nowing why he did
it, he turned upon his heel and went to hang out his wet socks. Still
making no reply to Brayley, he got his hat and strode off to the
stable.

Ten minutes later he rode through the circle of trees and to the front
of the house, leading Miss Argyl's pony. Miss Crawford, in khaki
riding-habit, gray gauntlets, and wide, gray hat, already booted and
spurred for her ride, was waiting upon the front steps. As she saw
Conniston ride up she nodded gaily to him with a merry "Good morning,"
and ran lightly down the steps to meet him. He answered her a bit
stiffly--with dignity, he would have said--and swung down from his
saddle to help her to mount. But before he could come to her side she
had mounted, and sat watching him as he again got into his saddle. He
saw a vast amusement in her eyes as they omitted no detail of his
appearance, missing neither the stubby growth upon cheek and chin, nor
the unbuttoned vest with Durham tag and strings protruding, nor the
not over-clean chaps, nor the gun at his belt. And when her eyes
rested at last upon his they were smiling, and his stubbornly grave
and vacant.

"You are going to ride with me?" she asked, quickly.

He inclined his head.

"Orders from Brayley," he said, quietly.

"Oh!" And then, flicking her horse across the flank with her quirt,
she turned away from the house and down the roadway which led by the
pond and along which Conniston had come that day when he first saw the
Half Moon. And Conniston, ten paces behind her, erect, sober-faced,
followed her like a well-trained groom.

For a mile they rode at a swift gallop, the girl in front not so much
as turning her head to see if he were following, their way leading
along the bank of Indian Creek and through the gloomy half-light which
sifted down through the mesh of branches of the big trees reaching
high overhead. Then she left the road for a narrow trail which wound
through trees and bushes down into the creek-bed and across it, coming
out through the trees upon the dry grass-covered plain to the east.
And now again she rode at a swinging gallop, and he followed her. He
knew that twenty miles ahead of them was Rattlesnake Valley. He began
to wonder if that were where she was going.

Suddenly she jerked in her horse and sat waiting for him. And
Conniston, grown stubbornly determined that if she wanted him she must
call to him, stopped his own horse at a respectful distance behind
her. She turned her h