ateful for the gloom that hid her face.
"I rode out this way to examine a tract of grazing-land."

It seemed fully a minute before the Ranger answered; then he said, in a
casual tone, "I reckon Las Palmas is quite a ranch, ma'am."

"Yes. But we need more pasture."

"I know your La Feria ranch, too. I was with General Castro when we had
that fight near there."

"You were a Maderista?"

"Yes'm. Machine-gun man. That's a fine country over there. Seems like
God Almighty got mixed and put the Mexicans on the wrong side of the
Rio Grande. But I reckon you haven't seen much of La Feria since the
last revolution broke out."

"No. We have tried to remain neutral, but--" Again she hesitated. "Mr.
Austin has enemies. Fortunately both sides have spared La Feria."

Law shrugged his broad shoulders. "Oh, well, the revolution isn't over!
A ranch in Mexico is my idea of a bad investment." He rose and, taking
his blanket, sought a favorable spot upon which to spread it. Then he
helped Mrs. Austin to her feet--her muscles had stiffened until she
could barely stand--after which he fetched his saddle for a pillow. He
made no apologies for his meager hospitality, nor did his guest expect
any.

When he had staked out his horse for the night he returned to find the
woman rolled snugly in her covering, as in a cocoon. The dying embers
flickered into flame and lit her hair redly. She had laid off her felt
Stetson, and one loosened braid lay over her hard pillow. Thinking her
asleep, Law stood motionless, making no attempt to hide his expression
of wonderment until, unexpectedly, she spoke.

"What will you do with me when your Mexican comes?" she said.

"Well, ma'am, I reckon I'll hide you out in the brush till I tame him.
I hope you sleep well."

"Thank you. I'm used to the open."

He nodded as if he well knew that she was; then, shaking out his
slicker, turned away.

As he lay staring up through the thorny mesquite branches that roofed
him inadequately from the dew he marveled mightily. A bright,
steady-burning star peeped through the leaves at him, and as he watched
it he remembered that this red-haired woman with the still, white face
was known far and wide through the lower valley as "The Lone Star."
Well, he mused, the name fitted her; she was, if reports were true,
quite as mysterious, quite as cold and fixed and unapproachable, as the
title implied. Knowledge of her identity had come as a shock, for Law
knew something of