red on her neck in a loose,
rippling mass. She took the child from Mead's hands when they
returned, and her eyes went from the boy's laughing face to the
smiling one of the man. Then the roses deepened again and she looked
away. The man said nothing and they both waited, silent and smiling,
watching the antics of the child. Presently she turned to him again:

"Are you--do you expect to stay long in town, Mr. Mead?"

"I think--I--do not know. It will depend on business."

They were silent again, and after a moment he gravely said, "Good
morning," and rode away. He frowned and bit his lip, muttered a mild
oath under his breath, and then put spurs to his horse and rode on a
gallop up the main street. The girl glanced after him, still blushing
and smiling. Then a frown wrinkled her forehead and she said, "Well!"
under her breath with such emphasis that the child looked up at her
curiously. At that, she laughed with a little touch of embarrassment
in her manner, and, taking the boy in her arms, ran into the house.

In the busiest part of the main street, a flat-roofed adobe house with
a narrow, covered porch forming the sidewalk in front, flanked the
street for half a block. Offices and shops of various kinds filled its
many rooms, and the open door of a saloon showed a cool and pleasant
interior. In front of this saloon Emerson Mead halted as Tuttle and
Ellhorn came out of a lawyer's office beside it. Ellhorn explained his
non-appearance at the ranch and told the story of Tuttle's capture,
over which they made jokes at his expense.

"The doctor says this is only a flesh wound," said Nick, touching his
sling-swung arm and speaking in answer to Mead's question, "and that
I can use my gun again in another week."

"I'd have been out right away, Emerson," said Tuttle, "but Nick had to
stay here for the doctor to take care of his arm, and I didn't dare
leave him alone. He was bound he'd go on a spree, and he couldn't
shoot, and the Lord knows what trouble he'd have got into. Maybe I
haven't had a time of it! I'd rather have had a fight with the
Fillmore outfit every day!"

"Yes," growled Ellhorn, "he put me to bed one night and sat on my neck
till I went to sleep. And yesterday morning he planted himself against
the door and held his six-shooter on me till I promised I wouldn't
drink all day. Lord! the week's been long enough for the
resurrection!"

"How's things at the ranch, Emerson?" asked Tuttle. "Have you had any
f