oductive and comfortable the
stronger grew his attachment. Practical toil was not conducive to
daydreaming, so Slone felt a loss of something vague and sweet. Many
times he caught himself watching with eager eyes for a glimpse of Lucy
Bostil down there among the cottonwoods. Still, he never saw her, and,
in fact, he saw so few villagers that the place began to have a
loneliness which endeared it to him the more. Then the view down the
gray valley to the purple monuments was always thrillingly memorable to
Slone. It was out there Lucy had saved his horse and his life. His keen
desert gaze could make out even at that distance the great, dark
monument, gold-crowned, in the shadow of which he had heard Lucy speak
words that had transformed life for him. He would ride out there some
day. The spell of those looming grand shafts of colored rock was still
strong upon him.

One morning Slone had a visitor--old Brackton. Slone's cordiality died
on his lips before it was half uttered. Brackton's former friendliness
was not in evidence. Indeed, he looked at Slone with curiosity and
disfavor.

"Howdy, Slone! I jest wanted to see what you was doin' up hyar," he
said.

Slone spread his hands and explained in few words.

"So you took over the place, hey? We all figgered thet. But Vorhees was
mum. Fact is, he was sure mysterious." Brackton sat down and eyed Slone
with interest. "Folks are talkin' a lot about you," he said, bluntly.

"Is that so?"

"You 'pear to be a pretty mysterious kind of a feller, Slone. I kind of
took a shine to you at first, an' thet's why I come up hyar to tell you
it'd be wise fer you to vamoose."

"What!" exclaimed Slone.

Brackton repeated substantially what he had said, then, pausing an
instant, continued: "I've no call to give you a hunch, but I'll do it
jest because I did like you fust off."

The old man seemed fussy and nervous and patronizing and disparaging
all at once.

"What'd you beat up thet poor Joel Creech fer?" demanded Brackton.

"He got what he deserved," replied Slone, and the memory, coming on the
head of this strange attitude of Brackton's, roused Slone's temper.

"Wal, Joel tells some queer things about you--fer instance, how you
took advantage of little Lucy Bostil, grabbin' her an' maulin' her the
way Joel seen you."

"D--n the loon!" muttered Slone, rising to pace the path.

"Wal, Joel's a bit off, but he's not loony all the time. He's seen you
an' he's tellin' it. When