st, and rearranged
the blankets over it. Then he sat on the foot of it and pondered.

He gazed about him at the other beds. Some of the men were already
sleeping, announcing the fact more or less loudly. Others were swathed
in their blankets smoking in solemn silence. One was deep in the
blood-curdling pages of a dime novel, straining his eyes in the fitful
light of the lamps. The scene had novelty for him, but it was not
altogether enthralling, so he filled his pipe and lit it, and passed
out into the fresh night air. It was only ten o'clock, and he felt
that a smoke and a comfortable think would be pleasant before facing
the charms of his dusty couch.

The moon had not yet risen, but the starry sheen of the sky dimly
outlined everything. He was gazing upon the peaceful scene of a ranch
when night has spread her soft, velvety wings. There were few sounds
to distract his thoughts. The air still hummed with the busy insect
life; one of the prowling ranch dogs occasionally gave tongue, its
fiercely suspicious temper no doubt aroused by some vague shadow which
surely no other eyes than his could possibly have detected in the
darkness; sometimes the distressful plaint of a hungry coyote, hunting
for what it never seems to find--for he is always prowling and
hunting--would rouse the echoes and startle the "tenderfoot" with the
suddenness and nearness of its uncanny call. But for the rest all was
still. And he paced to and fro before the bunkhouse, thinking.

And, strangely enough, of all the scenes he had witnessed that day,
and of all the people he had met, it was the scene in which Diane
Marbolt had taken part, and of her he mostly thought. Perhaps it was
the unexpectedness of meeting a girl so charming that held him
interested. Perhaps it was the eager desire she had displayed in
warning him of his personal danger. Perhaps, even, it was the
recollection of the soft, brown eyes, the charming little sun-tanned
face that had first looked up at him from beneath the broad-brimmed
straw hat. Certain it was her sad face haunted him as no woman's face
had ever haunted him before as he looked out on the vast, dark world
about him. He felt that he would like to know something of her story;
not out of idle curiosity, but that he might discover some means of
banishing the look of sadness so out of place upon her beautiful
features.

His pipe burned out, and he recharged and lit it afresh; then he
extended his peregrinations. He