rande is almost in a straight line from here and we cut
off a lot."

"Casa Grande is an awfully fancy sort of name. Is it a wonderful place?"

"Just a good little ranch. These Latins like big sounding names," replied
Scott. "Casa Grande is very common down here."

A dip in the trail took them into an arroyo and out the other side, where
they lost sight entirely of Athens. A few moments later, they wound their
way through some brush into a narrow canyon, walled on one side by hills
and with a drop of some fifteen feet on the other side into a ravine. Out
of the ravine grew more brush so densely that it almost crowded the little
trail out of existence.

Here it was necessary to go single file and Polly noticed how naturally
Scott took the lead, leaving her to follow and Hard to bring up the rear.
She noted with some amusement that it seemed characteristic of him to take
the lead everywhere, just as it seemed quite in keeping with Hard's
easy-going nature to fall into the rear.

"And yet of the two Mr. Hard has the education and the brains," thought
the girl. "No, that's not fair. I believe you can have just as good a
brain without education--only you're hampered in the use of it. Marc Scott
has what the psychologists call 'initiative.' Oh, look!"

High up in the air a bird had flown out from among the tree-tops on the
other side of the canyon--a big bird with wide spreading wings.

"It's an eagle."

"An eagle!" Polly was awed.

"There's a nest up there somewhere," said Scott, shading his eyes with his
hand and peering upward. "Last year I was riding over this trail with
Gomez, an Indian we had working for us. We were just about here when an
eagle, a young one, flew out from the trees. Before I could speak, Gomez
up with his gun and shot it."

"Oh!"

"I wanted to kill the geezer--but Lord, what can you expect of an
Indian?"

As they proceeded, Polly found herself riding closer to Scott, while Hard
lagged behind. She was not displeased. Scott on horseback and in the woods
was Scott at his best as she was beginning to know.

"I'm wondering," she said, as the mare pushed her nose along the big bay's
flank, "how you know so much about the country. You aren't a Westerner,
are you?"

"Me? No, indeed. Born in New York State and raised in Michigan. Never laid
eyes on anything west of the Mississippi until I came out to Colorado to
work in the mines. Then I drifted into New Mexico and down here." Scott
was riding