ed a sharp corner, and had disappeared by
riding up the same slope she occupied, but farther along, and in a
shallow depression which hid him completely after that one brief
glimpse.

Of course, the gulch was dusky with deep shadows, and she had had only
a glimpse. But the horse was a dark bay, and the rider was slim and
tall and wore a gray hat. The heart of Billy Louise paused a moment
from its steady beating and then sank heavily under a great weight.
She was range-born and range-bred. She had sat wide-eyed on her
daddy's knees and heard him tell of losses in cattle and horses and of
corrals found hidden away in strange places and of unknown riders who
disappeared mysteriously into the hills. She had heard of these
things; they were a part of the stage setting for wild dramas of the
West.

With a white line showing around her close-pressed lips and a horror in
her wide-eyed glance, she rode quietly along the side of the bluff
toward where she had seen the horseman disappear. He was riding a dark
bay, and he wore a gray hat and dark coat, and he was slim and tall.
Billy Louise made a sound that was close to a groan and set her teeth
hard together afterwards.

She reached the hillside just above the corral. There were cattle down
there, moving uneasily about in the shadows. Of the horseman there was
of course no sign; just the corral, and a few restless cattle shut
inside, and on the hilltops a soft, rose-violet glow, and in the sky
beyond a blend of purple and deep crimson to show where the sun had
been. Close beside her as she stood looking down a little, gray bird
twittered wistfully.

Billy Louise took a deep breath and rode on, angling slightly up the
bluff, so that she could cross at the head of the gulch. It was very
quiet, very peaceful, and wildly beautiful, this jumble of hills and
deep-gashed canyons. But Billy Louise felt as though something
precious had died. She should have gone down and investigated and
turned those cattle loose; that is, if she dared. Well, she dared; it
was not fear that held her to the upper slopes. She did not want to
know what brand they bore or whether an iron had seared fresh marks.

"Oh, God!" she said once aloud; and there was a prayer and a protest, a
curse and a question all in those two words.

So trouble--trouble that sickened her very soul and choked her into
dumbness and squeezed her heart so that the ache of it was agony--came
and rode with her throug