e. She turned swiftly toward the grade
that led out to the bench and to Eagle Butte. They had almost reached
the foot of the grade, when some impulse caused Carolyn June to whirl
the filly about and gallop back past the barn and down the lane toward
the Cimarron.

As the feet of the outlaw mare splashed into the water at the lower ford
the Ramblin' Kid rode past the corner of the upland pasture fence and
stopped Captain Jack on the brink of the ridge looking down at the
crossing. Below him the river whirled in dark eddies under the
overhanging curtains of cottonwoods and willows; the Quarter Circle KT
lay in the hollow of the valley, like a faint etching of silent
restfulness; through the tops of the trees a white splash of moonlight
struck on the smooth level surface of the treacherous quicksand bar that
had drawn Old Blue down to an agonizing death and from which, scarcely a
month ago, the Ramblin' Kid had dragged Carolyn June.

This, the Ramblin' Kid believed, was his last long look at the Quarter
Circle KT.

He would ride down to the circular corral, turn out the Gold Dust
maverick--give her again to the range and freedom--and while the
unconscious sleepers at the ranch dreamed he would pass on, silently,
toward the south and Mexico should throw about him her black arms of
mystery!

For a while he sat and gazed down on the shadowy scene while his mind
throbbed with memory of the incidents of the last few weeks. He drew the
pink satin garter from his pocket, looked at it a long moment--suddenly
crushed it tightly in his hand while his eyes closed as if renouncing a
vision that had come before them--then carefully, that the dainty thing
might not be lost, replaced it in the pocket that was over his heart.

At last he swung to the ground and tightened the front cinch of his
saddle.

As he pulled the leather into place the sound of nervous hoofs kicking
the gravel on the grade that led to the ridge on which he stood
shattered the silence around him. The Ramblin' Kid whirled and faced the
direction in which the approaching horse, would appear. His hand dropped
to his gun and without raising the weapon from his hip he leveled it to
cover the turn in the road a few feet away.

The waxy mane of the outlaw filly rocked into view as she sprang up and
around the turn on to the ridge.

On the maverick's back, bareheaded, her brown hair tumbled about her
neck, was Carolyn June.

Captain Jack pricked forward his ears