all over the country.

There was no satisfying Miss Sampson with rides, new places, new faces,
new adventures. And every time we rode out she insisted on first riding
through Linrock; and every time we rode home she insisted on going back
that way.

We visited all the stores, the blacksmith, the wagon shop, the feed and
grain houses--everywhere that she could find excuse for visiting. I had
to point out to her all the infamous dens in town, and all the lawless
and lounging men we met.

She insisted upon being shown the inside of the Hope So, to the extreme
confusion of that bewildered resort.

I pretended to be blind to this restless curiosity. Sally understood the
cause, too, and it divided her between a sweet gravity and a naughty
humor.

The last, however, she never evinced in sight or hearing of Diane.

It seemed that we were indeed fated to cross the path of Vaughn Steele.
We saw him working round his adobe house; then we saw him on horseback.
Once we met him face to face in a store.

He gazed steadily into Diane Sampson's eyes and went his way without any
sign of recognition. There was red in her face when he passed and white
when he had gone.

That day she rode as I had never seen her, risking her life, unmindful
of her horse.

Another day we met Steele down in the valley, where, inquiry discovered
to us, he had gone to the home of an old cattleman who lived alone and
was ill.

Last and perhaps most significant of all these meetings was the one when
we were walking tired horses home through the main street of Linrock and
came upon Steele just in time to see him in action.

It happened at a corner where the usual slouchy, shirt-sleeved loungers
were congregated. They were in high glee over the predicament of one
ruffian who had purchased or been given a poor, emaciated little burro
that was on his last legs. The burro evidently did not want to go with
its new owner, who pulled on a halter and then viciously swung the end
of the rope to make welts on the worn and scarred back.

If there was one thing that Diane Sampson could not bear it was to see
an animal in pain. She passionately loved horses, and hated the sight of
a spur or whip.

When we saw the man beating the little burro she cried out to me:

"Make the brute stop!"

I might have made a move had I not on the instant seen Steele heaving
into sight round the corner.

Just then the fellow, whom I now recognized to be a despicable character