"That you, Lite? I'm going--well, just going. I've got to ride." She
pulled Pard's bridle off the peg where she always hung it, and laid an
arm over his neck while she held the bit against his clinched teeth.
Pard never did take kindly to the feel of the cold steel in his mouth,
and she spoke to him sharply before his jaws slackened.

"Want me to go along with you?" Lite asked, and reached for his saddle
and blanket.

"No, I want you to go to bed." Jean's tone was softer than it had been
for that whole day. "You've had all the riding you need. I've been
shut up with Aunt Ella and her favorite form of torture."

"Got your gun?" Lite gave the latigo a final pull which made Pard
grunt.

"Of course. Why?"

"Nothing,--only it's a good night for coyotes, and you might get a shot
at one. Another thing, a gun's no good on earth when you haven't got
it with you."

"Yes, and you've told me so about once a week ever since I was big
enough to pull a trigger," Jean retorted, with something approaching
her natural tone. "Maybe I won't come back, Lite. Maybe I'll camp over
home till morning."

Lite did not say anything in reply to that. He leaned his long person
against a corral post and watched her out of sight on the trail up the
hill. Then he caught his own horse, saddled it leisurely, and rode
away.

Jean rode slowly, leaving the trail and striking out across the open
country straight for the Lazy A. She had no direct purpose in riding
this way; she had not intended to ride to the Lazy A until she named
the place to Lite as her destination, but since she had told him so,
she knew that was where she was going. The picture-people would not be
there at night, and she felt the need of coming as close as possible to
her father; at the Lazy A, where his thoughts would cling, she felt
near to him,--much nearer than when she was at the Bar Nothing. And
that the gruesome memory of what had happened there did not make the
place seem utterly horrible merely proves how unshakable was her faith
in him.

A coyote trotted up out of a hollow facing her, stiffened with
astonishment, dropped nose and tail, and slid away in the shadow of the
hill. A couple of minutes later Jean saw him sitting alert upon his
haunches on a moon-bathed slope, watching to see what she would do.
She did nothing; and the coyote pointed his nose to the moon,
yap-yap-yapped a quavering defiance, and slunk out of sight over the
hill crest.

Her