er to attract her attention. His lips were
pursed for the piercing whistle for which he was famous and which
Daylight knew of old, when Daylight, with a hook of his leg and a yank
on the shoulder, slammed the startled Bill down into his seat.

"You m-m-must know the lady," Swiftwater Bill spluttered.

"I sure do," Daylight answered, "so shut up."

"Well, I congratulate your good taste, Daylight. She's a peach, and
she rides like one, too."

Intervening trees at that moment shut her from view, and Swiftwater
Bill plunged into the problem of disposing of their constable, while
Daylight, leaning back with closed eyes, was still seeing Dede Mason
gallop off down the country road. Swiftwater Bill was right. She
certainly could ride. And, sitting astride, her seat was perfect.
Good for Dede! That was an added point, her having the courage to ride
in the only natural and logical manner. Her head as screwed on right,
that was one thing sure.

On Monday morning, coming in for dictation, he looked at her with new
interest, though he gave no sign of it; and the stereotyped business
passed off in the stereotyped way. But the following Sunday found him
on a horse himself, across the bay and riding through the Piedmont
hills. He made a long day of it, but no glimpse did he catch of Dede
Mason, though he even took the back-road of many gates and rode on into
Berkeley. Here, along the lines of multitudinous houses, up one street
and down another, he wondered which of them might be occupied by her.
Morrison had said long ago that she lived in Berkeley, and she had been
headed that way in the late afternoon of the previous Sunday--evidently
returning home.

It had been a fruitless day, so far as she was concerned; and yet not
entirely fruitless, for he had enjoyed the open air and the horse under
him to such purpose that, on Monday, his instructions were out to the
dealers to look for the best chestnut sorrel that money could buy. At
odd times during the week he examined numbers of chestnut sorrels,
tried several, and was unsatisfied. It was not till Saturday that he
came upon Bob. Daylight knew him for what he wanted the moment he laid
eyes on him. A large horse for a riding animal, he was none too large
for a big man like Daylight. In splendid condition, Bob's coat in the
sunlight was a flame of fire, his arched neck a jeweled conflagration.

"He's a sure winner," was Daylight's comment; but the dealer was not so
sa