tly at Daylight.

"Let me give him a run?" she asked.

Daylight nodded, and she shot down the road. He watched her out of
sight around the bend, and watched till she came into sight returning.
She certainly could sit her horse, was his thought, and she was a sure
enough hummer. God, she was the wife for a man! Made most of them
look pretty slim. And to think of her hammering all week at a
typewriter. That was no place for her. She should be a man's wife,
taking it easy, with silks and satins and diamonds (his frontier notion
of what befitted a wife beloved), and dogs, and horses, and such
things--"And we'll see, Mr. Burning Daylight, what you and me can do
about it," he murmured to himself! and aloud to her:--

"You'll do, Miss Mason; you'll do. There's nothing too good in
horseflesh you don't deserve, a woman who can ride like that. No; stay
with him, and we'll jog along to the quarry." He chuckled. "Say, he
actually gave just the least mite of a groan that last time you fetched
him. Did you hear it? And did you see the way he dropped his feet to
the road--just like he'd struck a stone wall. And he's got savvee
enough to know from now on that that same stone wall will be always
there ready for him to lam into."

When he parted from her that afternoon, at the gate of the road that
led to Berkeley, he drew off to the edge of the intervening clump of
trees, where, unobserved, he watched her out of sight. Then, turning to
ride back into Oakland, a thought came to him that made him grin
ruefully as he muttered: "And now it's up to me to make good and buy
that blamed quarry. Nothing less than that can give me an excuse for
snooping around these hills."

But the quarry was doomed to pass out of his plans for a time, for on
the following Sunday he rode alone. No Dede on a chestnut sorrel came
across the back-road from Berkeley that day, nor the day a week later.
Daylight was beside himself with impatience and apprehension, though in
the office he contained himself. He noted no change in her, and strove
to let none show in himself. The same old monotonous routine went on,
though now it was irritating and maddening. Daylight found a big
quarrel on his hands with a world that wouldn't let a man behave toward
his stenographer after the way of all men and women. What was the good
of owning millions anyway? he demanded one day of the desk-calendar,
as she passed out after receiving his dictation.

As the thir