end you to the home ranch to-night, instead of
Bob," continued Phil, as the two men mounted their horses and sat for a
moment facing each other. "It looks like we could spare you best. Tell
Uncle Will to send the chuck wagon and three more punchers, and that
we'll start for the home ranch Friday. And be sure that you get back
here to-morrow."

"Shall I go now?"

"Yes, you can go now."

Patches wheeled his horse and rode away, while Phil disappeared over the
ridge in the direction from which he had come.

When the two cowboys were out of sight, Helen went straight to her
husband, and to Stanford's consternation, when he took her in his arms,
she was crying.

"Why, girl, what is it?" he asked, holding her close.

But she only answered between sobs as she clung to him, "It--it's
nothing--never mind, Stan. I'm just upset."

And Stanford quite naturally thought it was only a case of nerves caused
by the danger through which she had passed.

For nearly an hour, Patches rode toward the home ranch, taking only such
notice of his surroundings as was necessary in order for him to keep his
direction. Through the brush and timber, over the ridges down into
valleys and washes, and along the rock-strewn mountain sides he allowed
his horse to pick the way, and take his own gait, with scarcely a touch
of rein or spur.

The twilight hour was beginning when he reached a point from which he
could see, in the distance, the red roofs of the Cross-Triangle
buildings. Checking his horse, he sat for a long time, motionless,
looking away over the broad land that had come to mean so much to him,
as though watching the passing of the day.

But the man did not note the changing colors in the western sky; he did
not see the shadows deepening; he was not thinking of the coming of the
night. The sight of the distant spot that, a year before, had held such
possibilities for him, when, on the summit of the Divide, he had chosen
between two widely separated ways of life, brought to him, now, a keener
realization of the fact that he was again placed where he must choose.
The sun was down upon those hopes and dreams that in the first hard
weeks of his testing had inspired and strengthened him. The night of
despairing, reckless abandonment of the very ideals of manhood for which
he had so bravely struggled was upon him; while the spirit and strength
of that manhood which he had so hardly attained fought against its
surrender.

When Stanford