m only a girl he saved from outlaws. Oh, he's so paler Duane,
Duane!"

"Buck Duane!" exclaimed the rancher, excitedly. "The man who killed
Bland an' Alloway? Say, I owe him a good turn, an' I'll pay it, young
woman."

The rancher's wife came out, and with a manner at once kind and
practical essayed to make Duane drink from a flask. He was not so far
gone that he could not recognize its contents, which he refused, and
weakly asked for water. When that was given him he found his voice.

"Yes, I'm Duane. I've only overdone myself--just all in. The wounds I
got at Bland's are healing. Will you take this girl in--hide her awhile
till the excitement's over among the outlaws?"

"I shore will," replied the Texan.

"Thanks. I'll remember you--I'll square it."

"What 're you goin' to do?"

"I'll rest a bit--then go back to the brakes."

"Young man, you ain't in any shape to travel. See here--any rustlers on
your trail?"

"I think we gave Bland's gang the slip."

"Good. I'll tell you what. I'll take you in along with the girl, an'
hide both of you till you get well. It'll be safe. My nearest neighbor
is five miles off. We don't have much company."

"You risk a great deal. Both outlaws and rangers are hunting me," said
Duane.

"Never seen a ranger yet in these parts. An' have always got along with
outlaws, mebbe exceptin' Bland. I tell you I owe you a good turn."

"My horses might betray you," added Duane.

"I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass. Nobody goes to
it. Come now, let me help you indoors."

Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the strange feel of
a bed, a relief at the removal of his heavy boots, and of Jennie's soft,
cool hands on his hot face.

He lay ill for three weeks before he began to mend, and it was another
week then before he could walk out a little in the dusk of the evenings.
After that his strength returned rapidly. And it was only at the end
of this long siege that he recovered his spirits. During most of his
illness he had been silent, moody.

"Jennie, I'll be riding off soon," he said, one evening. "I can't impose
on this good man Andrews much longer. I'll never forget his kindness.
His wife, too--she's been so good to us. Yes, Jennie, you and I will
have to say good-by very soon."

"Don't hurry away," she replied.

Lately Jennie had appeared strange to him. She had changed from the
girl he used to see at Mrs. Bland's house. He took her reluctance