of the rest of

us have a little QuarterCircle KT money up on that race, too,"Charley insinuated.

"I know blamed well there will be!" OldHeck added earnestly as they scattered togo about their respective employments.

It was a busy Sunday at the Quarter CircleKT. Chuck, Charley and Pedro spent themorning and most of the afternoon gettingthe saddle horses from across the river.Bert helped Parker and Old Heck aboutthe ranch. Sing Pete baked a supply oflight-bread and stocked the grub-wagonwith provisions. The Ramblin' Kidvolunteered to "ride-line" on the bigpasture and see that the Diamond Barsteers had not broken out again. He rode a

sorrel colt—one that had had its "first-riding" in the circular corral the daybefore Carolyn June and Ophelia arrivedat the Quarter Circle KT. When he cameto the corner of the pasture where thebodies of the cattle, killed by lightning,lay, a flock of buzzards were tearing at thecarcasses. As the gorged creaturesflapped heavily into the air the youngbroncho wheeled, and bucking frantically,jolted away from the gruesome scene. TheRamblin' Kid forced the animal to turnabout and made him pass, rearing andplunging, among the skinless and alreadydecaying forms. Before sundown theRamblin' Kid was back at the ranch.

In the afternoon Skinny and Carolyn Junewent for a ride down the valley. It was her

first opportunity to try the new saddle.Skinny was mounted on Old Pie Face andCarolyn June rode Browny, a dependableold cow-horse.

"Gee," Carolyn June remarked as theypassed the circular corral. "I'd like to ridethe Gold Dust maverick with this outfit!"

"It would be a dandy combination,"Skinny said admiringly, "but I doubt ifanybody but th' Ramblin' Kid will ever beable to ride the filly. So far, she acts likeshe's going to be a worse one-man horsethan Captain Jack is. She tried to kill meyesterday when I went into the corral!"

"What makes her that way?" Carolyn Juneasked.

"Blamed if I know," Skinny replied,"some horses are naturally like that. Th'Ramblin' Kid says it ain't in the horse—it's in the human. If the human don'tunderstand the horse the horse won't trustthe human and where there ain't trustthere's fear and where there's fear there'shate. He's got some funny ideas!"

"Sounds sort of sensible, though, doesn'tit?" Carolyn June said musingly.

"Maybe it does," Skinny retorted, "but hegoes a little too far with his fool notionssometimes, it seems to me."

"How is that?" Carolyn June questioned.

"Well, for one thing," Skinny replied, "he

says any man or woman a horse don't trustain't a good man or woman for a human todepend on—says they ain't right inside! Itlooks to me like that's a pretty hard slamon people just because some darned idiotof a broncho won't make up with them!"

Carolyn June leaned back in the saddleand laughed.

"Some 'range philosopher'—this Ramblin'Kid person!" she exclaimed lightly."Where did he come from and who is he,anyway?"

"Nobody knows," Skinny answered; "hejust kind of growed up, here in theSouthwest. I've heard that his mother diedwhen he was born and his father was a

preacher or something doing missionarywork—I reckon that's what you'd call it—among the Mexicans and Indians and gotthe smallpox while he was nursing themthrough an epidemic and it killed him,which left th' Ramblin' Kid an orphanwhen he wasn't much more than a baby.The Mexicans or Indians took care of himtill he was old enough to ride and then hebegan to ramble around and has alwayskept it up just as if he was hunting forsomething—"

"How interesting!" Carolyn Juneexclaimed, "almost like a story!"

"It is kind of unusual," Skinny continued,"of course it may not all be true, but onething is sure—th' Ramblin' Kid seems to

have some sort of fascination for theGreasers and the Indians; they all worshiphim, and he's a witch when it comes tohandling horses!"

"He seems to be," Carolyn Junecommented thoughtfully.

"Yes," Skinny answered, "look how thatGold Dust maverick has made right upwith him—I don't believe she ever willhave anything to do with anybody else!"

Carolyn June laughed softly to herself. Shedid not tell Skinny of her visits to thecircular corral and that the outlaw marealready had accepted her as a good friend.

She and Skinny loafed idly as far down

the valley as the Narrows, and when SingPete sounded the supper gong they wereagain back at the house.

After the evening meal the cowboys hungaround the house for a while until asuggestive look from Old Heck causedthem reluctantly to follow him to the bunk-house, leaving Parker and Skinny withOphelia and Carolyn June.

It was the foreman's last evening with thewidow before the beef round-up. She wasrather diffident and held him in safechannels of conversation. Skinny andCarolyn June sat on the porch until it wasquite dark, then went into the house. Shedrummed carelessly and lightly on thekeys of the piano—her thoughts evidently

far away. Parker and Skinny left the houseearly. At the door the foreman whisperedto the widow:

"Don't forget what I spoke about comingout from town!"

Ophelia flushed and murmured, "No,indeed, but—" she did not finish thesentence. She was about to say, "don'tbuild false hopes!"

When Parker and Skinny entered the bunk-house Old Heck and all the cowboysexcept the Ramblin' Kid were asleep. Hewas half-reclining on his bed, smoking. Atthe entrance of Skinny and Parker be gotup and without speaking strolled outsideand through the darkness toward the

circular corral. The night was warm andthe stuffy air of the bunk-house, togetherwith the noisy snoring of Old Heck, madehim restless. He stood a few momentslooking at Captain Jack and the Gold Dustmaverick. Then, moving back into theshed, dropped down and laid with hisshoulders and head on his saddle, whichwas thrown on the ground under theshelter. The side of the building, next tothe corral, was open and the Ramblin' Kidcould see, from where he was lying, thedark bulks of the two horses at the fartherside of the corral.

Ophelia went directly to bed after Skinnyand Parker left.

Carolyn June sat for a while in the Morris

chair in the large room. She seemedabstracted and in a mood for meditation.The vague history Skinny had given her ofthe life of the Ramblin' Kid interested her.She thought it explained a good many ofhis elemental impulses and idiosyncrasies.He was a creature of the plains. In his lifeamong the Indians and Mexicans he hadabsorbed their stoical ways and almostbrutal directness, yet, sometimes heshowed a sensitiveness that was utterlyimpossible for Carolyn June tounderstand. Her thoughts turned to theGold Dust maverick. To-morrowRamblin' Kid would take the filly awayfor the round-up. She truly loved thebeautiful mare. She would slip out, whilethe others slept, and have one more visitwith the splendid creature. Rising,

Carolyn June passed out through thekitchen, stopped for a handful of sugar—she had learned where Sing Pete kept thecan—and bareheaded and without a wrapwalked swiftly out to the circular corral.

The Ramblin' Kid heard Carolyn June stepup to the gate of the corral and from theheavy shadow in which he lay saw thelight dress and instinctively recognizedthis late visitor to Captain Jack and theGold Dust maverick His first impulse wasto call out and warn her to keep awayfrom the horses—that both weredangerous for men to fool with, much lesswas it safe for a woman to undertakefamiliarities with them. His next thoughtwas that his sudden appearance wouldonly startle the girl and—well, cause a lot

of useless talk. He remained quiet.

A low trill came from the throat ofCarolyn June. The two horses stoppedfeeding and looked around toward thegate. The bird-like call was repeated. TheRamblin' Kid was astonished to seeCaptain Jack and the outlaw mare moveeagerly in the direction from whence thesound had come. He heard Carolyn Junetalking to the bronchos in soft endearingtones. After a moment she opened the gateand stepped inside the corral.

"Well, I'll be—!" he breathed inaudibly.

For half an hour Carolyn June petted thelittle stallion and the GoldDust maverick. Both animals seemed

hungry for her caresses.

"Oh, you darling—you wonder!" theRamblin' Kid Heard Carolyn June say, asshe gave the maverick's head a tightsqueeze just before running lightly back tothe house. "I hope you beat that old Y-Barhorse so bad he'll never want to run again!Even if that Ramblin' Kid lover of yours,"she added softly, "does think I'm nothingbut a silly woman-thing and hates me withall his queer, lonesome heart!"

"Well, I'll be damned!" the Ramblin' Kidexclaimed when she was gone.

He raised himself on one elbow and laythus for a long time silently thinking.

At last he got up, went to the corral gate,and he himself stepped inside with thehorses. He gave Captain Jack's ear aloving twitch, then turned to the Gold Dustmaverick. She permitted him, withoutprotest, to fondle her head and neck. Hishand lingered long on the silky mane inwhich, a little while before, Carolyn Junehad twined her fingers.

"Oh, Queen of th' Range!" he said with alow laugh, unconsciously using thepoetical phrase, as he gave the warmcheek of the filly a tender parting pinchbefore turning away to go to the bunk-house, "we'll whip that devil-horse of th'Vermejo—we'll show that Thunderboltrunner what hearts that ain't afraid an'nimble hoofs can do!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE ELITE AMUSEMENT PARLOR

An hour after breakfast, on Mondaymorning, Old Heck, Ophelia, Skinny andCarolyn June Were alone at the QuarterCircle KT. Parker and the cowboys wereclimbing out on the sand-hills north of theCimarron, traveling in the direction ofBattle Ridge, where the beef hunt was tobegin.

The circular corral was empty.

The Ramblin' Kid was riding the Gold

Dust maverick. Captain Jack was with thesaddle horses which Pedro, the Mexican,had wrangled on ahead of the other ridersan hour before.

The filly made no effort to throw theRamblin' Kid on this her second riding.She seemed perfectly willing to carry theburden on her back. Carolyn June watchedthe beautiful mare as she stepped lightlyand daintily along beside the other horses,and when the group disappeared amongthe rolling ridges across the river theranch someway seemed deserted and shefelt strangely alone, although Ophelia, OldHeck and Skinny were standing at herside.

Sing Pete followed the riders, jolting

along in the grub-wagon, awkwardlydriving, with much clucking and pidgin-English, Old Tom and Baldy hitched to theheavy, canvas-covered vehicle with its"box-kitchen" and mess-board protrudinggawkily out from the rear.

Old Heck heaved a sigh of relief. Therewas a feeling of serene peace in his heart,now that Parker and the cowboys weresafely away on the round-up. In Skinny'sheart the feeling was echoed.

For a week or more they would be able tolove Ophelia and Carolyn June without theconstant fear of interruption.

Only one thing troubled Old Heck. Thewidow had not yet exposed her hand in

that suffragette movement or whatever itwas. He dreaded the form in which itmight, sooner or later, break out. But atthat he would be glad to have it over. Atpresent he felt as though he were sitting onthe edge of a volcano, or above anunexplored blast of dynamite at the bottomof a well. Meanwhile he would have towait and watch—and hope for the best.

The week that followed was heaven andhell, mixed together, for Old Heck andSkinny.

The women were lovely and lovable tothe last degree, but cautious andtormentingly self-restrained when it cameto loving. At the first intimation ofdangerous sentimentality on the part of

Old Heck the widow would suddenly andwithout an instant's warning change thesubject. When Skinny had been pensiveand silent for half an hour or so and wouldthen start, in a halting and quivering voice,to say something, Carolyn June invariablyinterrupted with a remark about theweather, the Gold Dust maverick, theRamblin' Kid, Old Heck, Sing Pete, theyellow cat, the coming Rodeo, Ophelia orsomething else.

They paired on the work of preparing themeals, Carolyn June and Skinny andOphelia and Old Heck taking shift andshift about in the kitchen. In this way thework was made a joke, with friendlyrivalry between the couples in thepreparation of tasty dishes.

Old Heck and Skinny surprised the womenwith their knowledge of cooking. Nor wasthere the least embarrassment on the partof either when, with one of Sing Pete'saprons tied about his waist, he worked atthe range or kitchen table. As a matter ofcourse every cow-man must knowsomething of how to cook a meal and,also, naturally and as a matter of course,Old Heck and Skinny, without the slightestthought that it was "womanish" or beneaththe "dignity" of men, peeled potatoes,fried meat, washed dishes or did whateverthere was to do.

Indeed each was proud of his skill.

Ophelia herself was clever, particularly atmaking biscuits and dainty salads.

Carolyn June's sole accomplishment in theart of preparing food was the making ofcoffee-jelly. This she had learned atcollege—taught, perhaps, by the othergirls during stolen midnight frolics.Probably this, also, was the reason sheusually made it the last thing at nightbefore Skinny and Old Heck left to go tothe bunk-house. Coffee-jelly was theregular, inevitable, evening meal dessertfor the entire week.

"It ain't so very filling," Skinny remarkedthe first time he tasted the delicate dish,"but it's tender and has a dandy flavor!"

Carolyn June blushed at the compliment.

"It is pretty good," Old Heck agreed, "but

these biscuits Ophelia made are just whatwas needed to set it off!"

The widow smilingly showed herpleasure.

Twice during the week Skinny rode "line"on the big pasture to look after theDiamond Bar steers. Carolyn Juneaccompanied him. Each time she rodeBrowny, the old cow-horse. On these daysOld Heck and Ophelia, in the Clagstone"Six," drove to Eagle Butte. The secondtrip to town Ophelia asked to be left at theminister's house. Old Heck was to call inan hour and get her. During the hour heslipped into the dentist's and had his teethcleaned. When the tobacco-blackenedtartar was scraped away they were

surprisingly white and even. He stoppedat the drug store and bought a tooth-brushand a tube of paste.

Ophelia noticed the wonderfulimprovement in his appearance, guessedthe reason, and the thought sent a warmthrill through her body.

"Like a big boy," she laughed to herself,"when he begins to wash his neck andears!"

"It ain't healthy to have your teeth sodirty," Old Heck explained, coloring andin an apologizing manner, when Skinnydiscovered him, after supper that evening,carefully scrubbing his molars.

Skinny watched the performance, saw theresult, and murmured:

"Guess I'll get me one of them layouts!"

On Friday the quartette went to EagleButte, Old Heck driving, withOphelia beside him, and Carolyn June andSkinny in the rear seat of theClagstone "Six."

It was on this trip, while Ophelia andCarolyn June were in the Golden Ruledoing some shopping, that Old Heck andSkinny strolled into the Elite AmusementParlor. Lafe Dorsey, owner of the Y-Baroutfit and to whom belonged the blackThunderbolt horse; Newt Johnson, DaveStover and "Flip" Williams—the latter

three cowboys on the big Vermejo ranch—were playing a four-handed game ofbilliards at one of the tables near the frontof the place.

Dorsey noticed the entrance of the pairfrom the Quarter Circle KT. All wererange men and were well known to oneanother. The Y-Bar owner had beendrinking. Boot-leg liquor was obtainable,if one knew how and where, in EagleButte.

"Hello, there, Old Heck!" Dorsey greetedthem hilariously and with a half-leer."Howdy, Skinny! How's the Cimarron?Don't reckon you've taught OldQuicksilver to run yet, have you?" with aboisterous laugh as he referred to the race

in which Thunderbolt had defeated OldHeck's crack stallion.

The taunt stung Old Heck while it calledout a suppressed snicker from thecowboys who were with Dorsey and theloafers in the pool-room. The bull-likeguffaw of Mike Sabota, the gorilla-built,half-Greek proprietor of the AmusementParlor roared out above the ripple oflaughter from the others. The racing feudbetween the Y-Bar and the Quarter CircleKT was well known to all and Sabotahimself had cleaned up a neat sum whenthe black horse from the Vermejo hadoutstepped the runner from the QuarterCircle KT.

Old Heck reddened at Dorsey's words but

replied quietly:

"The Cimarron is middling—just middlin'.No, we ain't been paying much attention toteaching horses how to run lately. OldQuicksilver's pretty fair. Of course he ain'tthe best horse in the world but he'll do forcows and general knocking around.Horses are a good deal like men, youknow, Dorsey—there's always one that's alittle bit better!"

The Vermejo cow-man colored at thethrust.

"Any of you Quarter Circle KT fellersgoing in on anything at the Rodeo, thisyear?" one of the Y-Bar riders askedSkinny before Dorsey could reply.

"Charley said he might go in on the 'bull-dogging' and Bert is figuring some on thebucking events—but I don't reckon they'lleither one enter," Skinny carelessly; "bothof them got first money in them entries lastyear and they ain't caring much. TheMexican," referring to Pedro, "willprobably do some roping—"

"What about you and the Ramblin' Kid?"Flip Williams interrupted, "ain't neither ofyou going to take part?"

"Probably not," Skinny drawled. "I ain'taiming to, and I don't know what th'Ramblin? Kid is figuring on. He ain'tmuch for showing off. He only rode in thebucking contest last year because after thatCyclone horse killed Dick Stanley

everybody said there wasn't any one thatcould ride him and the blamed little fooljust wanted to demonstrate that there was.You never can tell what he'll do, though.He may be intending to go in on somethingor other."

"Guess you people ain't got anything outthere for the two-mile sweepstakes thisyear, have you?" Dorsey broke in with asneer. "Old Thunderbolt's too much forthem sand-hill jumpers from theCimarron."

"Oh, I don't know as he is," Old Heck saidin a voice emotionless as an Indian's. "TheQuarter Circle KT will probably berepresented in the big event. It seems tome I heard Chuck mention entering that

Silver Tip colt of his and, let's see, Ibelieve th' Ramblin' Kid said somethingabout running a new filly he's been ridingsome, didn't he, Skinny?"

"Since I come to think of it I believe hedid," Skinny answered as if it were amatter without especial interest; "if Iremember right he did speak something ofit a day or two ago."

"Well, bring 'em on!" Dorsey exclaimedboastfully, "the Y-Bar will take all themoney you Kiowa fellers feel likecontributing! Old Thunderbolt's as fit as anew rawhide rope and is just aching torake in another three or four thousand ofQuarter Circle KT dinero if you peoplehave got the nerve to back your judgment!"

There was a dead hush as the crowd in thepool-room waited for OldHeck's reply to Dorsey's drunkenchallenge.

"We'll kind of remember that invitation,Dorsey," Old Heck said in tones as hardand smooth and cold as ice, while his grayeyes narrowed and bored the boastfulcow-man like points of steel, "we'll sortof bear in mind that suggestion of yours.The Quarter Circle KT will send a horseinto the big race that will beat thatThunderbolt critter of yours just threetimes as bad as he set old Quicksilverback—and we'll give you action on anyamount of money, cattle or anything elseyou want to name! You can put yourfriends here in on it too, if you want to—"

with a scornful glance around the pool-room at the loafers in the place. "Comeon, Skinny," he added as he started towardthe door, "more than likely Ophelia andCarolyn June are through with theirtrading and ready to go home."

All stood silent until Skinny and Old Heckstepped out of the door, then Mike Sabotabroke into a coarse, taunting laugh. Asthey turned up the street Old Heck andSkinny heard Dorsey and the crowd insidejoin in the merriment.

"Damn that fool, Dorsey!" Old Heckexclaimed viciously, as he heard theshouts of derisive laughter. "I'm going towipe him out on that race—if he's got theguts to come across and back up that

Thunderbolt horse as hard as he blowsabout him!"

"I think I'll hook Sabota for a few hundredon the sweepstakes, myself," Skinnyreplied with a good deal of feeling, "Idon't like the way that dirty cuss acts anybetter than I like Dorsey's bragging!"

Carolyn June and Ophelia were waitingwhen Old Heck and Skinny arrived at theGolden Rule.

When the Clagstone "Six" whirled past theAmusement Parlor a few moments laterDorsey and Sabota were standing in thedoor.

Carolyn June glanced at them.

"Heavens," she said as her eyes rested aninstant on the burly, low-browed, Greekproprietor of the place, "what a big bruteof a looking fellow that is!"

The two men stared insolently at theoccupants of the car and as it passedSabota made some remark, evidentlyvulgar, that caused Dorsey to burst intoanother round of coarse laughter.

Old Heck was moody during the drivehome.

For nearly two years Dorsey had beencrowing because of the defeat ofQuicksilver by the black racer from theVermejo. It was becoming more than idlejesting. It looked as if, for some reason, he

was trying to torment Old Heck untilsomething serious was started. Old Heckwas a good loser but he was growing tiredof the persistent nagging. He had notwhimpered at the loss of the twenty-fivehundred dollars Dorsey won from him onthe race. Even the humiliation of seeinghis best horse put in second place by theY-Bar animal had been enduredphilosophically and without malicebecause he believed the thing had been runsquare and the faster horse had won. ButDorsey on every occasion since had,drunk or sober, boasted of Thunderbolt'svictory and taken a devilish delight inrubbing it in on the owner of the QuarterCircle KT.

To-day the Vermejo cattleman had been

worse than usual, due, no doubt, to therotten boot-leg whisky the brute-likeproprietor of Eagle Butte's ratherdisreputable Amusement Parlor wassupposed secretly to dispense to thosewho had the price and the "honor" to keepsacred the source of supply.

Old Heck was sore and he was ready togo the limit in backing the Gold Dustmaverick. Both he and Skinny hadpurposely refrained from mentioning thehorse the Ramblin' Kid would enter. Thefame of the outlaw filly extendedthroughout all of southwestern Texas andif the Vermejo crowd had learned that theRamblin' Kid had finally caught her andwas intending to put her againstThunderbolt it was doubtful if the black

horse would be entered at all in thesweepstakes. Even if he was, Dorsey andhis crowd would be shy of the betting.

This was one reason Old Heck had soplayed the conversation that Dorseydefinitely threw down the challenge andwhich was so coldly accepted.

The Vermejo cow-man would have tocome in heavy on the betting or be placedin the role of a bluffer.

By the time they reached the ranch OldHeck's good humor was restored. Hethoroughly enjoyed the supper Skinny andCarolyn June prepared and joked the girlabout her coffee-jelly.

"She's learning how to make French toast,now," Skinny said proudly; "it won't belong till she's a darned good cook!"

"Why not?" Carolyn June laughed. "Seewho I have to teach me!" andSkinny flushed while his heart hammeredjoyously.

"Well, I reckon anybody could live onfried bread and coffee-jelly in a pinch,"Old Heck joked back, "but for my part I'dbe a good deal happier to mix a biscuit ortwo like Ophelia makes once in a while inwith it"—giving the widow a worshipfullook.

It was Ophelia's turn to registerpleasurable confusion.

After supper Old Heck and the widowwashed the dishes. When they werefinished Ophelia went into the front room.Old Heck took a glass of water, steppedout of the kitchen door, and diligentlyscrubbed his teeth. While he was still at itSkinny came out with a dipper in his handand sheepishly drawing a tooth-brush fromhis hip pocket faithfully imitated theactions of the other.

"I figure a man's taking a lot of chances ifhe don't keep his teeth clean andeverything," Skinny spluttered as the watersplashed down his chin.

"Yes, that's right," Old Heck agreed,"there's germs and so on in them!" as heflipped the water from his own brush,

dried his lips on his shirtsleeve and turnedback into the kitchen.

The next morning, Saturday, Old Heckcame to the breakfast table again in apensive mood.

"I was thinking about that man Dorsey,"Skinny remarked, observing Old Heck'smental depression and attributing it to themeeting the day before in the pool-room atEagle Butte. "Do you reckon the filly canreally beat that Thunderbolt horse?"

"Of course she can," Old Heck answered."Th' Ramblin' Kid knows. All I'm afraid isthat when Dorsey finds out it's the GoldDust maverick Thunderbolt has got to goup against he won't bet much on it."

"The boys ought to be in to-day," Skinnysaid, abruptly switching the subject; "theyfigured on getting the Battle Ridge cattlegathered and in the big pasture by to-night,didn't they?"

"Yes," Old Heck replied, "that was whatwas in my mind. Parker will be—" hestopped suddenly, "butting in again" hehad started to say but caught himself andfinished lamely, "—probably prettyanxious to hurry through as soon aspossible and get the beef animals in theupland pasture!"

"How are you going to work things whenhe gets back?" Skinny asked with, asignificant look at Old Heck.

"Blamed if I know—" Old Heck saiduncertainly, stopping before he finishedthe sentence. He understood what Skinnymeant and just that had been worrying him.He had reached the point where he couldnot endure the thought of going back to theold arrangement of day and day about withParker in the enjoyment of the widow'ssociety. Yet if Parker, on his return,insisted on dividing Ophelia's time withhim in conformity with their originalagreement, Old Heck knew he would haveto yield. He thought for a moment hewould get the widow away from Skinnyand Carolyn June after breakfast and makea full confession of the whole thing, askher to marry him, and have it done with.But he had not yet been able to get at thebottom of Ophelia's suffragette activities.

What if she married him and then suddenlybroke loose as a speech-maker orsomething for woman's rights? It wouldn'tpay to take the risk. "It sure does keep aman guessing!" he murmured under hisbreath, the sweat starting to bead hisforehead from the mental effort to solvethe problem before him.

Carolyn June and Ophelia exchanged slywinks as they guessed the thing that was inOld Heck's mind.

Skinny, himself, was a bit worried as thetime drew near for the return of thecowboys. He hoped Carolyn Junewouldn't spring another dance or similaropportunity for indiscriminate love-making.

Nor had Carolyn June forgotten that to-daywas Saturday and Parker and the cowboyswere expected back from the first half ofthe beef round-up. The week had beenpleasant enough but she had missed theRamblin' Kid and the Gold Dust maverickmore than she cared to confess. Shewondered if the outlaw filly wouldremember her.

Saturday was a day of considerabletension for all at the Quarter Circle KT.Night came and Parker and the cowboyshad not returned. Nor did they come onSunday. Evidently the beef round-up hadgone more slowly than was expected.

It was late Monday afternoon when thegrub-wagon grumbled and creaked its way

up the lane and stopped near the back-yardgate. Sing Pete climbed clumsily downfrom the high seat. Old Heck and Skinnyunhitched Old Tom and Baldy while theChinese cook chattered information aboutParker, the cowboys and the round-up. Hehad left the North Springs early thatmorning. Two nights before the herd hadrun—it was a stampede—some sheep hadbeen where the cattle were bedded.Maybe that was it. Chuck and Bert wereon night guard and could not hold them.The steers mixed badly with the rangers.Nearly two days it took to gather themagain. That was why they were late. Noweverything was all right The cattle werebeing driven to the big pasture. Pedrowould be along soon with the saddlecavallard. By dark maybe the others

would be at the ranch.

It was midnight before Parker and thecowboys came in.

When Carolyn June stepped out on theporch Tuesday morning she glancedtoward the circular corral, which for morethan a week had been empty. Her heartgave a leap of delight.

Captain Jack was standing at the bars ofthe corral and behind him the earlysunlight glinted on the chestnut sides of theGold Dust maverick.

CHAPTER XIV

THE GRAND PARADE

Eagle Butte was a jam of humanity. It wasTuesday noon. At one o'clock the GrandParade would circle the mile track at the"Grounds"—a hundred level acresenclosed by a high board fence lying at thewest edge of Eagle Butte, between theCimarron River and the road that led outto the Vermejo—swing down the mainstreet of the town, return again to theenclosed area, flow once more past thegrandstand, salute the judges of the comingevents, and the Fifth Annual Independence

Rodeo of Eagle Butte would be officiallyopened.

Special excursion rates had broughtthousands from all parts of western Texas,New Mexico and Colorado. Hundreds oftourists, sight-seeing the West, had soarranged their itineraries that they mightbe present at the big exhibition of riding,roping, racing, bull-dogging and othercow-country arts,—arts rapidly becomingmere memories of a day too quicklypassing.

Moving-picture machine operators wereseeking advantageous locations for theiroutfits; pedestrians dodged,indiscriminately, high-poweredautomobiles and plunging bronchos; the

old and the new were slapped together inan incongruous jumble in the streets ofEagle Butte.

The best range men and women of theWest were gathered in the westernTexas town.

New Mexico, Arizona, Idaho, Colorado,Wyoming, Montana, Oregon, Texasherself, were represented by their mostfamous riders, ropers, bull-doggers, cow-experts, and noted outlaw horses.

There were many masqueraders.

Imitation cow-people, they were, made upin fancy wild-west costumes, long-hairedchaps, mammoth black sombreros, gaudy

neck-cloths, silver-spangled saddles,spurs and bridles—typical moving-picturecowboys, cowgirls and rough riders. Butthere were, as well, hundreds of realrange people. People whose business it isto work every day at the "stunts" theywere, for the next five days, to play at forthe pleasure of proving their skill andwinning the applause of the multitude ofspectators packed each day in thegrandstand behind the judges' box at theEagle Butte Rodeo.

Every outfit in western Texas sent its mostclever riders.

Indians and Mexicans, in picturesqueattire, sprinkled the milling mass ofhumanity with a dash of rainbow color.

Dance-halls were running, fare layoutswere operating, roulette wheels werespinning. For the time, with the consent ofthe sheriff and other reformed authorities,Eagle Butte tried hard to be as Eagle Buttewas twenty—thirty—years ago.

The entire Quarter Circle KT crowd leftthe ranch early Tuesday morning'. Parkerhad surprised Old Heck, and filled hismind with misgivings, by calling him toone side after breakfast and stammering:

"I—I—reckon you'd just as well go aheadthe rest of this week and—and—look afterthe widow by yourself—"

"What's the matter?" Old Heck askedsuspiciously; "have you found out anything

dangerous about that 'Movement' orwhatever it is Ophelia's mixed up in?"

"No, it ain't that," Parker assured him, "Ijust thought I'd kind of—well, like to befree, to knock around at the Rodeo withoutbeing bothered with a woman oranything."

The truth was Parker was trying to hedge.When he had got away on the beef huntand began to figure things out he had cometo doubt the wisdom of his suddeninfatuation for the widow. Thinking itover, out on the open range, he wasappalled by his rash, headlong falling inlove. He had never married, nor had he,until Ophelia came, been even near it.Someway, the moment Carolyn June and

the widow arrived at the Quarter CircleKT some sort of devil seemed to possesshim. He couldn't explain it. Maybe it hadbeen just an impulse to get ahead of OldHeck. Whatever it was, Parker wasworried. What would he do with a wife ifhe had one? All he wanted now was to letthe thing blow over. Perhaps the widowwould forget his impetuous proposal orfall in love with Old Heck.

Old Heck, his heart filled with a queermixture of elation and uncertainty—with asort of joy and sinking sensation all atonce—agreed to Parker's suggestion.

Parker rode into Eagle Butte with thecowboys. Old Heck, Ophelia, Skinny andCarolyn June went in the Clagstone "Six."

Chuck led Old Pie Face for Skinny to ridein the parade and Bert took Red John, OldHeck's most showy saddle horse—a long-legged, high-stepping, proud-headed, baygelding—for Carolyn June to use, for she,too, had declared her intention of joiningin the grand promenade with which theRodeo would open.

The Ramblin' Kid left the Gold Dustmaverick in the circular corral and rodeCaptain Jack to Eagle Butte. It would benecessary for him to register the filly, withthe entry judges, on the first day of theRodeo if she was to run in the two-milesweepstakes.

The rules of the Rodeo required, also, thatall who expected to participate in any of

the events of the coming week must"show" in the grand march or parade. Theanimals that were to be used might also beparaded, but this was not compulsory.

Accompanied by Chuck, the Ramblin' Kidwent directly to the entry offices of theRodeo, which were roughly boxed-upcompartments under the rear of thegrandstand.

A group of "hot-dog" vendors and"concession spielers" looked curiously atthe two as they left Captain Jack andSilver Tip, with bridle reins dropped overtheir heads, standing in front of the officeand stepped inside.

Lafe Dorsey and Flip Williams were at

the clerk's desk.

The Vermejo cattleman had just registeredThunderbolt, with Flip as rider, for the bigrace.

They looked around as the Ramblin' Kidand Chuck came in.

"Well, is the Quarter Circle KT getting upsand enough to go against old Thunderboltagain?" Dorsey asked with a curl of hislip and an ugly sneer.

"Oh, I reckon we've got a little nerve left,"Chuck answered with mock humility, "notmuch, but a little, maybe. I was going toput Silver Tip in the sweepstakes," hewent on, "but I guess I won't. Th' Ramblin'

Kid's got an entry and it looks like adarned shame for one outfit to want to hogit all and grab first and second moneyboth, so I'll stay out this time."

"You talk pretty loud," Dorsey snarled,catching instantly, as Chuck intended heshould, the covert slur at the black Y-Barstallion. "Maybe your money won't makeso damned much noise!"

"Here's a couple hundred," Chuck said,pulling a roll of bills from his shirtpocket. "I'll invest that much on myjudgment that Thunderbolt ain't as good asyou think he is."

"I'll take it!" Dorsey snapped, jerking awad of money from his own pocket and

counting out the amount which he handedto the clerk as stake-holder. "And here'sanother hundred—or a thousand if youwant it!"

"That two hundred is about all I canhandle this morning," Chuck laughed. "ButI understand Old Heck's aiming to bet alittle," he drawled suggestively; "probablyyou'd like to see him?"

"I'll see him—and raise him till hesqueals!" Dorsey sneered.

The Ramblin' Kid ignored the tilt betweenDorsey and Chuck and leaned indifferentlyagainst the counter waiting for the clerk tofill out the entry blank.

"Event?" the clerk questioned.

"Two-mile run," was the quiet answer.

"Rider—and horse?" glancing up.

Dorsey and Flip paused and turned theirheads to catch the names theRamblin' Kid gave.

"I'm the rider, I reckon," the Ramblin' Kidreplied, "I guess you know who I am. Th'name of th' horse? Well, now ain't thatfunny?" he said with a little laugh, "I neverhave bothered to name that critter yet! But—oh, hell, what's the difference? We'lljust call her 'Ophelia' for th' time bein'—in honor of a lady-widow that's visitin' outat th' ranch!"

"The Quarter Circle KT's getting to bequite a female institution, ain't it?" Dorseysaid contemptuously. "I suppose thiswonder horse of yours is one of the ranchfillies and regular lightning!"

For a second the Ramblin' Kid's eyesnarrowed, then he replied coldly to thelast half of Dorsey's sentence:

"Well, th' filly's been runnin' in thatneighborhood an'"—with a laugh that hadin it just the hint of a sneer—"she's prettyfair—good enough, I figure, to beat hellout of old Thunderbolt!"

"Are you backing that with money?"Dorsey and Flip spoke together.

"No," the Ramblin' Kid answered slowly,"money ain't no object with me in a horse-race. I don't run 'em for that purpose.Anyhow, poker is my favorite method ofgamblin'!"

Dorsey and Flip whirled angrily out of theoffice and walked rapidly toward thestables where they had left their horses.

After reserving a box stall, which was tobe occupied by Captain Jack and the GoldDust maverick, the Ramblin' Kid andChuck left the entry office and mountingtheir bronchos rode toward the section ofthe grounds, over by the stables, where theparade was already forming.

As they passed through the entrance to the

track and the inside field which laybeyond Chuck and the Ramblin' Kid rodewithin a few feet of the Clagstone "Six,"which was parked near the east end of thegrandstand. Old Heck and Ophelia werein the front seat of the car watching theriders assemble for the parade. CarolynJune was standing on the running-boardwaiting for Skinny to come with Old PieFace and Red John, the boys having leftthe horses at the stables.

Carolyn June looked up with a brightsmile at Chuck. As her eyes met theRamblin' Kid's there was a question inthem. She was not sure yet that she hadforgiven him for the brutal rebuff the nightof the dance. If there was any feeling inhis heart, either of resentment or

otherwise, toward the girl the Ramblin'Kid hid it. The look he gave her was oneof unfathomable humility and indifference.

Chuck wheeled Silver Tip to the side ofthe car and stopped. His eyes were filledwith frank admiration as he gazed at thegirl. Her cheeks were flushed withexcitement, her white felt hat sat jauntilyon the crown of brown hair, her eyes weresparkling and in the close-fitting ridingsuit she was the picture of youthful charmand grace. The Ramblin' Kid nodded toOld Heck, glanced at Ophelia with asmile, looked steadily an instant atCarolyn June and raising his hat to the twowomen passed on with the remark: "Ireckon I'll go on over an' see what they'redoin'."

"Has he entered the outlaw filly for thesweepstakes, yet?" Old Heck asked Chuckas the Ramblin' Kid reined Captain Jackdown the race track.

"Yes," Chuck answered, "he signed herup."

"Did he name her as the Gold Dustmaverick?" Old Heck inquired anxiously.

"No," Chuck grinned, "he called her'Ophelia!'"

Old Heck leaned back in the seat androared with laughter in whichCarolyn June and the widow joined.

"Dorsey was there," Chuck said withanother grin, "he'd just finished entering

Thunderbolt for the big race when th'Ramblin' Kid and me got to the registeringoffice. I bet him two hundred dollars. Hewas bragging a good deal—"

Old Heck's eyes flashed and the mirth leftthem.

"He was blowing, was he?" he said with ahard laugh, "the damn—darned fool!" hecorrected, remembering Ophelia at hisside. "Well, 'egg' him on—the higher heflies the worse he'll flop when he bu'sts awing!"

In the parade Skinny rode with CarolynJune. Parker and the Quarter Circle KTcowboys were in a group directly behindthem. The Vermejo crowd, with Dorsey

himself mounted on Thunderbolt, had aplace just ahead of Skinny and CarolynJune. The beautiful black Y-Bar stallionwas really a wonderful horse. Speed,strength and endurance radiated withevery movement of the glossy, subtlebody. Without doubt he was the mosthandsome animal on the grounds. Dorseywas a splendid rider and a man—he wasin the early forties—of strikingappearance. He was fully conscious of themagnificent showing he made onThunderbolt. The racer danced proudly,prancing forward in short, graceful leapsas the column swept past the grandstandand the consolidated Eagle Butte andVegas bands crashed out the strains of astirring march. A ripple of applause ranover the crowd in the grandstand as

Dorsey, at the head of the Vermejocowboys, rode by the judges' box. Helifted his sombrero and waved it inpleased acknowledgment.

The Ramblin' Kid was in line a littledistance behind Carolyn June, Skinny andthe Quarter Circle KT cowboys. He rodealone just back of a quartette of Indiansfrom down on the Chickasaw.

His plain rigging, the slick, smoothlyworn, leather chaps, the undecoratedsaddle, bridle and spurs, his entire work-a-day outfit contrasted vividly with thegaudy get-up of most of the other riders.Captain Jack moved along easily andfreely, but quietly, and with an air of utterboredom with all the show and confusion

about him. The Ramblin' Kid's attitude,whole appearance, matched perfectly themood of his horse. He sat loosely in thesaddle and carelessly smoked a cigarette.The truth was his mind was far from thepageant of which he and the little stallionwere a part. He scarcely heard the musicnor did he seem to see the thousands ofhuman beings, packed tier above tier,under the mammoth roof of the grandstand.His thoughts were at the upper crossing ofthe treacherous Cimarron, out at theQuarter Circle KT; he was seeing again,Carolyn June, as she looked up into hiseyes when he dragged her out of thequicksand—he was hearing, once more,her cry of agony as the bullet from his gunburied itself in the brain of Old Blue.

Louder hand-clapping, stamping of feet,and calling voices, than any that hadsounded before, rolled out from thegrandstand as the lone rider, on the quiet,unexcited little roan, came down thestretch in front of the great crowd.

Carolyn June looked back, saw thewaving hats and handkerchiefs, heardhundreds of voices shouting:

"Th' Ramblin' Kid! Th' good old Ramblin'Kid!"

The crowd had recognized him as theslender rider who, a year ago, after theuntamable Cyclone horse had killed DickStanley before their eyes and in front ofwhere they sat, had ridden, straight-up and

scotching him at every jump, that vicious,murderous-hearted outlaw.

Carolyn June's eyes moistened and she felta thrill of pride.

The Ramblin' Kid barely glanced at thesea of faces, a faint smile hung for aninstant on his lips, as he jerked his hand,the one in which he held the cigarette, tothe brim of his hat when he came oppositethe judges' stand.

When the parade swung down the wide,one-sided, main street of Eagle Butte,Mike Sabota, from the door of the EliteAmusement Parlor, watched it pass. Hewas standing there, by the side of thelanky marshal and surrounded by a group

of pool-room loafers and "carnivalsharks" when Carolyn June and Skinnycame by. She looked around in time to seehim staring, with a vulgar leer, straightinto her eyes.

"There is that big, dirty, animal-lookingfellow we saw the other day!" she said,with a frown of disgust, to Skinny. "He'shorrible—"

Skinny glanced at Sabota.

"Yes, he is ornery," he said. "He runs thatjoint and boot-legs on the side. He's got areputation as a slugger and keeps thecrowd around him buffaloed. They say hekilled a feller—beat him to death—in afight over at Sapulpa before he came to

Eagle Butte. I don't like the filthy cuss.He's mean!"

"He looks it!" Carolyn June exclaimed,with the uncomfortable feeling that the bigGreek's look had touched her withsomething vile and unclean.

After the parade disbanded Carolyn Juneand Skinny rode back to the car where OldHeck and Ophelia had remained.

"You made a darned good-lookingcowgirl!" Old Heck said proudly to her asshe stopped Red John by the side of theClagstone "Six."

"She and Skinny both presented a veryfine appearance!" the widow added, while

Carolyn June playfully blew a kiss at eachin acknowledgment of the compliment.Skinny sat on Old Pie Face and felt awarm glow of satisfaction at the words ofOld Heck and Ophelia. He had known allthe time that Carolyn June and he hadshown up well, but he was glad to findthat others besides himself had noticed it.

Dorsey, on a black stallion, cantered past.

A moment later the Ramblin' Kid camejogging off the race course on CaptainJack. He threw up his hand in greeting andpassed on out of the grounds.

Parked next to the Clagstone "Six" was ahandsome touring car, occupied by a partyconsisting of a girl about Carolyn June's

own age, a woman a few years older anda couple of immaculately dressed youngmen who wore flaring brimmed black felthats that contrasted absurdly with theirexpensively tailored suits. Evidently allwere "big town" people from a distance—very "superior" and patronizing in theirattitude toward the "natives." They hadbeen free and voluble in their commentson the various riders. Dorsey, on themagnificent Thunderbolt, drew a murmurof admiration from the lips of the girl. Asthe Ramblin' Kid, the next moment, rodeby on Captain Jack one of the youngfellows said loudly and with a laugh ofridicule:

"Look at that one, Bess," addressing thegirl; "there's the 'wild and woolly' West

for you! I'll bet if that horse sneezed he'dfall down and the lonesome-looking littlerunt that's riding him would tumble off androot his nose in the dust!"

A cackle of derisive laughter greeted thecheap witticism.

Before any of the others could speakCarolyn June's eyes blazed with suddenwrath. She turned her body in the saddleand faced the speaker, her hands tightlyclenched, her cheeks white with passionand her lip curling wickedly.

"Which shows," she said slowly, everyword stinging like the bite of a whip-lash,"that you are running, true to form andthere is one fool, at least, still

unslaughtered! That"—she continued witha proud toss of her head—"'lonesome-looking little runt' is the Ramblin' Kid!Not another man in Texas can ride thehorse he is on—and there is not a horse inTexas that he can't ride!"

She turned again toward the QuarterCircle KT group and a shamed silencesettled over the swell "out-of-town" car.

Old Heck chuckled with delight atCarolyn June's show of temper.

A whirlwind program of racing, roping,bull-dogging—this event is that in which arider springs from a running horse, graspsby the horns a wild steer running at hisside, twists the animal's head up and

backward and so throws it down and thenholds the creature on the ground—rough-riding and other Rodeo sports followedimmediately after the parade.

Pedro and Charley Saunders were the onlyQuarter Circle KT cowboys participatingin the events of the first day of the Rodeo.The Mexican did a fancy roping stunt infront of the grandstand and finished hisexhibition directly before the Clagstone"Six" in which Carolyn June, Ophelia, OldHeck and Skinny were sitting. At theconclusion of his performance Pedrobowed to the little audience in the car andswept his sombrero before him with allthe courtly grace of a great matador.Carolyn June generously applauded thedark-skinned rider from the Cimarron and

waved a daintily gloved hand inacknowledgment of his skill with the rope.Skinny gritted his teeth while a pang ofjealousy shot through his heart.

Charley took part in the bull-doggingevent. He drew a black steer, rangey built,heavy and wicked. When he lunged fromhis horse on to the horns of the brute itdragged him for a hundred feet before hecould check its mad flight. At last heslowly forced its nose in the air and witha quick wrench of the head to one sidethrew its feet from under it. Man and beastwent down in a heap—the neck of thesteer across the cowboy's body. A groanwent up from the crowd in the grandstandand Carolyn June's cheeks paled withhorror—it looked as if one horn of the

creature had pierced Charley's breast. Butit had missed by the fraction of an inch.Straightening himself up to a sittingposture the cowboy bent forward and sunkhis teeth in the upper lip of the prostrateanimal and threw up both hands as asignal to the judges that the brute was"bulldogged." But the fight had been toohard for him to win first place. BuckWade, a lanky cow-puncher fromMontana, in three seconds less time, hadthrown a brindle Anchor-O steer andtaken first money.

* * * * *

Before the sun dipped into the Costejopeaks the Ramblin' Kid left the Rodeo andreturned alone to the Quarter Circle KT.

He told Parker and the cowboys, all ofwhom intended to remain in Eagle Butteevery night during the Rodeo, that hewould be back in town the next afternoonand bring with him the Gold Dustmaverick. Word had been passed amongthe Quarter Circle KT crowd to keepDorsey and his bunch in the dark as longas possible regarding the fact that the filly,Ophelia, was the famous outlaw mare ofthe lower Cimarron.

After supper Parker, Chuck, Bert andCharley drifted into the Elite AmusementParlor. The place was crowded. MikeSabota immediately singled out theQuarter Circle KT group and beganjollying them about the coming two-milesweepstakes. Dorsey and Flip Williams

had been in the pool-room earlier in theevening and told him of the Ramblin' Kid'sentry of the filly against the Thunderbolthorse.

Within ten minutes Bert and Charley hadplaced two hundred and fifty dollars eachagainst five hundred of Sabota's moneythat the Vermejo stallion would not finishin first place in the big race.

Old Judge Ivory, who happened to bepresent, was agreed upon as stake-holder.

"That Thunderbolt horse, he is the devil,"Sabota laughed evilly as the money washanded over to the gray-haired judge."And Satan, he takes care of his own!"

"Well!" Parker drawled, "if you feelinclined to send any more money to hell Imight help you—" pulling a wad of billsfrom his pocket and throwing thecertificates on the soft-drink bar at whichthey were standing.

Sabota's eyes gleamed greedily.

"I think there's two thousand in this roll,"Parker continued, "and I'm willing to bet itall that the Ramblin' Kid's filly not onlygoes under the wire first in the two-milerun, but that she'll be kicking dirt in oldThunderbolt's face—if he ain't too damnedfar behind—when she does it!"

The Greek covered the wager eagerly.

As Judge Ivory pocketed the moneyDorsey and Flip Williams stepped into thepool-room. Sabota glanced up.

"These Quarter Circle KT hombres aregetting bad," he laughed sneeringly toDorsey; "they think th' Ramblin' Kid's gota colt that can beat Thunderbolt!"

"The Ramblin' Kid must have a hell of afast horse!" Dorsey snarledcontemptuously, "a hell of a fast horse!"he repeated, "when the Ramblin' Kidhimself declines to risk a dollar of hisown money on the running qualities of thecritter!" referring to the conversation afew hours before in the entry judges'office.

As he finished speaking he turned andlooked squarely into the cold gray eyes ofOld Heck who, with Skinny, had enteredthe Amusement Parlor while Dorsey wastalking and heard the Vermejo cattleman'ssneering insinuation.

CHAPTER XV

MOCHA AND JAVA

Old Heck and Skinny had left Ophelia andCarolyn June at the Occidental Hotel,where a room was reserved by Old Heckfor the use of the two women during theRodeo. They had then gone direct to MikeSabota's place for the express purpose ofrunning into Dorsey and his crowd. OldHeck knew that if any large bets were tobe laid on the two-mile sweepstakes theonly chance would be to place thembefore the Ramblin' Kid brought the GoldDust maverick to Eagle Butte and the

Vermejo bunch discovered the identity ofthe horse Thunderbolt was up against.

The Quarter Circle KT cow-men steppedinto the pool-room at exactly the instantmost favorable for their purpose.

Dorsey had made his boast in the presenceof a crowd.

He would hardly dare back up withoutcovering, at least to some worth-whileextent, his words with his money.

For a full minute Old Heck drilled Dorseywith a look such, as a hound dog mighthave in his eyes after he has cornered acoyote and pauses before he springs.

Instinctively the crowd stepped back from

the two cattlemen while a death-like hushfell over the place.

"Th' Ramblin' Kid don't need to back thefilly with his money, Dorsey," Old Hecksaid slowly and in a voice audible inevery part of the room; "I'm here to backher with mine! You've done a lot oftalking—now, damn you, cover yourchatter with coin or shut up!" the end ofthe sentence coming like the crack of awhip.

With a nervous laugh the Vermejocattleman jerked a wallet from his pocket.

"Here's a thousand that says Thunderboltdoes the same thing to theRamblin' Kid's filly that he done to

Quicksilver!" Dorsey snapped.

Old Heck threw back his head andlaughed scornfully.

"A thousand? I thought you were a sport,Dorsey!" he sneered. "Match this," hecontinued, reaching for his check-bookand fountain pen and quickly filling out acheck payable to "Cash" for ten thousanddollars, which he laid on the hardwoodbar. "Match that, or admit you're a cheap,loud-howlin' bluffer!"

Dorsey paused just an instant as he notedthe amount of the check.

"I'll match it!" he exclaimed, flushingangrily, drawing his own check-book from

his pocket, and then, carried away by hispassion added, throwing down the barscompletely as Old Heck had hoped hewould, "and go with you to the end of thetrail!"

"Good!" Old Heck laughed, "now you aretalking like a sport! Let's see," he addedcalculatingly, "how many Y-Bar cattle doyou figure you've got running on theVermejo range—five thousand?"

"There's that many," Dorsey started to say.

"Call it fifty-five hundred!" Old Heckflung at him. "Steer for steer, cow forcow, hoof for hoof—I'll put QuarterCircle KT critters against every brute youown that th' Ramblin' Kid lands his horse

tinder the wire ahead of Thunderbolt!"

Dorsey paled, then a purple-red of furyspread over his neck and face, and with anoath he cried:

"I'll call you!"

Bills of sale were drawn and turned overto Judge Ivory, to be delivered, after therace, to the winner.

"Now," Old Heck said with a hard laugh,"maybe you'd like to own the QuarterCircle KT ranch, Dorsey? It's worth twiceas much as your Vermejo holdings but I'lljust give you that percentage of odds andcall it an even bet that your black stalliondon't outrun the little animal th' Ramblin'

Kid has entered in the sweepstakes!"

But Dorsey did not answer except with amuttered: "Hell, a man's crazy that—" Hehad gone his limit. He had suddenly cometo his senses and grown suspicious.

Before Skinny and Old Heck left the pool-room the former managed to get a bet offive hundred dollars with Sabota.

The next afternoon the Ramblin' Kid rodeinto Eagle Butte on Captain Jack. By hisside he led the Gold Dust maverick. Thenoise and confusion in the streets filled themare with nervousness and she crowdedclosely against the little roan stallion.Before he got the outlaw filly to thestables a half dozen cowboys had

recognized the Cimarron maverick. Withinan hour Dorsey and Sabota knew theidentity of the Ramblin' Kid's entry in thebig race that was to be run Fridayafternoon and which was the big andclosing event of the Rodeo.

The Greek was furious.

Wednesday night he called "Gyp"Streetor, a carnival tout, who had one timebeen a jockey but was ruled off the trackfor crooked work and was now picking up"easies" at the Eagle Butte Rodeo, into aside room of the Amusement Parlor.

For half an hour the two talked earnestlyand furtively.

"Nothin' doin'—absolutely nothin'!" thetout finally said in reply to somesuggestion of Sabota's. "That Captain Jackhorse would murder any man but th'Ramblin' Kid that tried to get in the stall—"

"Well, by hell!" the Greek exclaimed,clenching his hairy fists, while his mouthtwitched with passion, "that filly's got tobe kept out of the sweepstakes somewayor other—"

"You can't get to her, I tell you," Gyp saidsullenly, then with a look of cunningsuddenly coming into his eyes: "They sayshe's a one-man brute like the stallion—nobody can ride her but th' Ramblin' Kid,"significantly looking at Sabota. "If you

could—but he don't drink!"

The Greek laughed.

"There are other ways!" he said. "He eats,don't he? Listen: To-morrow and Fridayyou take that 'sandwich and coffee' run atthe stables—" referring to the concessionto peddle lunch stuff among the horsemenwho seldom left their charges, aconcession which Sabota, with otherprivileges, had purchased the right tooperate. "Th' Ramblin' Kid eats off thetrays—it will be your business to see thathe ain't feeling well when the sweepstakesis called! I'll get the 'pills' for you to-night—"

"No killin', Sabota!" Gyp warned.

"Just enough to put him out for an hour ortwo!" the Greek answered.

Wednesday night the Ramblin' Kid slept inthe stall with the Gold Dust maverick andCaptain Jack. Thursday he remained closeto the horses. Thursday night he againslept on a pile of hay in one corner of thebox-compartment. Under no circumstanceswould he leave the animals. OccasionallyParker or some of the Quarter Circle KTcowboys came down to the stables.

Each night Old Heck and Skinny, withCarolyn June and Ophelia, after theevening program was concluded, droveout to the ranch in the Clagstone "Six,"returning early the following day.

Friday forenoon Old Heck drove the cardown to the stall in which Captain Jackand the Gold Dust maverick wereconfined. The two horses were standing,side by side, with their heads out of thedoor, the upper half of which was swungback. The Ramblin' Kid leaned against thedoor at the side of the horses.

To Carolyn June he looked tired andworn.

"How's the filly?" Old Heck asked, as theoutlaw mare sprang back away from thedoor when the car stopped.

"She's all right."

"Hadn't you ought to exercise her?" Skinny

asked.

"She don't need it," the Ramblin' Kidreplied with a note of weariness in hisvoice. "She'll get enough exercise thisafternoon!"

"You're all right, yourself, are you?" OldHeck asked a bit anxiously.

"Of course I'm all right," was the ratherimpatient reply. "Don't be uneasy," headded with a laugh; "—th' filly'll be in th'race an' beat old Thunderbolt!"

"Good luck!" Carolyn June cried, as OldHeck turned the car about and started backtoward the grandstand.

"Good luck!" the Ramblin' Kid muttered to

himself, watching the car as it whirledaway. "Ign'rant, savage, stupid brute!" herepeated bitterly, then with a queer smilein which was a world of tenderness hepulled the pink satin elastic garter he hadpicked up at the circular corral, from hispocket and looked at it long and wistfully."Good luck?" he exclaimed againquestioningly. "Well, maybe that littlejigger'll bring it!" and he slipped the bandback in his pocket.

"Th' Ramblin' Kid acts like he's got theblues this morning," Skinny said as theClagstone "Six" rolled away from thestables. "He looks to me like a feller that'sin just the right humor to get on a whale ofa drunk—"

"That's one thing about him you candepend on," Old Heck broke in, "—henever poisons himself with liquor. That'swhy when he says he'll do anything youcan bet all you've got he'll do it!"

"Well, if he ever does break loose,"Skinny retorted, "it'll be sudden andwild!"

"Probably," Old Heck replied as thoughthere wasn't the slightest danger of such aneventuality.

That morning Gyp purposely avoidedgoing as far, with his stock of provisions,as the stall in which were Captain Jackand the Gold Dust maverick. Nor did hecome with his lunch tray and tin pot of

coffee until nearly one o'clock.

The Ramblin' Kid had no breakfast. Tosecure it he would have been required toleave the horses. That he would not do. Ofcourse he might have told Old Heck orSkinny to bring or send him something, buthe did not feel inclined to mention, in thepresence of Carolyn June and Ophelia,that he was hungry. Anyhow, well, theywere having a good time and what was theuse of bothering them?

When Gyp finally came with the lunch theRamblin' Kid was outside the stall andhad walked a little way up the stablestreet. Captain Jack and the filly were in acompartment at the end of the string ofstalls. The one next to it, back toward the

grandstand, was unoccupied, andadjoining that was a hay room. Gypstopped opposite the open door of thecompartment in which the bales of hay andstraw were piled. He paused a momentand turned as if to go back.

"Hold on there!" the Ramblin' Kid calledto him. "What you tryin' to do?Starve me to death?"

"D' last thing I'd want to do, Bo!" Gyplaughed good-naturedly. "Did I miss youthis mornin'? Here, come inside where Ican set this bloomin' junk down on a baleof hay for a minute an' I'll fix you up!"

The Ramblin' Kid followed Gyp into thestall.

The tout stooped over, with his back to theother, and slipped a capsule containing awhite powder into a coffee cup which hefilled quickly with the black liquid fromthe tin pot he carried. He handed the cupto the Ramblin' Kid. The latter took it andsat down on a bale of hay lying opposite.The coffee was just hot enough to melt,instantly, the capsule and not too warm todrink at once. The Ramblin' Kid wasthirsty as well as hungry. Lifting the cup tohis lips, while Gyp, fumbling for asandwich, watched him furtively, hedrained it without stopping.

"That's—what was in that?'" he asked,eying the tout keenly. "It tastes like—!"

"Just good old Mocha an' Java!" Gyp

interrupted lightly. "Maybe it's a littlestrong. Here, take another one!" reachingfor the cup.

The Ramblin' Kid started to hand the cupto Gyp to be refilled—a queer numbnessswept over him—the cup fell from hishand—he swayed—tensed his body in aneffort to get up—mumbled thickly:

"What th'—what th'—?"

The tout backed away toward the door,crouching like a cat ready to spring, hisbeady eyes half-frightened, watching thepoison deaden the faculties of the other.He leaped through the door, glanced upand down the stable street—deserted atthat hour except for a few drowsy

attendants lounging in front of their stalls—jerked the door shut, hooked the openpadlock through the iron fastenings,snapped its jaws together and muttered, ashe hurried away:

"I guess that guy won't ride the Gold Dustmaverick in any two-mile sweepstakes to-day!"

As the door slammed shut the Ramblin'Kid pitched forward, unconscious, on thebale of hay.

CHAPTER XVI

THE SWEEPSTAKES

The Clagstone "Six" was parked, Fridayafternoon, in its usual place near the eastend of the grandstand and close to theentrance to the track. Old Heck andOphelia were alone in the car. CarolynJune and Skinny, on Pie Face and RedJohn, watched the afternoon program fromthe "inside field" across the race track.Parker and the Quarter Circle KTcowboys were also mounted on theirhorses and in the field opposite thegrandstand.

Never had there been such a jam at aRodeo held in Eagle Butte.

The two-mile sweepstakes, itself the"cow-man's classic" and the great derbyevent of western Texas, always drewrecord crowds the day on which it wasrun.

This Friday the grandstand creaked underits load of humanity.

The racing feud between the QuarterCircle KT and the Y-Bar and thethousands of dollars Old Heck and Dorseywere known to have bet on theirrespective favorites acted as tinder on theflame of public interest in the big event.

Thunderbolt had a great reputation. Lastyear, and the year before, he had masteredthe field of runners put against him.

The Gold Dust maverick—named in therace "Ophelia"—was a wonder horse inthe minds of the people of western Texaswho had heard of the beautiful, almostsuper-creature, that had tormented, withher speed and endurance, the riders of theCimarron and now at last was caught, andto be ridden in the sweepstakes, by theRamblin' Kid.

At two-forty a special exhibition of"Cossack Riding"—participated in byLute Larsen, of Idaho; Jack Haines, fromTexas, and Curly Piper, a Coloradocowboy, finished in front of the

grandstand.

The announcer trained his megaphone onthe vast crowd:

"The next event," he bellowed, "two-milesweepstakes! Purse one thousand dollars!Five entries! Naming them in their orderfrom the pole: Thunderbolt, black Y-Barstallion, Flip Williams, rider; Say-So,roan gelding, from the Pecos River, Box-V outfit, Jess Curtis, rider; Ophelia, GoldDust filly, the Cimarron outlaw from theQuarter Circle KT, th' Ramblin' Kid,rider; Prince John, sorrel gelding, fromDallas, Texas, 'Snow' Johnson, rider;Dash-Away, bay mare, from JacksonHole, Wyoming, Slim Tucker, rider. Racecalled at three o'clock sharp! Horse

failing to score on the dot will be ruledout! Range saddles to be used. Entries forthe two-mile sweepstakes will show atonce on the track!"

Dead silence ensued during theannouncer's drawling oration.

It was followed by the hum of fivethousand voices as they chattered in eagerexpectancy.

The band crashed out Dixie and a medleyof southern melodies.

Chuck and Bert reined their bronchos upto Parker.

"We're going over and see how th'Ramblin' Kid is making it," Chuck said.

"He might need that filly herded a little toget her through this jam." And theygalloped their horses across the tracktoward the stables.

Carolyn June and Skinny decided to watchthe sweepstakes from the car, with OldHeck and Ophelia. They rode Pie Faceand Red John over to the Clagstone "Six."Carolyn June dismounted and stepped upon the running-board of the car, holdingRed John loosely by the bridle rein.

"Gee," she laughed, "but I'm nervous!"

Old Heck reached over and patted herhand.

"Wait till they start to run before you get

hysterical," he chuckled. "There'll be timeenough then for excitement!" One couldnever have told, by his actions, that withinthe next few moments he would lose orwin fifty thousand dollars.

Chuck pulled Silver Tip to a stop in frontof the stall where CaptainJack and the Gold Dust maverick werestanding.

"They're getting ready for thesweepstakes!" he called, thinking theRamblin' Kid was in the compartmentwith the horses. "You'd better be puttingyour rigging on the filly," as he slid fromhis broncho and stepped to the door of thestall.

There was no answer. He peered into thehalf-gloom of the place.

It was empty save for the two horses.

"That's funny as thunder," he said, puzzled,to Bert. "Where'd you reckon th' Ramblin'Kid is?"

"Darned if I know—ain't he there?" Bertanswered, riding up so he could look intothe door.

"Look around a little," Chuck saidanxiously. "Maybe he's just stepped awayfor a minute—Hey!" he called to anattendant of a stall a short distance downthe stable street, "have you seen anythingof th' Ramblin' Kid—the feller that has

these horses?"

"Naw," was the careless answer, "I ain'tseen him for two hours."

"Something must be wrong!" Chuckexclaimed. "You stay here and watch!I'll go see Old Heck—maybe he knowswhere he is."

"Hell, yes!" Bert said as the other startedSilver Tip in a run toward where theClagstone "Six" was parked. "He's got tobe found! Nobody else but him can ridethe maverick!"

At the car, before his horse was fairlystopped, Chuck leaned over and asked,tensely:

"Have any of you people seen th' Ramblin'Kid?"

Old Heck straightened up.

"Ain't he at the stables?" he inquireduneasily. "He was there this morning—"

"No," Chuck replied hurriedly, "he's beengone two hours!"

"Good lord," Old Heck exclaimed, "he'sgot to be found! The race starts in tenminutes."

"And nobody but him can ride the filly!"Skinny interrupted. "I wonder if he's—" hestarted to say "drunk," but stopped asCarolyn June looked quickly at him. Theword was in both their minds.

"It ain't natural!" Old Heck cried; "theremust be something dirty! You boys go lookfor him; I'll, keep my eyes open here!"

As Old Heck said "dirty" the picture ofMike Sabota flashed into Carolyn June'smind. Some intuition seemed to couple, inher inner consciousness, the big Greekwith the Ramblin' Kid's disappearance.

The horses for the two-mile sweepstakeswere already beginning to come on to thetrack. Flip Williams was walkingThunderbolt up and down in front of thegrandstand, trying to keep the high-spiritedstallion quiet until time came to mount; therider of Say-So was doing the same thingwith his entry; Slim Tucker was alreadysitting on Dash-Away, the trim Wyoming

mare standing unruffled near the startingline, while Snow Johnson, like Tucker,already on his mount, was circling PrinceJohn in wide loops behind the others.

Carolyn June was stunned for a moment bythe thought that had come into her mindwhen the picture of the burly Greekflashed before her. She clenched herhands and her cheeks whitened.

"Come on, Skinny!" she said suddenly,stepping off the running-board of the carand swinging on to Red John, "we'll gohelp look for the Ramblin' Kid!"

She whirled the big bay around the end ofthe grandstand and rode in a fast gallopstraight for the box stall, Skinny and

Chuck following close behind her. Aquick resolution formed in her mind:"Nobody but the Ramblin' Kid could ridethe filly?"

She could ride the mare!

Even if the Ramblin' Kid was not foundSabota and his crowd should not beallowed to win by dirty work—if dirtywork had been done!

At the stall Carolyn June sprang from RedJohn.

Bert was nervously walking about, callingoccasionally the name of the missingQuarter Circle KT cowboy.

"Have you found him?" Carolyn June

asked as Skinny and Chuck came upbehind her.

"No," Bert answered glumly, "he ain'tshowed up yet! There ain't no signs of himaround here."

"What'll we do?" Skinny asked excitedly."The race is almost ready to start and—doyou reckon you could ride the filly, Bert?"he finished with a gleam of hope.

"I doubt it, but, well, I'll try her—ifCaptain Jack'll let me get her out."

"You boys keep back!" Carolyn Juneinterrupted, stepping to the door of thestall and opening it, "Captain Jack knowsme and—I—I—think the filly does, too—I

can handle her—" as she stepped boldlyinside the compartment with the horses.

"Don't go in there!" Skinny cried, "Car—Carolyn June, they'll kill you!"

"You boys keep away!" she laughed. "Anddon't get the horses nervous!They won't hurt me!" she answered, goingahead toward the animals.

Captain Jack looked at her suspiciously aninstant

"Jack-Boy—Jack-Boy!" she called with acaress in her voice. "Careful! We'refriends!" The attitude of the stallionchanged instantly and the menace wasgone from his eyes.

The Gold Dust maverick heard the voiceand with a friendly little nicker rubbed herhead against the outstretched hand.

In a corner was the Ramblin' Kid's saddle,bridle, blanket and worn leather chaps.

With a light pat of the outlaw filly's cheekCarolyn June turned and began quicklyand deftly putting the riding gear on thebeautiful mare.

* * * * *

For an hour and a half the Ramblin' Kidlay as he had fallen when he started tohand the coffee cup back to Gyp.Breathing heavily, his face flushed, hewas as one in the deep stupor of complete

intoxication. At last he stirred uneasily.An unconscious groan came from his lips.His eyes opened. In them was a dazed,puzzled look. Where was he? He triedvainly to remember—the clean life, theiron constitution and youth—aidedperhaps by an indomitable subconsciouswill protesting against this something thathad happened to him—were throwing offthe effects of the drug hours before anordinary man would have regained even ahint of sensibility.

He stood up—reeling unsteadily. He wasdeathly sick. Lightning flashes of painthrobbed through his head. Waves ofblackness rolled before his eyes. Surgesof numbness swept over his legs and arms.He tried hard to remember. There was

something—what was it? Th'—th'—whatth' hell?—th' race! That was it—th'—th'—th' sweepstakes! In an instant thethought was gone. It kept beating back: Th'sweepstakes—th' race—What time wasit? Had it been run? He staggered to thedoor. It was locked! His head wasbursting. If he could only get over thenausea. He felt his knees start to give way.No! No! My God, he wouldn't give up! He—oh, yes. Th' race! Captain Jack—no—th'—th'—maverick—he had to ride—Hemust get out! There was a—a—window—sometimes they had them—in the back ofthe stalls. Maybe the hay was over it. Heclimbed on the bales. Behind them hecould see the opening. God, he was weak!With the sweat of terrible nausea burstingfrom every pore of his body he pulled the

bales back. He fell over the bale on whichhe had been lying. One hand brushed hishat which had fallen from his head.Mechanically, with stiff fingers, he pickedit up and jammed it on again. Then heclimbed—crawled—over the hay andpitched forward through the opening, in alimp heap, on the ground outside.

For a moment he lost consciousnesscompletely again: Th'—th' race—th'maverick! he mustn't forget—

He fought his way to his feet and gropedalong back of the building—the stall—which way was it? Down there? No—theother way—

As Carolyn June tightened the rear cinch

on the Gold Dust maverick and turnedtoward the door of the stall with: "Lookout, boys—I'm coming out!" the Ramblin'Kid, clutching at the side of the building,reeled around the corner of the stall. Thecowboys saw him. He himself saw onlyblack shapes where their horses were.

"Good God!" Skinny cried, "he's drunk!"

Carolyn June heard Skinny's exclamationat the instant the Ramblin' Kid, catching atthe half-open door, almost fell into thestall. His eyes stared with a dull, puzzled,unrecognizing vacancy first at CarolynJune and then the Gold Dust maverick."Who th' hell—" he mumbled stiffly."What—th'—oh, yes—there's th' filly—th'—th'—race. It must—be—time. Th'

mare's saddled! That's—that's—funny! Ican't remember. Th' race—th' sweepstakes—that's it—"

Reaching over he jerked the reins from thehand of Carolyn June.

"Who—who—get the—" came like thethick growl of a beast from his throat."You—you—can't ride—she'll—she'll—kill—"

Carolyn June shrank back as if she hadbeen struck. She pressed her hands againsther cheeks and stepped away with a lookof horror and disgust as the Ramblin' Kidbacked out of the stall with the Gold Dustmaverick. Outside he fumbled grotesquelyat the silky mane and climbed weakly into

the saddle.

Chuck and Bert started toward him.

"Get—the—hell—" he snarled as he sawtheir horses—mere shadow shapes theywere to him—approach.

"Let him alone!" Skinny said. "He's drunk!You'll just scare the filly and make herhurt him!"

The boys let him go.

With blanched cheeks Carolyn Junemounted Red John and with Skinny, Bertand Chuck, rode back to the Clagstone"Six." Her heart was utterly sick. So thiswas it? It had come out—the brute—thebeast that was in him!

They reached the car as the Ramblin' Kid,at the horse entrance, at the other end ofthe grandstand, came on the track with theGold Dust maverick.

Old Heck looked up when the groupapproached. He saw the agony inCarolyn June's eyes and started to speak.

"Th' Ramblin' Kid's drunk," Skinny saiddully. "He showed up—yonder he is—"as the beautiful copper-tinted, chestnutfilly appeared behind the other horsesentered for the two-mile sweepstakes.

"Drunk?" Old Heck cried incredulously."Are you sure?"

"Watch him!" Chuck said miserably.

The starter was standing with armoutstretched and flag ready to fall. Thefilly came down the track jumpingnervously from side to side in shortspringing leaps. The starter paused, watchin hand. A shout of admiration and wonderwent up from the crowd as the splendidcreature dancing down the track wasrecognized. The next instant it wassucceeded by a cry of horror that rolled ina great wave from a thousand throats.

"Th' Ramblin' Kid is drunk! He's drunk—the mare will kill him!" as they saw theslim rider weaving limply in the saddle,his head dropped forward as if he wereutterly helpless.

"Rule that horse off the track!" Dorsey,

who was standing with MikeSabota, in a box-seat just below thejudges' stand, shouted as he sawthe Ramblin' Kid, even in his half-conscious condition, reining the GoldDust maverick with consummate skill intoposition, "her rider's drunk!"

The Ramblin' Kid heard the voice and—by some miracle of the mind—recognizedit, although his eyes, set and glassy, couldnot see the speaker.

He turned his head in the direction fromwhich the cry came and answered, slowlymeasuring each word:

"Go—go—t' hell—you—you—coyote!"

The next instant the starter dropped theflag. As it went down the filly crouchedand reared straight into the air.

That one second gave the other horses thestart.

Then the outlaw mare leaped forwarddirectly behind Thunderbolt, runningagainst the inside rail. Say-So, the Pecoshorse, jammed close to the side of theblack stallion; Snow Johnson, rider ofPrince John, pushed the big sorrel aheadwith his nose at the roan's tail; Dash-Away hugged against the heels of PrinceJohn. The Gold Dust maverick was"pocketed!"

A breathless hush fell over the crowd in

the grandstand after the first mighty roar:

"They're off!"

Black devils of torture clutched the throat,the mind, the body of the Ramblin' Kid.Streams of fire seemed to be flowingthrough his veins. He couldn't see—hewas blind. "What th'—what th'—hell!" hemuttered over and over. He was vaguelyconscious of the thunder of hoofs aroundhim—under him. Dimly, black shadowswere rushing along at his side. He foughtwith all his will to master his faculties.Where was he? What was it? Was it a—a—stampede? What? Oh, yes, th' race—th'—th'— sweepstakes—that—that wasit—Over and over the fleeting flashes ofconsciousness kept throwing this one

supreme idea on the mirror of his mind!

Not a word was spoken by any of theparty at the Clagstone "Six" as the fivefastest horses ever on the Eagle Buttetrack swept past the car toward the firstquarter-turn of the course.

Carolyn June's face was as white asmarble. Her breast heaved and fell as if itwould burst. Dry-eyed, every nerve tense,she stared at the straining racers.Unconsciously she gripped into hard knotsof flesh and bone, both hands, while shebit at her underlip until a red drop ofblood started from the gash made in thetender skin by her teeth.

"Drunk!" she thought, "drunk! Beastly

drunk—and throwing away the greatestrace ever run on a Texas track!"

Old Heck sat impassive as though carvedfrom stone and said nothing.

Ophelia nervously chewed at the finger ofher glove while her eyes moistened withsympathy and pity.

Skinny, Chuck and Bert sat gloomily,moodily, on their bronchos and watchedThunderbolt lead the quintette of runninghorses.

For the life of him Skinny could not keepfrom thinking of the five hundred dollarshe had bet with Sabota, on the race, andthe number of white shirts and purple ties

he might have bought with the money!

Over in the track-field Parker, Charleyand Pedro saw the start of the race andeach swore softly and silently to himself.

Sing Pete, alone of the Quarter Circle KTcrowd, in the jam of the grandstand,stretched his neck and followed withinscrutable eyes the close-bunched racers.The start had puzzled him, yet hemurmured hopefully:

"Maybe all samee Lamblin' Kid he beateehell out of 'em yet!"

The loyal Chinese cook had wagered thesavings of a dozen years on the speed ofthe Gold Dust maverick's nimble legs and

his faith in the "Lamblin' Kid."

A blanket might have covered the fivehorses as they swung around the first mile.

The speed-mad animals roared down thehomestretch, finishing the first half of therace in the almost identical position eachhad taken in the getaway.

The Ramblin' Kid rode the mile more asan automaton than as a living, conscioushuman being. He had no memory of time,place, events—save for the instants ofrationality he forced his will to bring.

Gradually, though, his mind was clearing.

But which was it—the first half?—the lasthalf? How long had they been running?

How many times had they gone around thetrack? He could not remember!

Down the straight stretch the racers camein a mighty whirlwind of speed.

"Thunderbolt is taking it!"

"The Y-Bar horse leads!"

"Th' black's got 'em!" roared from thethroats of the crowd in the grandstand andthe mass of humanity crushing the railingalong the track.

Dorsey and Sabota leaped to the edge ofthe box as the horses thundered past thejudges' stand. The voice of the owner ofThunderbolt shrieked out in a hoarsebellow:

"Hold him to it, Flip! Keep your lead—you've got the filly!"

The Ramblin' Kid heard again—or thoughthe heard again—the voice of the Vermejocattleman. He caught, as an echo, a note oftriumph in it. It was like a tonic to hisdrug-numbed faculties.

Suddenly he saw clearly. He had just aglimpse of Sabota standing by the side ofDorsey. He understood. In a flash it allcame to him. The first half of the greatsweepstakes race was behind them! Oncemore they were to circle the track. Theglistening black rump of Thunderbolt roseand fell just ahead of the Gold Dustmaverick's nose—at her side, crowdingher against the rail, was another horse.

Which one? It didn't matter! Back of itwas another. He was "pocketed!" Hell, nowonder Thunderbolt was ahead of theoutlaw mare!

Half-way around the quarter-turn hepulled the filly down.

She slackened ever so little. Thunderbolt—the horse at her side—all of them—shotahead.

He was behind the bunch—clear of thefield!

The crowd saw the filly dart to the right. Itlooked as though she would go over theoutside rail before the Ramblin' Kidswung her, in a great arch, to the left clear

of, but far behind, the other horses.

He was crazy! The Gold Dust maverickwas getting the better of theRamblin' Kid. He had lost control of thewonderful mare!

So thought the thousands watching thedrama on the track before them.

Away over, next to the outside fence, onthe far side of the track, open now beforehim for the long outfield stretch, theRambling Kid straightened the Gold Dustmaverick out. The other racers were stillbunched against the inner rail—lengthsahead of the filly.

Leaning low on the neck of the maverick,

the Ramblin' Kid began talking, for thefirst time, to the horse he rode.

"Baby—Baby! Girl!" he whisperedincoherently almost. "Go—go—damn 'em!'Ophelia'"—he laughed thickly, reeling inthe saddle. "Hell—_no—'Little—Little—Pink Garter!—that's—that's—what y' are!Little—Pink—Garter—" he repeatedirrationally. "That's it—show 'em—damn'em—show 'em what—what runnin'—what real runnin' is!" fumblingcaressingly at the mare's neck with handsnumb and stiff and chuckling pitifully,insanely, while his face was drawn withagony nearly unendurable.

Then the Gold Dust maverick ran!

Never had ground flowed with suchswiftness under the belly of a horse on aTexas track.

"Good God!" Skinny yelled, "lookyyonder! He's passin' them! Th'Ramblin' Kid is passin' 'em!"

No one answered him.

His voice was drowned in the mighty roarthat surged from five thousand throats androlled in waves of echoing and re-echoingsound across the field.

"He's ridin' round 'em!"

"Th' Ramblin' Kid is goin' around them!"

"Great heavens! Look at that horse go!"

"She's a-flyin'! She's a-flyin'!"

The Gold Dust maverick closed the gap—she caught Dash-Away—she evened upwith Prince John—she left the big sorrelbehind—she passed Say-So—nose tonose for a few rods she ran opposite theblack wonder—the Thunderbolt horsefrom the Vermejo.

Flip Williams, spurs raking the flanks ofDorsey's stallion, looked around.

The Ramblin' Kid leaned toward him:

"Hell—why—don't you—make that—thing run!" he sneered at the Y-Bar rider.

The next instant the Gold Dust maverick'sneck and shoulders showed in the lead of

the Y-Bar stallion.

At the turn for the home stretch the outlawfilly shot ahead of the wonderful blackhorse from the Vermejo, swung close tothe inside rail, and like a flash of gold-brown darted down the track toward thewire.

The grandstand was turned into amadhouse of seething humanity. Theimmense crowd came to its feet roaringand shrieking with frenzy. Men smashedtheir neighbors with clenched fists—notknowing or caring how hard or whom theystruck—or that they themselves werebeing hit. Women screamed frantically,hysterically, tears streaming fromthousands of eyes because of sheer joy at

the wonderful thing the Gold Dustmaverick was doing. Even the stolid SingPete was jumping up and down, shouting:

"Come on—come on—Lamblin' Kid! Beat'em—beatee hell out of 'em!"

Full three lengths in the lead of the"unbeatable" Thunderbolt the GoldDust maverick flashed under the wire infront of the judges!

Dorsey, shaken in every nerve, lips blueas though he were stricken with a chill,reeled out of the box from which he hadwatched his whole fortune swept away bythe speed of the Cimarron mare. At hisside, profaning horrible, obscene oathsstaggered Mike Sabota.

Old Heck, white-faced, but his lips drawnin a smile of satisfaction, stood up in theClagstone "Six" and watched the Ramblin'Kid—his eyes set and staring, his bodytwitching convulsively, check the filly,swing her around, ride back to the judges'stand, weakly fling up a hand in salute andthen, barely able to sit in the saddle, reinthe Gold Dust maverick off the track andride toward the box stall.

Skinny drew a hand across his eyes andlooked at Carolyn June.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

CHAPTER XVII

OLD HECK GOES TO TOWN

It was Monday morning, clear andcloudless, with a whiff of a breeze kissingthe poplars along the front-yard fence atthe Quarter Circle KT. On the sand-hillsnorth of the Cimarron, Pedro was pushingthe saddle cavallard toward Rock Creek,where the last half of the beef round-upwas to begin. Parker and the cowboyswere just splashing their bronchos into thewater at the lower ford. Sing Pete, on thehigh seat of the grub-wagon, was oncemore clucking and cawing at Old Tom and

Baldy as they drew the outfit along thelane and followed the others to the openrange.

Old Heck, Skinny, Ophelia and CarolynJune again were alone at theQuarter Circle KT.

The Eagle Butte Rodeo had closed, withone last riotous carnival of wildness atmidnight Saturday night.

Once more the straggling town, its pulsegradually beating back to normal, lay half-asleep at the foot of the sun-baked buttethat stood silent and drowsy beyond theSante Fe tracks.

Tom Poole, the lank marshal, loafed as

usual about the Elite Amusement Parlor,over which hung a sullen quiet reflectingthe morbid emotions of Mike Sabota, itsbrutish-built proprietor, resulting from hisheavy losses on Thunderbolt in the two-mile sweepstakes when the Gold Dustmaverick, ridden by the drug-crazedRamblin' Kid, darted under the wirelengths ahead of the black Vermejostallion.

Friday evening Old Heck had met Dorseyin the pool-room.

Judge Ivory handed over to the owner ofthe Quarter Circle KT the Y-Barcattleman's check for ten thousand dollarsand the bill of sale he had recklessly givenand which transferred to Old Heck all the

cattle the Vermejo rancher owned.

Dorsey was game.

"You put it on me," he said to Old Heck"but the Ramblin' Kid won square and I'mnot squealing!"

Old Heck turned the check slowly over inhis hand and looked at it with a quizzicalfrown on his face:

"I reckon this is good?"

"It's my exact balance," Dorsey replied; "Isaw to that this morning."

For a long minute Old Heck studied thebill of sale that made him owner of everycow-brute burnt with the Y-Bar brand.

"My men will gather the cattle withinfifteen days," Dorsey said dully, noting thehalf-questioning look on Old Heck's face,"or you can send your own crew, just asyou please. I suppose you'll meet me half-way and receive the stock in EagleButte?"

"Can Thunderbolt run?" Old Heck askedirrelevantly.

"Not as fast as that imp of hell of theRamblin' Kid's!" Dorsey answeredinstantly and with a short laugh.

Old Heck chuckled.

"You say you'll turn the Y-Bar cattle overto me within fifteen days?" he asked again,

reverting to a study of the paper he held inhis hand.

"Yes," Dorsey replied; "is thatsatisfactory?"

"You're a pretty good sport, after all,Dorsey," Old Heck said quietly. "I'll cashthis check"—glancing at the yellow slip ofpaper—"and this thing, here—we'll justtear it up!" as he reduced the bill of sale tofragments. "Keep your cattle, Dorsey," headded, "ten thousand dollars is enough foryou to pay for your lesson!"

Dorsey flushed a dull red.

"I ain't asking—"

"I know you're not," Old Heck interrupted,

"and that's the reason I tore up that bill ofsale!"

"Old Heck," Dorsey said, his voicetrembling, "you're white! I'd like to shake—"

The rival cattlemen gripped hands and theracing feud between theQuarter Circle KT and the Y-Bar wasended.

A week later Dorsey sent Flip Williams tothe Quarter Circle KT. TheVermejo cowboy led the beautiful blackstallion that had masteredQuicksilver and had in turn been whippedby the Gold Dust maverick.

"Dorsey said, Tell Old HeckThunderbolt's a pretty good saddlehorse,'" Flip explained, "'and he'd do tochange off with Quicksilver once in awhile! So he sent him over as a sort ofkeepsake!'"

The Ramblin' Kid did not return to theQuarter Circle KT until lateSunday night. After the two-milesweepstakes he was horribly ill. AllFriday night he laid, in a semi-consciouscondition, in the stall withCaptain Jack and the Gold Dust maverick.

Parker and some of the cowboys visitedthe stall after the race, but they thought theRamblin' Kid was drunk and the best thingwas to allow him to sleep it off.

"I can't figure it out," Chuck said as theyturned away, "he never did get drunkbefore that I knew of—"

"You can't tell what he's liable to do,"Charley interrupted, "he sure took anawful chance getting on a tear at the timehe did!"

"Well, he won the race," Parker saidadmiringly, "drunk or sober, you've got togive him credit for that!"

Saturday the Ramblin' Kid got Pedro tostay with the horses while he went over tothe Elite Amusement Parlor. He hadnothing to say to Sabota or any of theloafers in the place.

He was looking for Gyp Streetor.

Until Sunday afternoon he searched EagleButte, trying to find the tout. All he wantedwas to locate the man who had sold himthat cup of coffee—he could rememberdrinking the coffee; after that until thefollowing morning all was hazy.

But Gyp was gone.

When the Gold Dust maverick, with theRamblin' Kid swaying uncertainly on herback, had appeared on the track for thetwo-mile run, the tout, his eyes like thoseof a harried rat, sneaked out of the crowdin front of the book-makers' booths andhurried toward the Santa Fe railroadyards. An hour later he slipped into an

empty freight car—part of a train headedfor the West—and Eagle Butte saw him nomore.

It was midnight Sunday when the Ramblin'Kid reached the Quarter Circle KT, turnedCaptain Jack and the outlaw filly into thecircular corral, and without disturbing OldHeck, Parker, or the cowboys, alreadyasleep in the bunk-house, sought his bed.

Monday morning he was at breakfast withthe others.

Throughout the meal the Ramblin' Kid wassilent. Carolyn June, still shocked by whatshe thought was his intoxication the day ofthe race, and believing he had remained inEagle Butte over Saturday night and

Sunday to continue the debauch, ignoredhim.

None of the others cared to question himand the Ramblin' Kid himself volunteeredno information.

Once only, Old Heck mentioned the race.

"That was a pretty good ride you made inthe two-mile event," he said, addressingthe Ramblin' Kid; "it looked at first likethe filly—"

"You won your money, didn't you?" theRamblin' Kid interrupted in a tone thatplainly meant there was nothing further tobe said.

That was the only reference to the

incidents of Friday afternoon.

After breakfast the Ramblin' Kid saddledthe Gold Dust maverick, turnedCaptain Jack with the cavallard, and withParker and the other QuarterCircle KT cowboys rode away to helpgather the beef cattle from the westhalf of the Cimarron range.

The week that followed passed quickly.

During the entire period the Kiowa layunder a mantle of sunshine by day andstarlit skies by night.

Carolyn June once more provided theevening dessert of coffee-jelly and Skinnyfinished teaching her the art of dipping

bread in milk and egg batter, frying it inhot butter, and calling the result "Frenchtoast"

Skinny again put on the white shirt and theshamrock tinted tie. He had not dared towear what Chuck called his "love-makingrigging" during the week of the Rodeo. Itwould have made him entirely tooconspicuous among the hundreds of othercowboys gathered at Eagle Butte for thebig celebration. Situations filled withembarrassment would have been almostcertain to develop.

"It's getting so it needs a washing a little,"Skinny remarked toCarolyn June the first time he reappearedin the once snowy garment.

He was quite right.

Carolyn June herself had noticed that theshirt had lost some of its immaculateness.

"It doesn't look hardly as white as it did atfirst!"

"No, it don't," Skinny answered seriously."I guess I'll wash it to-morrow. I neverdid wash one but I reckon it ain't so awfulhard to do—"

"I'll help you," Carolyn June volunteered."I've never washed one either, but it willbe fun to learn how!"

The next day they washed the shirt.

The ceremony was performed in the

kitchen after they had finished doing thebreakfast dishes. Ophelia, after water fora vase of roses, came into the room whileSkinny was rinsing the shirt in the large tindishpan.

The garment was a sickly yellow.

"Darned if I know what's wrong with it,"Skinny said, a trifle discouraged, whileCarolyn June, her sleeves rolled abovedimpled elbows, stood by and watchedthe slushy operation. "Carolyn June andme both have blamed near rubbed ourfingers off trying to get it to look rightagain but somehow or other it don't seemto work."

"Did you put bluing in your rinse water?"

Ophelia asked with a laugh.

"Bluing?" Carolyn June and Skinnyquestioned together. "What does that do toit?"

"Bleaches it—makes it white," the widowreplied with another laugh as she returnedto the front room.

"By golly, maybe that's what it needs!"Skinny exclaimed hopefully.

"Of course," Carolyn June cried gaily."How silly we were not to think of it! Anyone ought to know you put bluing in thewater when you wash things. Wonder ifSing Pete has any around anywhere?"

They searched the kitchen shelves and

found a pint bottle, nearly full, of theliquid indigo compound.

"How much do you suppose we ought toput in?" Carolyn June asked, pulling thecork from the bottle and holding it poisedover the pan of water in which the shirt, aslimy, dingy mass, floated drunkenly.

"Darned if I know," Skinny said,scratching his head. "She said it wouldmake it white—I reckon the more you putin the whiter the blamed thing'll be. Tryabout half of it at first and see how 'itworks!"

"Gee, isn't it pretty?" Carolyn Junegurgled as she tipped the bottle and thewaves of indigo spread through the water,

covering the shirt with a deep crystallineblue.

"You bet!" Skinny exclaimed. "That oughtto fix it!"

It did.

The shirt, when finally dried, was awonderful thing—done in a sort ofmottled, streaky, marbled sky and cloudeffect.

But Skinny wore it, declaring he liked itbetter—that it more nearly matched theshamrock tie—than when it was "toodarned white and everything!"

To Parker and the boys on the beef hunteverything was business.

The days were filled with hard riding asthey gathered the cattle, bunched the fatanimals, cut out and turned back thoseunfit for the market, stood guard at nightover the herd, steadily and rapidlycleaned the west half of the Kiowa rangeof the stuff that was ready to sell.

It was supper-time on one of the last daysof the round-up.

The outfit was camped at Dry Buck. Bedrolls, wrapped in dingy gray tarpaulins orblack rubber ponchos, were scatteredabout marking the places where eachcowboy that night would sleep. The herdwas bunched a quarter of a mile away in alittle cove backed by the rim of sand-hills.Captain Jack and Silver Tip, riderless but

with their saddles still on, were nippingthe grass near the camp—the Ramblin'Kid and Chuck were to take the firstwatch, until midnight, at "guard mount."Parker and the cowboys were squatted,legs doubled under them, their kneesforming a table on which to hold the whiteporcelain plate of "mulligan," in a circleat the back of the grub-wagon. Sing Petetrotted around the group and poured black,blistering-hot coffee into the unbreakablecups on the ground at the side of thehungry, dusty riders.

The sun had just dipped into the raggedpeaks of the Costejo range and a reddish-purple crown lay on the crest of SentinelMountain forty miles to the southeast.

"It looks to me like Parker's sort of losingout," Chuck suddenly remarked, as hewiped his lips on the back of his handafter washing down a mouthful of thesavory stew with gulps of steaming coffee."Ophelia stuck closer than thunder to OldHeck all through the Rodeo."

Parker reddened and growled: "Aw, hell—don't start that up again!"

"By criminy, she didn't stick any closer toOld Heck than Skinny stuck to CarolynJune," Bert complained. "Nobody else hada look-in!"

"Skinny's sure earning his money,"Charley muttered half enviously.

"Bet he's got on that white shirt and havinga high old time right now! They'reprobably in the front room and she'splaying La Paloma on the piano whileOld Skinny's setting back rolling his eyesup like a bloated yearling!" Chucklaughed.

"And Old Heck and Ophelia are out on theporch holding hands and lookingaffectionate while the mosquitos arechewing their necks and ankles!" Bertadded with a snicker.

"Her and Old Heck'll probably be marriedbefore we get back," Chuck said solemnly,with a wink at the Ramblin' Kid and a slyglance in the direction of Parker.

"Do you reckon there's any danger of it?"Parker asked in a voice that showedanxiety, but not of the sort the cowboysthought.

"They're darned near sure to," Chuckreplied seriously, heaving what he tried tomake resemble a sigh of sympathy.

"What makes you think so?" Parkerquestioned, seeking confirmation from thelips of other, of a hope that had beenrising in his heart since the first momenthe had begun to regret his rash proposal ofmarriage to the widow.

"Well, for one thing"—Chuck begansoberly—"the way they'd look at eachother—"

"I saw her squeeze Old Heck's arm once!"Bert interrupted.

"Aw, she's done that lots of times," Chucksaid airily; "that ain't nothing special! Butthe worst indication was them flowers shewore on her bosom every day—Old Heckbought 'em!" he finished dramatically,leaning over and speaking tensely asthough it pained him immeasurably tobreak the news to Parker while he fixedon Old Heck's rival a look he imaginedwas one of supreme pity.

"Yeah, he had them sent up from LasVegas," Bert added, picking up the cueand lying glibly. "I saw the express agentdeliver a box of them to him one day.There was four dollars and eighty cents

charges on 'em!"

A gleam, which the cowboysmisunderstood, came into Parker's eyes.

"Why don't you and Old Heck fight a duelabout Ophelia?" Bert suggested tragicallyand in a voice that was aimed to conveysympathy to the Quarter Circle KTforeman. "You could probably kill him!"

"Sure, that's the way they do in books,"Chuck urged.

"Yes," the Ramblin' Kid broke in with aslow drawl, "fight one with sour-doughbiscuits at a hundred yards! That'd besensible—then both of you'd be genuineheroes!"

"Gosh, th' Ramblin' Kid's awake!" Bertlaughed. "How does it happen you ain'tfell in love with Carolyn June?" he asked,turning toward the slender, dark-eyed,young cowboy. "So far you're the only onethat's escaped. The rest of us are breakingour hearts—"

For an instant the Ramblin' Kid flashed onBert a look of hot anger while a dull redglow spread over his sun-tanned cheeks.

"There's enough damned fools loose on th'Kiowa range without me bein' one, too!"he retorted slowly, getting up and goingtoward Captain Jack.

"Blamed if he'll stand a bit of joshing onthat subject!" Bert muttered, his own face

flushing from the look the Ramblin' Kidhad given him.

"Not a darned bit," Chuck added, "but it isfunny; the way he shys off from CarolynJune!"

"Th' Ramblin' Kid ain't interested inwomen," Charley said, as they pitchedtheir plates to one side and the meal wasfinished. "He ain't the kind that botherswith females!"

When Chuck had idly suggested that OldHeck and Ophelia might be marriedbefore Parker and the Quarter Circle KTcowboys returned to the ranch from thebeef hunt, he did not know it, but thewords he spoke in jest voiced the very

thought at the same instant in the mind ofOld Heck—miles away though he was.Perhaps it was mental telepathy, thoughtvibration, subconscious soulcommunication—or a mere coincident,that caused Chuck, far out on the openrange, to speak the thing Old Heck, sittingat supper with Carolyn June, Ophelia andSkinny, at the Quarter Circle KT wasthinking.

Ever since Parker had voluntarilysurrendered during the Rodeo, his right toalternate, day and day about, with OldHeck in the widow's society, the owner ofthe Quarter Circle KT had been watchingOphelia, covertly and carefully, for anysign of "Movements" or an outbreak as adreaded suffragette.

While he watched her the widow wasbecoming more and more a necessity inthe life of Old Heck.

The night of the conversation betweenParker and the cowboys, away over atRock Creek, Old Heck sat at the suppertable in the kitchen at the ranch anddebated in his mind the futurerelationships of Parker, Ophelia andhimself. In a few days Parker wouldreturn. Almost certainly the foremanwould again wish to share, fifty-fifty, inthe courtship of the widow. Old Heck feltthat if such were so those odd days, whenParker was with Ophelia, would be littleless than hell. Yet, he dreaded thatsuffragette business. If she would onlybreak loose and let him see how bad she

was liable to be he could easily make uphis mind. He was almost ready to take achance, to ask Ophelia to marry him andsettle it all at once.

Throughout the meal he was moody. Aftersupper he had little to say and the next fewdays he brooded constantly over thematter.

Tuesday Parker and the cowboys wereexpected to return with the beef cattle.Monday morning, at breakfast, the widowasked Old Heck if he would take her toEagle Butte that day.

"I must see the minister's wife," she said,as Old Heck steered theClagstone "Six" up the grade that led out

to the bench and to EagleButte, "—it is very important"

Old Heck murmured assent and drovesilently on. Probably she was going tostart a "Movement" or something to-day!To-morrow, Parker would be back. It suredid put a man in a dickens of a fix!

Before they reached the long bridgeacross the Cimarron a mile fromEagle Butte Old Heck's mind was madeup.

"You want to stop at the preacher'shouse?" he asked.

"If you please," Ophelia replied, "forsome little time. There are things to

discuss—"

"Would you mind if I drove around to thecourt-house first?" Old Heck questionedagain.

"Not at all," she answered sweetly.

A few moments later Old Heck stoppedthe Clagstone "Six" in front of the yellowsandstone county building. LeavingOphelia in the car with the remark, "I'll beout in a minute!" he went inside andhurried along the dark corridor that led tothe clerk's office.

CHAPTER XVIII

A SHAME TO WASTE IT

In Old Heck's eyes was a set, determinedlook when he came out of the court-houseand stepped up to the Clagstone "Six" inwhich he had left Ophelia a few momentsbefore. The end of a long yellow envelopeprotruded from the side pocket of his coat.His face was flushed and his handtrembled slightly as he opened the door ofthe car and climbed into the front seatbeside the widow. He pressed his foot onthe "starter," threw the clutch into gear andturning the car about drove slowly toward

the home of Reverend Hector R.Patterson, Eagle Butte's only residentclergyman.

He did not speak until the car stopped atthe gate of the little unpainted parsonagebeside the white, weather-boarded church.

"Wait a minute," he said as Opheliastarted to get out of the Clagstone"Six," "maybe I'll go in with you!"

"Splendid," the widow replied, settlingagain against the cushions. "I'd bedelighted to have you come along and I'msure Mr. and Mrs. Patterson would beglad to see you!"

"Well, it—it"—Old Heck stammered, not

knowing how to begin what he wanted tosay—"it—it all depends on you! Here"—he said abruptly as a bright thought cameto him—"read that and—and—tell mewhat you think about it!" at the same timepulling the yellow envelope from hispocket and handing it to Ophelia.

With a questioning lift of her eyebrows thewidow drew the folded, official-lookingdocument from the envelope.

"Why, it's a—it's a—" she started to sayand stopped confused, her cheeks blazingcrimson.

"It's a marriage license—" Old Heck said,coming to her rescue, "—made out for youand me. I—I—didn't know what to tell the

clerk when he asked me how old you was—so I just guessed at it!"

The widow looked shyly down at thenames written on the document.

The license granted "Ophelia Cobb, agetwenty-three, of Hartville,Connecticut, and Josiah Alonzo Heck, ageforty-eight, of Kiowa County,Texas," the right to marry.

Ophelia's actual years were thirty-nine!

From under drooping lashes she glancedup suspiciously into the earnest gray eyesbeside her. She saw that Old Heck hadbeen sincere in his "guess."

"But—but—"

"I know it's kind of unexpected," OldHeck interrupted nervously, "—perhaps Ihad ought to have said something about itfirst, but, well, I figured I'd go on and getthe license and show that my intentionswas good and—and—sort of risk thewhole thing on one throw! It alwaysseemed like there was something missingat the Quarter Circle KT," he went on, hisvoice grown softer and trembling a bit,"and—and when you came I—I—foundout what it was—"

Ophelia sat silently with downcast eyes,her pulse racing, the license unfolded onher lap, while she bit uncertainly at the tipof the finger of her glove.

"I—I—know I ain't very good-looking or

—or—anything," Old Heck continued,"but I thought maybe you—you—liked mea little—enough anyhow to get married—that is if you—. Oh-h—thunder, Ophelia!"he exclaimed in despair, feeling that hewas hopelessly floundering, "I—I—loveyou! Please let's use that license! Let's useit right away —to-day—and get it overwith!" he urged as the widow stillhesitated.

"But—I—I'm not suitably dressed—" shestammered.

"I think that dress you've got on is theprettiest goods I ever saw in my life," heinterrupted, looking adoringly at theclinging summer fabric caressingOphelia's shapely form, "I always did

think it would be awful appropriate for usto—to—get married in!" he finishedpleadingly.

"But—Carolyn June and—and—Parker—" Ophelia murmured.

At the mention of Parker, Old Heck startedwhile a look of anguish came into hiseyes. So she loved Parker! That was whyshe was so backward, he thought. Well,the Quarter Circle KT foreman was a littlebetter-looking, maybe, and some younger!He couldn't blame her.

His head dropped. For a moment OldHeck was silent, a dull, sickening hurtgripping his heart. A deep sigh escapedfrom his lips. He reached over and picked

up the license.

"I—I—guess I made a mistake," he saidnumbly. "We'll just—just—tear this thingup and forget about it!"

Ophelia looked demurely up at him, hermouth twitching. One small gloved handslipped over and rested on the strongbrown fingers that held the license. Rosesflamed over the full round throat andspread their blush to her cheeks. Her eyeswere like pools of liquid blue:

"Don't tear it—it—up!" she whisperedwith a little laugh—a laugh that sent theblood leaping, like fire, through OldHeck's veins, "it—it would be a shame towaste it!"

For an instant Old Heck was dazed. Helooked at her as if he could not believe hehad heard aright. Suddenly a wave ofundiluted happiness swept over him.

"Ophelia!" he cried huskily. "Oh,Ophelia!" and the minister's three smallsons, pausing in their play in the grasslessyard at the side of the house, while theywatched the beautiful car standing in frontof the parsonage gate, saw the owner ofthe Quarter Circle KT, in broad daylight,on the principal residence street of EagleButte, before the eyes of the whole world—if the whole world cared to look—throw his arms around the plump ladysitting beside him and press one long,rapturous kiss on her moist, unresistinglips!

A moment later Ophelia and Old Heck,both much embarrassed but tremulouslyhappy, stepped inside the door of theparsonage.

They were driving away from theminister's house—going to the OccidentalHotel for a little all-by-their-ownselves"wedding luncheon"—before eitherthought of the matter concerning whichOphelia had desired to see theclergyman's wife.

"Gee whiz!" Old Heck exclaimed, "youforgot that consultation or whatever it waswith Mrs. Patterson to start your woman'ssuffrage 'movement'—"

"To start my what?"

"Your 'woman's rights,' 'female voter'sorganization'—or whatever it is!" OldHeck explained, a new-born tolerance inhis voice. "I didn't mean to interfere withyour political activities—"

Ophelia threw back! her head, while aripple of laughter trilled out above thepurr of the Clagstone "Six."

"Why, my dear—dear—Old Boy!" shecried, "I am not engaged in 'politicalactivities,' or 'suffragette movements!' Ofcourse," she continued archly, "I believewomen ought to be allowed to vote—ifthey haven't intelligence enough for thatthey haven't brains enough to be good'pardners' with their husbands—"

"By gosh, you're right!" Old Heck agreed,"I never thought of it that way before!"

"And," she continued, "naturally I shallvote whenever the opportunity comes, butI'm not an 'Organizer' for anything of thatkind. Mrs. Patterson and I are going toorganize the wives, sisters andsweethearts, in Eagle Butte, into a club forthe study of 'Scientific and EfficientManagement of the Home!' We think weshould be as proficient in those arts—andwhich we believe are peculiarly womanlyfunctions—as the men are in the directionof the more strenuous business affairs inwhich they themselves are engaged."

"So that's what you're an 'Organizer' for?"Old Heck queried while a radiant

contentment spread over his face.

"That is it," Ophelia said simply, addingwith a most becoming heightening ofcolor, "it is so we will be—will be—better wives!"

"My Gawd!" Old Heck breathed fervently."My Gawd! The Lord has been good to meto-day!"

While Old Heck and Ophelia were inEagle Butte getting married, Skinny andCarolyn June had been riding line on theupland pasture fence. They had justreturned to the Quarter Circle KT,unsaddled their horses, turned them intothe pasture, gone to the house and stoppeda moment on the front porch to watch the

glow in the west—the sun was dippinginto a thundercap over the CostejoMountains—when the Clagstone "Six"rolled down the grade and up to the stringof poplars before the house.

"Gee, we thought you two had eloped!"Carolyn June laughed as the coupleclimbed out of the car and came, ratherbashfully, in at the gate. Old Heck andOphelia looked at each other guiltily.

"We did come darn near it!" Old Heckchuckled, plunging at once into the task ofbreaking the news. "We got married—Ireckon you'd call that the next thing toeloping!"

"Got married?" Skinny and Carolyn June

cried together.

"Who—who—got married?" Skinnyrepeated incredulously.

"Ophelia and me," Old Heck answeredwith a sheepish grin but proudly. "Whoelse did you think we meant? We justthought," he continued by way ofexplanation, "we'd go ahead and do it kindof private and save a lot of excitement andeverything!"

Carolyn June threw her arms aroundOphelia and kissed her.

"Good-by, chaperon," she laughed With ahalf-sob in her throat, "h—hello, 'Aunt.'"Then she strangled Old Heck with a hug

that made him gasp.

"What the devil—are you trying to do—choke me?"

"Well, by thunder, Old Heck!" Skinnyfinally managed to ejaculate, "it was thesensiblest thing you ever done! I—I've—been"—with a sidelong look at CarolynJune—"kind of figuring on doing itmyself!"

Carolyn June saw the expression inSkinny's eyes. A pained look came intoher own. She had known, for a long while,that sooner or later there would have tocome an understanding between this big,overgrown, juvenile-hearted cowboy andherself. She resolved then that it should

come quickly. Further delay would becruel to him. Besides, she was sick offlirtations. Her disappointment in thecharacter of the Ramblin' Kid, herrealization of his weakness, when he hadgotten, as she believed, beastly drunk atthe moment so much depended on him theday of the two-mile sweepstakes, had hurtdeeply. Somehow, even his magnificentride and the fact that, in spite of hiscondition, he won the race, had not takenthe sting away. She had thought theRamblin' Kid was real—rough and crude,perhaps, but all man, rugged-hearted andhonest. Sometimes she wondered if thequeer unexplainable antagonism betweenherself and the sensitive young cowboyhad not, in a measure, been responsiblefor his sudden moral breaking down. The

thought caused her to lose some of thatfrivolity that inspired the dance and thewild flirtations she carried on that nightwith all the cowboys of the Quarter CircleKT. After all, these plain, simple-actingmen of the range were just boys grown bigin God's great out-of-doors where thingsare taken for what they seem to be. Nowonder an artless look from sophisticatedbrown eyes swept them off their feet!

She made up her mind to disillusionSkinny at once.

After supper the quartette gathered in thefront room.

"Come on, Skinny," Carolyn June saidwith forced gaiety, "let us take a walk.

That pair of cooing doves"—with aplayfully tender glance at Ophelia and OldHeck—"wish nothing so much as to bepermitted to 'goo-goo' at each other all bytheir little lonelies!"

Bareheaded she and Skinny strolled outthe front gate and along the road that ledup to the bench. At the top of the gradethey sat down, side by side, on a largeboulder that hung on the brink of thebench. The Quarter Circle KT lay beforethem—restful and calm in the shadows ofearly evening. The poplars along the front-yard fence stood limp in the silent air.Across the valley the sand-hills weremellowing with the coming softness oftwilight. Up the river, to the west, beyondEagle Butte, a summer thunder-cloud was

climbing higher and higher into the sky. Inthe direction of Dry Buck, far toward thenorthwest, a fog of dust was creepingalong the horizon, gradually approachingthe upland pasture. Skinny saw it.

"By golly," he cried, "that's either Parkerand the boys coming in with the cattle—orelse it's a band of sheep! It surely can't be'woollys'—they never get over in there! Ifit's our outfit, though, they've got throughquicker than they figured!"

A few moments later the dim bulk of the"grub-wagon" appeared, miles away,slowly crawling toward the QuarterCircle KT.

For a time Skinny and Carolyn June were

silent.

Skinny's hand crept slyly across the rockand found the pink fingers ofCarolyn June. She did not draw away.

"Carolyn June," he whispered haltingly,"Carolyn June—I—Old Heck andOphelia have got married—let's you and—and—"

"Please, Skinny, don't say it!" sheinterrupted, her voice trembling. "I—Iknow what you mean! It hurts me. Listen,Skinny"—she hurried on, determined toend it quickly—"maybe you will despiseme, but—I like you, truly I do—but notthat way! I don't want to grieve you—Iwish us to be just good friends—that's

why I'm telling you! Let's be friends,Skinny—just friends—we can't be anymore than that—"

Skinny understood. A dull, throbbing paintightened about his throat. His fingersgripped Carolyn June's hand an instant andthen relaxed. The whole world seemedsuddenly blank.

"Can't you—won't you—ever—ca—care?" he asked in a voice filled withdespair.

"I do care, boy," she replied softly, "I docare—but not that way! Oh, Skinny," sheexclaimed, wishing to make it as easy aspossible for the sentimental cowboy at herside, "maybe I have done wrong to let you

go ahead, but, well, I found out—Iguessed the 'arrangements'—how you hadbeen chosen to make 'love' to me and howParker and Uncle Josiah were to divideOphelia between them. Perhaps that iswhy I have flirted so—just to punish youall! Truly, Skinny, I'm sorry. Please don'thate me like—like—the Ramblin' Kiddoes!" she finished with a shaky littlelaugh.

"He—don't hate you," Skinny answereddully, "at least I don't think th' Ramblin'Kid hates you—or anybody. And youknowed all the time that I was getting paidto make love to you? Well, I was," headded chokingly, "but I'd have done it fornothing if I'd had the chance!"

"Yes, Skinny," she replied, "I knew—Iknow—and I don't blame you!"

"I don't blame you, either," he saidhumbly, "it was a—a—excuse me,Carolyn June—a damned mean trick toframe up on you and Ophelia that way—but we didn't know what to do with you! Ireckon," he continued in the samedespairing tone, "I was a blamed fool!"

For a long moment they sat silent.

"Carolyn June," Skinny finally said, a sighof resignation breaking from his lips, "I'llbe what you said—just a good friend—Ialways will be that to you! But before westart in, do you mind if I—if I—go up toEagle Butte and get—drunk!"

In spite of herself she laughed. But in itwas a tenderness almost mother-like.

"Poor disappointed, big boy," sheanswered and her eyes filled, "if it willmake you happy, go ahead and get—get—drunk, 'soused,' all over—just this once!"

With only a passing pang Carolyn Junewas willing for Skinny to get drunk—todo the thing she had been scarcely able toforgive in the Ramblin' Kid!

For an instant she wondered why.

A half-hour later Skinny and Carolyn Junewent silently down the grade to the ranchhouse. They had gone up the hill—lovers;they returned—"good friends"—and such

they would always be.

* * * * *

It was nearly ten o'clock when Sing Petestopped the grub-wagon at the bunk-house;Pedro wrangled the saddle cavallard intothe pasture below the barn; Parker and thecowboys jogged their bronchos to thestable door and the Ramblin' Kid, ridingthe Gold Dust maverick—Captain Jack ather heels—rode to the circular corral,jerked the saddle from the filly's back andturned the little roan stallion and theoutlaw mare inside the corral.

Old Heck and Skinny heard the commotionand went out to where Parker and thecowboys were unsaddling their horses.

"Well, you got through, did you?" OldHack questioned casually.

"Yes," Parker replied, "we've got the beefcritters in I guess—they're in the uplandpasture. There are seven hundred andninety, I think it is, that'll do for themarket."

"That's pretty good," Old Heck answeredwith satisfaction. "We'll push them righton into Eagle Butte to-morrow or next dayand ship them. The cars will be in to-night, the agent said. I'm sending them toChicago this time. I'd like to see you,private, a minute, Parker!" he finishedabruptly.

"What do you want?" Parker asked

suspiciously, as he followed Old Heckaround the corner of the barn.

"It's about Ophelia—" Old Heck began.

Parker's heart leaped and then droppedwith a sickening foreboding of somethingdisagreeable. The widow, he thoughtinstantly, had told Old Heck about thatdarned fool proposal of marriage and wasgoing to insist on him coming across andmaking good! There was no way out.

"I—I—reckon I'll have to do it if she'sdetermined," Parker stuttered; "but—aw,hell—I must have been crazy—"

"Who's determined on what?" Old Heckasked, puzzled by the queer jumble

coming from the lips of the Quarter CircleKT foreman, "and how crazy?"

"Ophelia determined on marrying me!"Parker blurted out.

"Ophelia marry you?" Old Heckexclaimed. "Marry you! She can't! Her andme have already done it. We got marriedto-day—that was what I wanted to tellyou!"

Momentarily a pang of regret shot throughParker's heart. It was quickly followed bya sense of relief.

"You—you—and Ophelia married?" hestammered.

"We sure are," Old Heck answered

positively. "We done it to-day!"

Suddenly Parker determined to "coverup."

"My, lord!" he half-groaned, pretendingterrible grief, "this is awful!It—it—come so sudden—but there ain'tno hard feelings, Old Heck!I—I—wish you both joy and happiness!"

"Darned if that ain't white of you, Parker!"Old Heck exclaimed, immensely relieved."I won't forget it! When you and the boystake them steers to Chicago, stay over aweek or so and have a good time andcount it in on expenses!"

Parker turned his head and in the darkness

winked solemnly at a yellow star abovethe peak of Sentinel Mountain.

He and Old Heck started toward thehouse.

"Hey, you fellows!" Old Heck called,pausing and turning toward the barn wherethe cowboys were putting away theirsaddles, "when you get through all of youcome on up to the house! Ophelia and me'smarried and the bride is waiting to becongratulated!"

"Good lord," Charley gasped, "hear that,fellers? Old Heck said him and thewidow's married!"

"Gosh!" Chuck laughed, "it must have

been a jolt to Parker! I bet his heart'splumb bu'sted!"

As soon as their saddles were put awaythe cowboys hurried toward the house.They met the Ramblin' Kid, crossing fromthe circular corral to the bunk-house.

"Come on," Bert called to him, "Old Heckand Ophelia's gone and got married!We're going up to the house to sympathizewith the widow!"

"I ain't needed," the Ramblin' Kidanswered with a careless laugh. "Youfellers can take my 'love' to th' afflictedcouple!"

After the cowboys had gone to the house

Skinny went and got Old Pie Face.Stopping at the stable, he saddled thepinto and strolled over to the bunk-house.The Ramblin' Kid was lying stretched onhis bed. Skinny rolled the white shirtcarefully into a bundle and wrapped anewspaper around it.

"What you goin' to do?" the Ramblin' Kidasked.

"I'm goin' to town!" Skinny answeredshortly. "I'm going up to Eagle Butte andget on a hell of a drunk—if I can get holdof any boot-leg whisky—Carolyn June andme have bu'sted up on our love-making!"

"Going to get drunk, are you?" theRamblin' Kid queried with a note of scorn

in his voice, "an' forget your sorrows?"

"Yes," Skinny retorted, "I'm going to getdrunk as you was the day of the race!"

"Drunk as I was th' day of th' race?" theRamblin' Kid repeated quizzically. "Oh,hell, yes—now I understand—" pausing,while a smile curled his lips.

"Yes," Skinny retorted again. "Where'dyou get yours that day?"

"Never mind," was the answer. "I guessI'll go to Eagle Butte with you! You'llneed somebody to ride herd on you whileyou're snortin' around. Anyhow, I feel likegoin' on a tear myself—not a drunk—aman's a darned fool that'll let any woman

make a whisky barrel out of him! But I gotan itchin' for a little poker game orsomethin'. Wait till I get Captain Jack!"

"Where's Skinny and th' Ramblin' Kid?"Old Heck asked after he and Parker andthe cowboys were at the house and thefirst flush of embarrassment had passed.

Carolyn June thought she knew whereSkinny was, but did not answer.

"I don't know what's become of Skinny,"Parker said. "Th' Ramblin' Kid's probablyout mopin' somewhere. I think he's gettingready to 'ramble' again—he's been actingplumb despondent ever since the Rodeo inEagle Butte!"

Carolyn June stepped to the door. Dimlythrough the darkness she saw two riderspass up the grade that led to the bench andturn their horses to the west, toward EagleButte, and ride straight into the outflungshadow of the thunder-storm—from whichnow and then leaped jagged flashes oflightning—and which was rolling from theCostejo Mountains across the Kiowarange in the direction of the Quarter CircleKT.

Silent and with a heavy heart she turnedaway from the door.

CHAPTER XIX

THE GREEK GETS HIS

It was long after midnight when theRamblin' Kid and Skinny rode into EagleButte and the heels of Captain Jack andOld Pie Face echoed noisily on the boardfloor of the livery stable as the bronchosturned into the wide, open doorway of thebarn. A drowsy voice from the cubby-holeof an office called:

"In just a minute—I'll be out!"

"Aw, thunder," Skinny answered, "go on

back to sleep, we'll find stalls and put 'emup!"

Captain Jack and Old Pie Face cared for,Skinny and the Ramblin' Kid stepped outinto the deserted street.

Eagle Butte was sleeping.

Here and there a blaze of light from astore window invited belated passers tocovet the bargains offered within; a half-dozen incandescent bulbs, swung oncross-wires at intervals along the street,glowed feebly as if weary with the effortto beat back the darkness clutching at thethroat of the town; over the sidewalk infront of the Elite Amusement Parlor anilluminated red and green sign told that

Mike Sabota's place was still open;across the porch of the Occidental Hoteland spilling itself on the ground out in thestreet a stream of light guided wearytravelers to the portals of that ancient,though hospitable, institution; from thesides of the Butte beyond the railroadtracks a coyote yelped shrilly a jerky,wailing challenge—a dozen dogs,suddenly aroused in different parts of thetown, answered.

"Pretty dead-lookin'," the Ramblin' Kidremarked. "Let's go down toSabota's."

"All right," Skinny replied, and theymoved down the street.

The pool-room offered nothing of interest.A couple of traveling men, waiting for theearly morning train, were playing alistless game of billiards at one of thetables; a pair of Jap sugar-beet workersand a negro section hand sat half-asleepand leaned against the wall; "Red"Jackson, Sabota's chief lieutenant, with anair of utter boredom, lounged behind thesoft-drink bar. Sabota was not there.

"What's happened to everybody?" Skinnyasked; "where's Mike?"

"Everybody's got religion, I guess," Redyawned, "and gone to bed. What do youwant with Sabota?" looking suspiciouslyat the Ramblin' Kid; "he's over at Vegas;won't be back till to-morrow—or to-day it

is now, I reckon—evening sometime!"

"Th' Ramblin' Kid and me have been outin the rain," Skinny said suggestively, "andthought we might take cold—"

"Nothing doing!" Red laughed, "ain't adrop around! When Mike gets back he'llfix you up, maybe—that's what he's goneafter!"

"We'd just as well go to bed!" Skinnygrumbled disgustedly to theRamblin' Kid.

"I reckon," was the laconic answer.

They returned to the hotel, roused theclerk from his doze, secured a room andretired.

It was eight o'clock when they got up.

Both went directly to the livery stable andsaw that Captain Jack and Old Pie Facewere properly attended to. While at thebarn Skinny took the bundle he hadwrapped in the bunk-house at the ranchfrom the saddle where he had tied it.

"What's that?" the Ramblin' Kid queried.

"It's that darned shirt!" Skinny retorted."I'm going to make Old Leon eat it—itwasn't the size Parker asked for!"

The Ramblin' Kid laughed, but saidnothing.

They returned to the hotel and hadbreakfast. Manilla Endora waited on them.

Before Carolyn June and Ophelia came tothe Quarter Circle KT Manilla's yellowhair and blue eyes were the flames thatfanned the affections of Skinny. He feltguilty as, sweetly as ever and without ahint of reproach, Manilla took their ordersand served them with their ham and eggsand coffee.

After breakfast Skinny and the Ramblin'Kid explored the town.

Eagle Butte had come to life. The storeswere open. Business was brisk. The"dray" was delivering the expressaccumulated the night before at the depot.Here and there a morning shopper waspassing along the street. At the post-officethere was quite a crowd.

Skinny carried the shirt, wrapped in thesoggy, rain-soaked newspaper. As he andthe Ramblin' Kid came near the dingy,general merchandise establishment kept bythe squint-eyed Jew from whom Parkerhad bought the unfortunate garment asudden look of cunning gleamed in theeyes of Skinny. He laughed aloud. A boxof eggs, ten or twelve dozen it contained,was set, with other farm produce, in adisplay on the sidewalk at the side of thedoor of the store.

"Hold on a minute," Skinny said to theRamblin' Kid, stopping in front of theJew's place of business, "I got an idea—By golly," he continued argumentativelyand with apparent irrelevancy, in a loudvoice, "I tell you I'm the lightest man on

my feet in Texas!" and he winkedknowingly at the Ramblin' Kid. "I canwalk on eggs and never bu'st a one! I'vedone it and"—as Leon came to the door—"I'll bet four-bits I can jump in that boxof eggs right there and never crack ashell!" The Ramblin' Kid understood.

"Aw, you're crazy," he laughed. "I don'twant to win your money!"

"What's the matter?" Leon askedcuriously, having heard only part ofSkinny's boast.

"This locoed darn' fool thinks he can walkon them eggs an' not mash 'em!" theRamblin' Kid laughed again. "He wants tobet me four-bits he can—"

"Walk on them eggs and not preak them?"Leon exclaimed disdainfully."You ought to lock him up! He iss crazy!"

"By gosh," Skinny argued, "you don'trealize how light-footed I am—I can jumpon them, I tell you, and I got money toback it up!" And he pulled a half-dollarfrom his pocket.

"Put away your money, you blamed idiot—" the Ramblin' Kid began.

"I'll bet him four-bits he can't!" Leoncried, jerking a coin from his own pocket.

Skinny and Leon each handed the Ramblin'Kid fifty cents.

"By thunder, I can," Skinny said, pausing,

"that is, I'm willing to bet my money on it—"

"Vhy don't you go ahead and do it, then?"Leon exclaimed. "Vat you standing therefor? Vhy don't you do it if you're so lighton your feet?"

"Well, I can!" Skinny argued, stillhesitating.

"Den go ahead and chump—chump I toldyou—into the box!" Leon shoutedexcitedly.

Skinny jumped. The eggs crushed underthe heels of his riding boots. In an instantthe box was filled with a squashy mass ofwhites, yolks and broken shells. Skinny

pawed around until there wasn't a wholeegg left in the box.

At the first crunch Leon laughedhilariously.

"I knowed you'd lose!" he cackled. "Giffme the money!"

"You win, Leon!" the Ramblin' Kidlaughed, handing over the wager."Skinny wasn't as delicate on his feet ashe thought he was!"

"Thunderation, that's funny!" Skinny saidsoberly as he stepped out of the box; "itwouldn't work that time! Something musthave slipped!"

With a grin he calmly unwrapped the one-

time white shirt and with it began to wipethe slimy mess from his boots.

"The next time you won't be so smart!"Leon cried, then paused in consternation,his eyes riveted on the scrambled mixturein the box. "But mine eggs!" he exclaimed,suddenly suspicious. "Who pays for theeggs? There vas twelve dozen—they areworth seventy cents a dozen—that is moreas eight dollars. Pay me for the eggs!"

"Pay, hell!" Skinny said. "I didn't agree tofurnish no eggs! You won my fifty centsand th' Ramblin' Kid gave it to you—"

"That's right, Leon," the Ramblin' Kidchuckled, "you got th' four-bits—that's allyou won!"

"But pay me—" Leon whined.

"I'll pay you, you dirty crook!" Skinnysnapped as he slapped the soppy, egg-splattered shirt in Leon's face. "I'll payyou with that! The next time," he added ashe and the Ramblin' Kid started down thestreet—"anybody asks for a size fifteenshirt don't give them a sixteen and a half!"

The day was spent idling about townwaiting for Sabota to return so Skinnycould get some whisky and drown hisdisappointment in love in intoxicatedforgetfulness.

After supper Skinny and the Ramblin' Kidwent to the picture show—Tuesdays,Thursdays and Saturdays were "movie

nights" in Eagle Butte—and saw athrilling "wild-west" drama in which aband of Holstein milk cows raced madlythrough an alfalfa field in a frenzied, hair-raising stampede! When the show wasover the Ramblin' Kid started toward thelivery barn.

"What you going to do?" Skinny queried.

"I was just goin' to get Captain Jack," theRamblin' Kid replied.

"What for?" Skinny asked as they movedtoward the barn. "There ain't no hurryabout getting back to the ranch. We won'tbe going out till to-morrow or next day—there ain't no use getting the horses out to-night."

"I don't know," the Ramblin' Kidanswered, without stopping, "I just got ahunch to get him in case I need him.Anyhow, it won't hurt him to stand out awhile—they've been eatin' all day."

"Then I'll get Old Pie Face, too," Skinnyreplied.

They saddled the bronchos and rode out ofthe barn.

"Where'll we go?" Skinny asked.

"Reckon we'd better go back down toSabota's," the Ramblin' Kid said as theyturned their horses in the direction of thepool-room, "if you still insist on makin' ablamed fool of yourself an' gettin' drunk.

Maybe Mike's back by now. Anyhow,there might be a little poker game goin' on—I saw a couple of the fellers from overon th' Purgatory come in a while ago!"

They left Captain Jack and Pie Facestanding, with bridle reins dropped,across the street and in the broad shaft oflight streaming from the open door of thepool-room, and went into the resort.

The place was well filled. Sabota hadreturned, evidently with an ample supplyof the fiery stuff he called "whisky." Likevultures that unerringly seek and find thespot where a carcass has fallen the thirstyof Eagle Butte had gathered at the EliteAmusement Parlor.

Inside the door of the pool-room and at theleft, as one entered, was a hardwood bareighteen or twenty feet long and overwhich at one time, in the days beforeEagle Butte "reformed," had beendispensed real "tarantula juice." The backbar, with its big mirrors and other fixtures,was as it had been when the place was aregular saloon. At the right of the room,opposite the bar, were several round,green-topped card tables. In the rear wasthe billiard and pool equipment, whichentitled the place to the name "pool-room." Just across from the farther end ofthe bar and near the last card table a half-dozen hard-looking, small-town"toughs"—creatures who loafed aboutSabota's and aided him, as occasionrequired, in his boot-legging operations or

other questionable enterprises—werelounging, some standing, some sitting,watching a slow poker game going on atthe last table. Cards, under the laws ofTexas, are taboo, but for some reasonSabota managed to get by and games wereallowed in his place.

The two cowboys the Ramblin' Kid hadmentioned, a rancher from the irrigatedsection near Eagle Butte and "Jeff"Henderson, one of Sabota's henchmen,who was playing for the house, weresitting in at the game.

Half-way down the room at one sideagainst the wall a mechanical player pianowas grinding out garish, hurdy-gurdymusic.

"Red" Jackson was dispensing soft drinksfrom behind the bar.

Sabota himself, with one heel caught onthe brass foot-rail, was leaning indolentlybut with a lordly air against the front ofthe polished, imitation mahogany counter.

He had been drinking and was in his shirt-sleeves.

As Skinny and the Ramblin' Kid steppedinto the pool-room Sabota glanced around.For an instant he eyed the Ramblin' Kidkeenly while a nasty sneer curled his lips.As they approached he turned the grin intoa hypocritical smile of welcome. TheRamblin' Kid barely noticed the Greekand passed on to where the card game was

in progress. Skinny paused and saidsomething in a low tone to Sabota. Thetwo walked to the rear end of the barwhere the proprietor of the place in turnspoke to Red and the latter furtivelyhanded a pint bottle to the cowboy andwhich he dropped into the bosom of hisflannel shirt.

The Ramblin' Kid was recognized by thecowboys from the Purgatory.

"Come on and get into the game!" one ofthem invited, moving over.

"Yes," Henderson added, hitching his ownchair to one side to make room foranother, "the cards are running like"—hepaused—"like the Gold Dust maverick for

everybody but the house!" There was alaugh at the subtle reference to the outlawfilly that had cost Sabota so much inlosses on the sweepstakes at the Rodeo.

The Greek scowled.

"In that case," the Ramblin' Kid drawled,"I reckon I'll ride 'em a few rounds!"dropping into the chair he had draggedforward and which placed him with hisback toward the bar.

"What they costin' a stack?" he questioned,reaching to the left breast pocket of hisshirt for a roll of bills.

In the same pocket was the pink satingarter Carolyn June had lost the morning

of his first meeting with her at the circularcorral.

"Five bones!" Jeff answered languidly.

"Well, give me a couple of piles," theRamblin' Kid replied, glancing around atthe cowboy sitting at his right, who hadinvited him into the game. "How's thePurgatory?"

As the bills came from the Ramblin' Kid'spocket the silver butterfly clasp of thegarter caught in the paper currency and theelastic band was drawn out and dropped,at the side of his chair, on the floor next toSabota.

The Greek and Skinny saw, at the same

time, the dainty satin ribbon.

Sabota stepped quickly forward and withthe toe of his shoe kicked the gartertoward the bar, where all could see it.

"Look what th' Ramblin' Kid's beencarrying!" he exclaimed with a coarselaugh. "Some size garter, that!" Andguessing at random that it had belonged toCarolyn June, he added: "Old Heck'sniece must be—damned convenient andaccommodating!"

A laugh started from the lips of the crowd.It was instantly checked and a deadsilence followed as the Ramblin' Kidlooked around, saw Sabota leering downat the trinket and heard his vulgar

insinuation. He slowly pushed his chairback from the table and with eyes half-closed—the lids tightening until therewere but narrow slits through which theblack pupils burned like drops of jet—hebegan slowly to straighten up. Not a soundcame from his lips save the deep, regularbreathing those sitting near could hear andwhich was like a bellows fanning embersinto a white heat. His mouth was drawnback in a smile, almost caressing in itssoftness, but a thousand times moremenacing than the black scowl on the faceof the Greek.

The Ramblin' Kid's gun was at his hip, buthe made no move to draw it.

Sabota watched the slender young

cowboy. A look of contempt and derisionwas in his eyes. The Greek was no taller,but full eighty pounds heavier than theother. But he forgot that the other's lithebody moving with the calm, undulatinggrace of a panther preparing to spring wasall clean youth, muscle and courage,unbroken by any debauchery!

"That's a hell of a thing for a man topack," the giant bully cried nastily, "andit's a hell of a lady that gives it to a man topack!"

With a sneering laugh he raised his footand brought it down on the garter, grindingthe silver clasp and the satin ribbon underthe sole of his shoe.

"You damned black cur!" The Rambling'Kid spoke scarcely louder than a whisper,yet his voice echoed throughout the tensesilence of the room. "I'll put my heel inyour face for that!"

Sabota threw back his head to laugh.

For a second of time the Ramblin' Kidcrouched, then shot through the air like awire spring drawn far back and suddenlyreleased, and with an his hundred andforty pounds of nerve and sinew behind ithis right fist smashed the big Greeksquarely on the half-open mouth, splittingthe thick lip wide and causing a redstream to spurt from the gash. Sabotastaggered back and, would have fallen hadhe not crashed against the hardwood bar.

As the Greek reeled away from the garterthe Ramblin' Kid stooped quicklyforward, picked up the elastic anddropped it again into his pocket.

With a roar like a mad bull Sabota rushedhis slight antagonist. Lunging forward,blind with rage, he aimed a murderousblow at the head of the Ramblin' Kid. Thecowboy ducked, but not in time to escapethe wide swing of the massive, hairy fist.The Greek's knuckles raked the side of theKid's face and the blood rained down hischeek from a cruel cut under the eye. TheRamblin' Kid spun around like a top andfor the fraction of a second stood swayinguncertainly.

For a moment they faced each other,

crouching, watching for an opening.Sabota's great hands worked convulsively,eager to grasp and crush his wiryopponent; the Ramblin' Kid, with lipscurled back from white teeth, like a pure-bred terrier circling a mastiff, bentforward, every muscle tense as drawncopper, his eyes cold as a rattler's as hesearched for a place to strike!

The crowd in the pool-room instinctivelykept far back and gave the unequalcombatants ample room.

From Sabota's lips poured a steady torrentof blasphemy. The Ramblin' Kid made nosound as, with body swaying slowly fromside to side, his shoulders heaved with thefull, heavy breaths that reached to the

bottom of his lungs.

Suddenly, like some wild beast, Sabotasprang forward. The Ramblin' Kid methim—in mid-air—right and left jolting,almost at the same instant, into the beefyjaws of the Greek. At the impact a claw-like hand shot out and the gorilla fingersof the left hand of the brute-man theRamblin' Kid fought, closed over thethroat of the cowboy. Sabota threw hisright arm around the back of hisantagonist, gripping the shoulder on the farside of his body and drew the slenderform toward him—pinning the Ramblin'Kid's left arm and hand to his side.

Skinny's hand dropped to the butt of hisgun and rested there.

The Ramblin' Kid struggled desperately inthe strangling grasp of the crazed Greek.The two reeled back and forth, crashingchairs and tables to the floor, and lungedagainst the bar. The Ramblin' Kid's gunfell from its scabbard at the side of thebrass foot-rail. Sabota's eyes glared downinto the face of the man he was choking todeath—gleaming with the ferocity of ananimal gone mad—Awhile bloody foamspewed from his bleeding lips. Thecowboy's face was beginning to flush aterrible purple as the breath was graduallycrushed from his body.

As the Greek forced him back, bendinghim down and over, the Ramblin' Kid, hiseyes burning like fire while a millionflashes of light seemed to stab the

darkness before them and needles dartedthrough every fiber of his flesh, wrenchedhis right arm free and gripping the back ofSabota's shirt with his left hand to givepurchase to the blow, with all the strengthleft in his body, drove the knuckles of hisright fist into the left temple of the Greek.

The blow went home.

A film, like a veil drawn across thefiendish glare in them, spread over theeyes of Sabota, his grip on the throat of thecowboy relaxed and as a bull, struck bythe hammer of the butcher, he dropped tothe floor.

The Ramblin' Kid crouched, panting, overthe massive bulk.

Sabota slowly opened his eyes and startedto raise his battered head.With a laugh the cowboy swung terribleright and left blows into theGreek's face. The head dropped back.

Again the Ramblin' Kid stooped low,waiting for another sign of life from theprostrate form.

Red Jackson slipped from behind the bar,half bent forward, moved stealthily upbehind the Ramblin' Kid; one hand drawnpartly back held, by the neck, a heavy beerbottle. Skinny saw his intention. Instantlythe Quarter Circle KT cowboy's forty-fourwas jerked from its holster and the blue-steel barrel swung against the side of thebartender's head. He pitched over in a

limp heap and the bottle crushed againstthe brass foot-rail, breaking into athousand fragments. A half-dozen ofSabota's crowd started forward. Skinny'sgun whipped around in front of him.

"Keep back, y' sons-of-hell!" he snarled,"Sabota's gettin' what's coming to him!"

The Greek's eyes opened. His fingerstouched the butt of the Ramblin'Kid's revolver and began to close slowlyover the handle of the weapon.

"Make him quit," one of the pool-roomloafers whined; "he's killed him!"

The Ramblin' Kid saw Sabota reach forthe gun. He answered the speaker and the

Greek's effort to get the forty-four at thesame time:

"Not yet—but now!" he cried with a lowlaugh and leaped with both heels squarelyon the bloody face of Sabota! There was ahorrible crunching sound as of bones andflesh being ground into pulp. The fingersabout to close on the handle of therevolver grew limp, the Greek's head, ahideous, scarcely recognizable mass,slumped to one side and lay perfectly still.

An instant longer the Ramblin' Kid lookedat him, then reached over, picked up hisgun and slipped it into the holster at hiship.

As he straightened up, Tom Poole, the

marshal, rushed into the pool-room. Hecovered the Ramblin' Kid with hisrevolver and placed him under arrest.

"You don't need to get excited, Tom!" theRamblin' Kid laughed. "I didn't do nothin'but kill that damned black cur layin' there!Come on—I want to get out in th' air—Inever like to stay around where deadskunks are!"

They moved toward the door.

Poole dropped his gun back in itsscabbard and walked at the side of thenow apparently peaceful young cowboy.

At the door the marshal looked around:

"Some of you fellers get the doctor or

undertaker—whichever he needs—andtake care of Sabota!" he called to thegroup around the body of the Greek.

Like a flash the muzzle of the Ramblin'Kid's gun was pressed against the side ofPoole.

"Put 'em up, Tom!" he snapped, "I don'twant to kill you, but I will if I have to—Iain't goin' to rot in no jail just for stampin'a dirty snake-to death!"

The marshal's hands shot into the air as ifoperated by springs.

The Ramblin' Kid, with his left hand,jerked Poole's revolver from its holster.He backed into the street toward where

Captain Jack and Old Pie Face werestanding, still with his own gun coveringthe officer.

"Jack!" he cried sharply, "meet me!"

The little stallion moved toward him.

With the thumb of the hand in which heheld the marshal's gun theRamblin' Kid threw open the breech andflipped the shells on the ground.He tossed the empty forty-four to one side,threw the reins overCaptain Jack's head and the next instantwas in the saddle. The bronchowheeled and was gone, in a dead run,toward the west.

The marshal rushed into the street andpicked up his gun, jerked some cartridgesfrom his belt, slipped them into thecylinder and fired quickly at the fleeinghorse and rider.

The bullets whistled past the ear of theRamblin' Kid.

He raised his own weapon, half-turned inthe saddle, dropped the muzzle of the gunforward until it pointed at the flashesspitting from the officer's revolver. Hisfinger started to tighten on the trigger.

"Hell," he muttered, "what's the use?Tom's just doin' what he thinks he has todo!" and the Ramblin' Kid slipped the gun,unfired, back into its holster.

A moment later Captain Jack whirled tothe right across the Santa Fe tracks andbearing a little to the east, in the directionof Capaline, the dead volcano that risesout of the lavas northwest of the QuarterCircle KT, between the Purgatory and theCimarron, disappeared in the black starlitnight.

CHAPTER XX

MOSTLY SKINNY

It is a week to the day since the fight in theElite Amusement Parlor in Eagle Butte.Since the Ramblin' Kid, followed by thewicked sing of the bullets from themarshal's gun, disappeared in the darknessno word has come from the fugitivecowboy, who beat to a pulp the burlyGreek.

The Gold Dust maverick paces uneasilyabout in the circular corral and theQuarter Circle KT has settled into the

hum-drum routine of ranch life.

Parker, Charley, Chuck and Bert are goneto Chicago with the train-load of beefcattle. Skinny bosses a gang of "picked-up" hay hands Old Heck brought out fromEagle Butte to harvest the second cuttingof alfalfa. Pedro rides line daily on theupland pasture and Sing Pete hammers theiron triangle morning, noon and night,announcing the regular arrival of meal-time. The Chinaman is careful when hethrows out empty tomato-cans—turningback the tin to make it impossible for theyellow cat again to fasten his head in oneof the inviting traps, and the cook wouldimperil the hope of the return of his soul tothe flowery Orient before he would putbutter in the bottom of a can to entice the

animal into trouble.

Old Heck and Ophelia are like a pair ofnesting doves and there is a new vigor tothe step of the owner of the Quarter CircleKT, a revived interest in affairs generally;years seem to have fallen from hisshoulders.

Carolyn June smiles sweetly as ever atSkinny, spends much time riding aloneover the valley and hills; in her eyes therehas come a more thoughtful—often awistful—expression.

Sabota did not die.

After the escape of the Ramblin' Kid themarshal reentered the pool-room and had

the big Greek removed to the hotel. Adoctor was called and set as well aspossible the broken jaws, the crushednose, picked out the fragments of bone andthe loosened teeth, sewed up the terriblegashes on Sabota's face and left the bullygroaning and profaning in half-consciousagony.

The night of the fight Skinny took Old PieFace back to the barn.

The cowboy's heart was heavy withremorse. He blamed himself for all thetrouble. Had he not wanted to make a foolof himself and get drunk the Ramblin' Kidwould not have come to Eagle Butte, thefight would not have occurred, the friendhe had ridden with through storm and

sunshine—whom he had stood "nightguard" and fought mad stampedes into "themill"—would not now be an outcastsought by the hand of the law.

News of the beating the Ramblin' Kidgave Sabota traveled fast.

It was flashed over Eagle Butte that theGreek was dead.

"So th' Ramblin' Kid killed old Sabota,did he?" the hostler at the livery barnasked Skinny as he stepped out to care forthe cowboy's horse. "What was it over?Sabota having th' Ramblin' Kid 'doped' theday of the sweepstakes?"

Skinny looked keenly, searchingly, at the

stableman.

"What do you mean—'Sabota having th'Ramblin' Kid doped?'" he asked sharply.

"Why, didn't you know?" the hostlerreplied. "I thought everybody knowed.Gyp Streetor told me about it the day ofthe race—I used to know Gyp when hewas a kid back east. I saw him as he wasbeating it to get out of town. He borrowedfive dollars from me. Said Sabota hiredhim to put 'knock-out' in some coffee forth' Ramblin' Kid and he reckoned the dosewasn't big enough or something. Anyhow,it didn't hold him under long as theythought it would and when he saw theGold Dust maverick show up on the trackhe got scared—was afraid it would leak

out or th' Ramblin' Kid would suspect himand try to 'get' him after the race, so heducked out of town—"

"You ain't lying about that?" Skinny asked.

"What would I want to lie about it for?"the other replied. "Wasn't that what madeth' Ramblin' Kid kill the Greek?"

"No, it was something else," Skinnyanswered; "but Sabota ain't dead.He's just crunched up pretty bad—th'Ramblin' Kid jumped on him, likeCaptain Jack did on that feller from theChickasaw that tried to stealhim!"

Skinny's mind was in a whirl.

So the Ramblin' Kid was not drunk the dayof the race! He was drugged— sick—yet,in spite of everything, rode the Gold Dustmaverick and beat the black wonder-horsefrom the Vermejo! Lord! and they had allthought he was on a tear!

The bottle of whisky was still in thebosom of Skinny's shirt.

He had not touched it. He felt a suddenrevulsion for the vile stuff.

"Here," he said, jerking the flask from itshiding-place and handing it to the hostler,"maybe you'd like that bottle of 'rot-gut'—I've swore off!"

"I ain't," the stableman laughed and took it

eagerly.

Skinny remained in town that night and thenext day, waiting for Parker and theQuarter Circle KT cowboys to come inwith the beef cattle. They arrived aboutnoon. Old Heck drove in with theClagstone "Six." Ophelia and CarolynJune came with him. Skinny met themwhen Old Heck stopped the in front of theOccidental Hotel. He told them, whilethey still sat in the automobile, of the fightand the escape of the Ramblin' Kid.

"A drunken brawl!" Carolyn June thought,a wave of disgust sweeping over her.

"Th' Ramblin' Kid hadn't touched a drop,"Skinny said, explaining the fight and

almost as if he were answering herunspoken thought. "If he'd been drinking, Ireckon Sabota would have killed himinstead of his beating the Greek blamednear to death. I know now what he used tomean when he'd say, 'A man's a fool to putwhisky in him when he's facin' a tightsqueeze!' The little devil sure neededeverything he had—nerve and head andmuscle and all—for the job he tackled lastnight!"

Skinny didn't tell them that his hand hadrested on the handle of his own gun—determined that he, himself, would killSabota if the brute succeeded in chokingthe Ramblin' Kid to death.

"What was the fight about?" Old Heck

asked.

"A pink ribbon or something with a littlesilver do-funny on it—it looked like asleeve-holder or a garter—dropped out ofth' Ramblin' Kid's pocket and Sabotamade a nasty remark about it," Skinnysaid.

Carolyn June caught her breath and herface flushed.

"The Greek said something about CarolynJune, I didn't just hear what," Skinnycontinued, "and then he smashed theribbon under his foot. The next instant th'Ramblin' Kid was trying to kill him!

"It's a pity he didn't succeed!" Old Heck

exclaimed. "The damned filthy whelp—excuse me, Ophelia, for cussing, but I justhad to say It!"

"It's all right," was the laughing rejoinder,"I—I—wanted to say it myself!"

Carolyn June's eyes glowed. Her heart feltas if a weight had been lifted from it So,the Ramblin' Kid had kept the oddsouvenir, and he cared—he cared!

"Go ahead," she whispered to Skinny;"what then?"

"I reckon that's about all," Skinnyanswered. "Th' Ramblin' Kid smashedSabota and as he staggered back, pickedup the ribbon—then he didn't quit till he

thought the Greek was dead. Tom Poolearrested him, but th' Ramblin' Kid got thedrop on him and got away. He wasjustified in beating Sabota up anyhow," headded, "on account of the dirty cuss hiringa feller to 'dope' him so he couldn't ridethe maverick the day of the big race—"

"'Dope' him?" Old Heck interrupted,puzzled.

"Yes," Skinny explained, "the Greek had afeller named Gyp Streetor put some stuffin th' Ramblin? Kid's coffee. He wasn'tdrunk at all—he was just poisoned with'knock-out!'"

"Good lord!" Old Heck exclaimed. "Andhe rode that race when he was drugged!

While we all thought he'd gone to piecesand was drunk!"

Carolyn June's cheeks suddenly turnedpale. He cared, but he was gone! Perhapsnever to come back! It seemed as if aniron hand was clutching at her throat!

She and Ophelia went into the hotel andOld Heck and Skinny drove the car overto the stock-yards where the cattle werebeing loaded.

After Parker and the cowboys were ontheir way east with the steers and beforehe returned to the ranch Old Heck wentinto the room in which Sabota lay. TheGreek's head was a mass of whitebandages. His eyes battered and swollen

shut, he could not see the face of hisvisitor.

For a moment Old Heck looked at him, hislips parted in a smile of contemptlightened with satisfaction.

"Well, Sabota," he said at last, "th'Ramblin' Kid didn't quite do his duty, didhe? If he had gone as far as he ought to youwouldn't be laying there—they'd just aboutnow be hiding your dirty carcass under sixfeet of 'dobe!'"

Sabota mumbled some guttural,unintelligible reply.

"Listen, you infernal skunk," Old Heckwent on coldly, "as quick as you're able to

travel you'll find Eagle Butte's a rightgood place to get away from! Youunderstand what I mean. If I catch youaround, well, I won't use no fists!" Andwithout waiting for an answer he turnedand left the room.

The owner of the Quarter Circle KT thenhunted lip the marshal of EagleButte.

"Tom," he said, "I reckon you'll belooking some for th' Ramblin' Kid, afterwhat happened last night, won't you?"

The marshal had heard of Sabota's effortto have the young cowboy drugged the dayof the race and also the immediate causefor the fight.

"Oh, I don't know as I will," he said,"unless the Greek makes some charge orother. I don't imagine he'll do that"

"I know blamed well he won't!" Old Heckinterrupted. "But how about th' Ramblin'Kid putting his gun in your ribs—resistingan officer and so on?"

"Putting his gun in my ribs? Resisting anofficer?" the lanky Missourian answeredwith a sly grin; "who said he put a gun onme—or resisted an officer or anything? Iain't heard nothing about it!"

Two days later Sabota, with the help of"Red" Jackson, managed to get to theSanta Fe station. He was able to traveland he did travel. Jackson said he went to

the "Border." Eagle Butte did not know orcare—the Cimarron town was throughwith him.

When Old Heck, Carolyn June andOphelia returned to the Quarter Circle KTthe evening of the day following the fight,the Gold Dust maverick whinniedlonesomely from the circular corral as theClagstone "Six" stopped in front of thehouse.

"What are we going to do with that filly?"Old Heck asked, looking at the beautifulcreature with her head above the bars ofthe corral gate.

"I am going to ride her!" Carolyn Junesaid softly. "Until the Ramblin' Kid comes

back and claims her she is mine! Sheloves me and I can handle her!"

"I'm afraid—" Old Heck started to protest.

"You need not be," Carolyn Juneinterrupted, "the Gold Dust maverick and Iknow each other—she understands me andI understand her—she will be perfectlygentle with me!"

The next day Carolyn June rode thewonderful outlaw mare. It was as shesaid. The filly was perfectly gentle withher. After that, every day, the girl saddledthe Gold Dust maverick and, unafraid,took long rides alone.

* * * * *

The night the cattle were shipped Skinnyhad supper in Eagle Butte. He sat alone ata small table at one side of the dining-room in the Occidental Hotel. Thecowboy was the picture of utter misery.Parker, Charley, Chuck, Bert were gone toChicago with steers; the Ramblin' Kidwas gone—nobody knew where; Skinny'sdream about Carolyn June was gone—shedidn't love him, she just liked him; evenhis whisky was gone, he had given it to thehostler at the barn; he didn't have anyfriends or anything.

"What's the matter, Skinny?" ManillaEndora, the yellow-haired waitress, askedsoftly, as she stepped up to the table andlooked down a moment at the dejectedcowboy. There was something in her

voice that made Skinny pity himself morethan ever. It made him want to cry."What's wrong?' Manilla repeated almosttenderly.

"Everything!" Skinny blurted out, droppinghis head on his arms. "The whole blamedworks is shot to pieces!"

A little smile stole over Manilla's rosylips.

"I know what it is," she said gently,unreproachfully; "it's that girl, CarolynJune. Yes, it is," as Skinny started tointerrupt. "Oh, I don't blame you forfalling for her!" she went on. "She is nice—but, well, Skinny-boy," her voice was acaress, "Old Heck's niece is not the sort

for you. You and her wouldn't fit at all—the way you wanted—and anyhow, there—there—are others," coloring warmly.

Skinny looked up into the honest blueeyes.

"You ain't sore at me or anything are you,Manilla?" he asked.

"Sore?" she answered. "Of course not!"

Hope sprung again into his heart. "I—I—thought maybe you would be," hestammered.

"Forget it!" she laughed. "The old worldstill wobbles!"

"Manilla, you—you're a peach!" he cried.

She chuckled. "Did you hear about thatdance next Saturday night after the pictureshow?" she asked archly.

"No. Is there one?" with new interest inlife.

"Yes," she replied, her lashes droopingdemurely; "they say the music is going tobe swell."

"If I come in will you—will we—go,Manilla?" he asked eagerly.

They would.

"Poor Skinny," Manilla murmured toherself as she went to the kitchen to get hisorder, "poor cuss—he can't keep frombreaking his heart over every skirt that

brushes against him, but"—and shelaughed softly—"darn his ugly picture, Ilike him anyhow!"

After supper Skinny hurried to the GoldenRule store. It was still open.

"Give me a white shirt—number fifteen,"he said to the clerk; "and be blamed sureit's the right size—they ain't worth a cussif they're too big!"

CHAPTER XXI

A GIRL LIKE YOU

A lone rider guided his horse in the earlynight, among the black lavas, on thedesolate desert near Capaline, the deadvolcano. He rode to the south, in thedirection of the Cimarron. Silently,steadily, like a dark shadow, the bronchopicked his way among the fields of fire-blistered rock and held his course,unerringly, through the starlit gloomhanging over the earth before the latemoon should flash its silver disk abovethe sand-hills miles to the east.

The rider was the Ramblin' Kid; the littlehorse—Captain Jack.

For a week, following the fight in EagleButte, the Ramblin' Kid had found shelterin the hut of "Indian Jake"—a hermitNavajo who, long ago, turned his facetoward the flood of white civilizationrolling over the last pitiful remnants of histribe and drifted far toward the land of therising sun. Among the scenes of desolationaround the grimly cold volcano, alone, theold Indian made his last stand, and in arude cabin, beside a tiny spring thatseeped from under the black rock on themountain-side, lived in splendid isolation—silent, brooding, desiring only to be leftin peace with his few ponies, his smallherd of cattle and the memories and

traditions of his people.

The Ramblin' Kid and the lonely Navajowere friends since the Ramblin'Kid could remember.

The aged Indian's face was pitted withhorrible scars—marks of the same diseasethat had cost the wandering cowboy hisfather and left him, years ago, an orphan,almost worshiped, because of thesacrifice his parent had made fighting theepidemic among the tribes of theSouthwest.

Often the "Young Whirlwind"—the nameby which the Indians knew the Ramblin'Kid and which old Jake himself alwayscalled the cowboy—spent a night,

sometimes days, with his stoical friendamong the lavas.

To him the cabin door was always open.

As Captain Jack, followed by the bulletsfrom the marshal's revolver, dashed madlydown the street of Eagle Butte,instinctively the Ramblin' Kid had turnedthe stallion toward the hut of the oldNavajo.

The fugitive cowboy believed Sabota wasdead.

Naturally the law would demandvengeance, even though the brutal Greekhad deserved to die. Posses, undoubtedly,would scour the country, searching for his

slayer. The Quarter Circle KT would bewatched.

There was no regret in the heart of theRamblin' Kid. Instead he felt a strangeelation. With his fists and heels he hadbeaten the giant Greek into a lifelessmass!

"'Ign'rant—savage—stupid—brute!" hemuttered as Captain Jack sped from thescene of fight; "I reckon she was prettynear right!"

At gray dawn he swung down from theback of the little stallion at the door of theIndian's hut.

Old Jake asked no questions.

The Ramblin' Kid himself volunteered:

"Killed a man—Sabota—got to lay low,Jake—some three, four, five days! Then Igo—south—Mexico!"

"The Young Whirlwind had cause?" theNavajo grunted sententiously.

"Sure—plenty!" the Ramblin' Kid laughed,slipping his hand to his breast pocket andcaressing the pink satin garter.

"It is good," the Indian said. "The Navajowill watch!"

For seven days the Ramblin' Kid rested,securely, in the lonely hut among the lavasand "pot-holes" of the desert. Then hesaddled Captain Jack and when the full

shadow of night had settled over thedesolation about him mounted the littlebroncho and turned him to the south, in thedirection of the Cimarron, toward theQuarter Circle KT, where the Gold Dustmaverick waited, alone, in the corral.

Carolyn June could not sleep. The nightwas more than half gone and still she saton the front porch and watched the gradualspread of a misty, silvery sheen over thebrow of the bench and the distant peaks ofthe shadowy Costejo range as the palemoon, in its last half, lifted itself abovethe sand-hills at the gap through which theCimarron tumbled out of the valley.

Old Heck and Ophelia had retired hoursago.

The Quarter Circle KT was sleeping.From the meadows the heavy odor ofwilted alfalfa hung on the night air as thedew sprinkled the windrows of new-cuthay.

A strange restlessness filled the heart ofthe girl.

Something seemed to be holding her in atense, relentless grip. She had no desire toseek her room. Indeed, she felt that the airof the house would stifle her. She aroseand strolled idly through the gate, past thebunk-house where Skinny, Pedro and thehay hands snored peacefully, as shewandered aimlessly through the slantingmoonlight down to the circular corral.

The Gold Dust maverick seemed to reflectthe girl's own uneasy mood.

The filly moved with quick nervousstrides about the corral. As Carolyn Juneleaned against the bars and stretched outher hand the mare whinnied softly, tossedher head, nosed an instant the whitefingers and trotted in a circle around theenclosure.

"What's the matter, Heart o' Gold?"Carolyn June laughed sympathetically,"can't you either?"

In the shed at the side of the corral, on thespot where, that first morning, theRamblin' Kid's saddle had rested and thecowboy slept, Carolyn June's own riding

gear was lying. She glanced at the outfitFor a second she fancied she saw againthe slender form stretched in the shadowupon the ground while a pair of blackinscrutable eyes looked with unfathomablemelancholy up into her own.

"Seein' things!" she laughed jerkily, with alittle catch in her throat."I'll ride it off!"

Quickly she stepped over, picked up thesaddle, bridle and blanket, returned to thecorral gate, swung it open and entered.

The Gold Dust maverick came to her, as ifeager, herself, to get out into the night.

A moment later Carolyn June was in the

saddle and the mare, dancing lightly,pranced out of the gate. She turned swiftlytoward the grade that led out to the benchand to Eagle Butte. They had almostreached the foot of the grade, when someimpulse caused Carolyn June to whirl thefilly about and gallop back past the barnand down the lane toward the Cimarron.

As the feet of the outlaw mare splashedinto the water at the lower ford theRamblin' Kid rode past the corner of theupland pasture fence and stopped CaptainJack on the brink of the ridge lookingdown at the crossing. Below him the riverwhirled in dark eddies under theoverhanging curtains of cottonwoods andwillows; the Quarter Circle KT lay in thehollow of the valley, like a faint etching of

silent restfulness; through the tops of thetrees a white splash of moonlight struck onthe smooth level surface of the treacherousquicksand bar that had drawn Old Bluedown to an agonizing death and fromwhich, scarcely a month ago, the Ramblin'Kid had dragged Carolyn June.

This, the Ramblin' Kid believed, was hislast long look at the QuarterCircle KT.

He would ride down to the circularcorral, turn out the Gold Dust maverick—give her again to the range and freedom—and while the unconscious sleepers at theranch dreamed he would pass on, silently,toward the south and Mexico should throwabout him her black arms of mystery!

For a while he sat and gazed down on theshadowy scene while his mind throbbedwith memory of the incidents of the lastfew weeks. He drew the pink satin garterfrom his pocket, looked at it a longmoment—suddenly crushed it tightly in hishand while his eyes closed as ifrenouncing a vision that had come beforethem—then carefully, that the dainty thingmight not be lost, replaced it in the pocketthat was over his heart.

At last he swung to the ground andtightened the front cinch of his saddle.

As he pulled the leather into place thesound of nervous hoofs kicking the gravelon the grade that led to the ridge on whichhe stood shattered the silence around him.

The Ramblin' Kid whirled and faced thedirection in which the approaching horse,would appear. His hand dropped to hisgun and without raising the weapon fromhis hip he leveled it to cover the turn inthe road a few feet away.

The waxy mane of the outlaw filly rockedinto view as she sprang up and around theturn on to the ridge.

On the maverick's back, bareheaded, herbrown hair tumbled about her neck, wasCarolyn June.

Captain Jack pricked forward his ears atthe sound of hoofs and as the beautifulmare leaped around the turn and appearedabove the bank of the grade the little roan

squealed a nicker of recognition. The fillysprang forward, swerved to the side of thestallion, and with an answering whinnystopped.

"Oh!" Carolyn June gasped, as the horsesmet and she saw the Ramblin'Kid, his gun still in his hand, standingbeside Captain Jack.

There was a brief, questioning silence.

"What th' hell!" he breathed.

"What the—'hell—yourself!" she laughednervously. "Is—this—is this a hold-up?"

"What are you doin' here—this time ofnight—an' on that filly?" he asked withoutheeding her question.

"I'm riding that—this—filly!" CarolynJune shot back independently. "And whatare you doing here—at this time of—Oh,"she added, before he could answer, "I—I—believe my saddle's slipping!" and sheswung lightly from the back of the outlawmare.

"That filly'll kill you," he began.

"She will not!" Carolyn June interruptedwith a pout. "I—I—guess you're not theonly one, Mister 'Nighthawk,' that knowsthe way to the heart of a horse! If youwere just as wise about—" but shestopped, her blush hidden as she turnedher back to the rising moon.

"They was made for each other!" the

Ramblin' Kid muttered to himself. Then hespoke aloud: "I reckon you know," he saidslowly, "why I'm ridin' at night—about mekillin' Sabota—I'm leavin'—"

"But Sabota isn't dead," she interruptedagain. "You don't need to go away!"

"Sabota ain't dead!" the Ramblin' Kidexclaimed. "Then I'll go back toEagle Butte instead of—Mexico!"

"Why?" Carolyn June asked.

"To finish th' job!" and his voice wasdangerously soft.

"You can't finish it," she laughed. "He isn'tin Eagle Butte! The Greek has gone awayand—well, it—it—was a good 'job'—

good enough the way you did it! I—I—don't want you 'teetotally' to kill him—clear, all the way dead," she stammered."The way it is you—you—won't have to—leave!"

"What's th' difference?" he said dully. "It'stime I was ramblin' anyhow!"

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Listen, Ramblin' Kid," she broke in, "I—I—know all about everything—about whatstarted the fight—"

"You do?" looking quickly and keenly ather. "Who told you?"

"Skinny," she answered; "he saw it. Saidit was a pale pink ribbon or somethingwith a little silver 'do-funny' on it!" shefinished with a laugh.

"I—I—reckon you want it back, then?" theRamblin' Kid said, reaching to his leftbreast. "You wouldn't want—"

"Did I say I wanted it?" Carolyn Junequestioned naively.

"And I know," she hurried on, "about youbeing drugged the day of the race! Whydidn't you say you were sick? We—we—thought you were drunk!"

"Nobody asked me," he answered withoutinterest.

"Does everybody have to—to—ask youeverything?" she questioned suggestively."Don't you ever—ever—'ask' anybodyanything yourself?"

"What are you tryin' to do?" he saidalmost brutally, "play with me like youplayed with them other blamed idiots th'night of th' dance?"

"You're mean—" she started to say.

"Am I?" he interrupted, and spoke withsudden intenseness. "Maybe you think Iam. Maybe you think a lot of things.Maybe you think God put them brown eyesin your face just so you could coax men,with a look out of them, to love you an'then laugh because th' damned fools do it!"

"You're unfair!" she replied. "I was justpaying the boys back the night of the dancefor—for—'framing' up on Ophelia and methe way they did!"

For a moment they looked squarely intoeach other's eyes. Captain Jack and theGold Dust maverick nosed each otherover the shoulders of their dismountedriders.

"Oh, well, it don't matter," the Ramblin'Kid finally said, wearily; "it don't matter,you're what you are an' I reckon you can'thelp it!"

Carolyn June said nothing.

"I—I—was goin' to turn th' filly back to th'

range," he continued in the sameemotionless voice, "but—well, you canhave her—I'll trade her to you for—for—th' thing that started th' fight. You can rideth' maverick till you go back east—"

"I'm not going back east," she said in ahurt tone, "at least not for a long time. Dadis going to—to—get me a stepmother!He's going to marry some female personand he doesn't need me so I'm going tolive—most of the time—with UncleJosiah and Ophelia! Anyhow I—I—like itout west—or that is—I did like it—"

There was another little period of silencebetween them.

"Ramblin' Kid," Carolyn June spoke

suddenly very softly, "Ramblin'Kid—why—why do you hate me?"

"Me hate you?" he answered slowly. "Idon't hate you—I hate myself!"

"Yourself?" with a questioning lift of hervoice.

"Yes, myself!" he replied with a short,bitter laugh. "Why shouldn'tI—bein' an 'ign'rant, savage, stupidbrute!'"

Carolyn June flinched as he repeated thecruel words she herself had spoken, itseemed, now so long ago.

"You are right!" she said, after a pause,while a ripple of quivering, mischievous

laughter leaped from her lips and she laidher hand lightly on his arm. "Oh, Ramblin'Kid, you are indeed an 'ign'rant, savage,stupid brute!' You are 'ign'rant,'" shecontinued while he looked at her with apuzzled expression in his eyes, "of theways of a woman's heart; you are'savage'—in the defense of a woman'shonor; you are 'stupid'—not to see that itis the man a woman wants and not the thinsocial veneer; you are a 'brute'—an utterbrute, Ramblin' Kid— to—to—make agirl almost tell you—tell you—that she—she—"

The sentence was not finished.

The Ramblin' Kid caught her by bothshoulders. He pushed her back—arm's

length—and held her while the cleanmoonlight poured down on her upturnedface and his black eyes searched her ownas though to read her very soul.

An instant she was almost frightened bythe agony that was in his face.

Then she opened her mouth and laughed—such a laugh as comes only from the throatof a woman when love is having its way!

"By God!" he whispered, his voice hoarsewith passion, his hot breath fanning thebrown hair on her forehead; "this has gonefar enough! I'll tell you what you want meto say—I'll say it! And it's the truth—Ilove you—love you—love you! Yes!"And he shook her toward him. "Do you

hear me? I love you—love you—so muchit hurts! Now laugh! Now make fun of me!I know I'm a fool. I know where I stand! Iknow I don't belong in your crowd—I ain'tfit to mix with 'em! I ain't been raised likeyou was raised. You don't need to tell methat! I know it already! I know there'ssomethin' a man has to have besides whathe gets on th' open range among th' cattle—an' th' bronchos—an' th' rattlesnakes—he's got to be ground in th' mill ofschoolin'—of books; he's got to behammered into shape under th' heels of'civilization'; he's got to be trained to jumpthrough and roll over an' know which forkto eat with before a girl like you—"

His hands relaxed, but before his fingersloosened their grip on her shoulders

Carolyn June's own soft palms reached upand caught the man's sun-tanned cheeksbetween them. Her eyes burned back intoits own. Once more the laugh rippled fromthe full pulsing throat.

"Ramblin' Kid, oh, Ramblin' Kid," shemurmured, while the long lashes liftedover brown pools tenderness, "a man—myman—does not need to be or to know allof those things, any of those things, beforea girl like me—"

He crushed her to him and stopped thewords on her lips.

"My God—don't fool me—be sure youknow!" he cried, his whole bodyquivering with the intensity of his feelings;

"don't tell me you love me—unless youmean it! I can stand to love you—withouthope—in silence—alone! But I can't—an'I swear I wont, be lifted up to Paradisejust to be dropped again into the depths ofhell! Don't say you love me unless youknow it is all love! Half love ain't love—it's a lie! An' love ain't to play with! Don'tinsult God by makin' a joke of th' thing Hemade an' planted in th' hearts of allCreation to hold th' Universe together."

"Ramblin' Kid," she whispered softly,"God himself is looking down into myheart!"

He smothered her mouth with his own—they drank each other in, their soulsmingled in a mad-sense-reeling, time-

defying pressure of lips!

It was their hour, as was the next and yetthe one that followed that.

When the old-rose of dawn melted thegray above the sand-hills behind them andthe white moon was fading in the zenithabove the Kiowa; when the cottonwoodsbeside the Cimarron began to shake theirleaves in the morning breeze that trippedacross the valley; when the low buildingsof the Quarter Circle KT silhouettedagainst the bench beyond the meadows;when the smooth surface of the beach ofquicksand under which the body of OldBlue was hidden began to look smootheryet and still more firm, the Ramblin' Kidand Carolyn June parted.

"I'm goin' away," he said; "I'm goin' away,Carolyn June, but I'm goin' for anotherreason now. I'm goin' away an' makemyself so you'll never have a chance to beashamed of me! I'm goin' away an' learnhow to talk without cussin' 'most everyother word—I'm goin' away an' get thatpolish I know; women love in men th'same as they love their own shoes to beshiny an' their own dresses to be soft an'dainty! When I've got that I'll come back! Iain't goin' to Mexico. I'm going to ride intothat world that you come out of an' whenI'm so you'll be proud to walk in thatworld with me—when I'm so you won'tneed to apologize for me in Hartville orany other place, I'm comin' back an' apreacher can O.K. th' bargain you an' mehave made! Will you keep faith an' be

true, Carolyn June? Will you keep faith an'be true—? Will you be waitin'?"

"I'll be waiting," she whispered, "—andkeep faith and be true!"

And he rode away into the face of the redglow rising above the sand-hills. He rodeaway—to meet the morning sun—hiddenyet behind the eastern horizon—toconquer himself, to master the ways ofmen, in the world that lay beyond!

Carolyn June watched him go.

Then she guided the outlaw filly down thegrade, across the Cimarron and along thelane, in the gently stirring dawn, back tothe still sleeping Quarter Circle KT. In her

heart was a song; in her eyes a new light;in her soul a great peace—on her lips, asmile. She carried in her bosom theirsecret—hers and the Ramblin' Kid's—andshe knew he would return, for he wouldnot lie.

THE END

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