wild first
ride. Monday of his third week at the ranch he was sent on his third
trip. As before, he started at dawn. But this time he did not come
racing back early enough for a belated noon meal as he had on each of
the previous occasions.

By mid-afternoon Isobel began to grow uneasy. Remarkable as had been
the efforts of his new rider's training, there was the not improbable
chance that Rocket had reverted to his ugly tricks. She shuddered as
she pictured the battered corpse of the city man dragging over the
rocks and through the brush, with a foot twisted fast in one of the
narrow iron stirrups.

Her father and Gowan were off on their usual work of inspecting the
bunches of cattle scattered about the range. The other men were as
busy as ever mowing more hay and hauling in that which was cured. She
was alone at the ranch with the Jap. At four o'clock she saddled her
best horse and rode out towards Dry Fork. She hoped to sight Ashton
from the divide. But there was no sign of any horseman out on the
wide stretch of sagebrush flats.

She rode down to Dry Fork, crossed over the sandy channel, and started
on at a gallop along the half-beaten road that wound away through the
sagebrush towards the distant Split Peak. An hour found her nearing
the pinyon clad hills on the far side of Dry Mesa, with still no sign
of Ashton.

By this time she had worked herself into a fever of excitement and
dread. Her relief was correspondingly great when at last she saw him
coming towards her around the bend of the nearest hill. But his horse
was walking and he was bent over in the saddle as if injured or
greatly fatigued. Puzzled and again apprehensive, she urged her pony
to sprinting speed.

When he heard the approaching hoofs Ashton looked up as if startled.
But he did not wave to her or raise his sombrero. As she came racing
up she scrutinized his dejected figure for wounds or bruises. There
was nothing to indicate that he had been either shot or thrown. His
sullen look when she drew up beside him not unnaturally changed her
anxiety to vexation.

"What made you so slow?" she queried. "You know how eager I am for the
mail each time. You might as well have ridden your own hawss."

"It--has come," he muttered.

"What?" she demanded.

"The letter from him."

"Him?" echoed the girl, trying hard to cover her confusion with a look
of surprise.

His dejection deepened as he observed her heightened color and the
light in her eyes