conviction forced upon her. Reckless
he undoubtedly was, at odds with the law surely, but it was hard to
admit that attractive personality to be the mask of fiendish cruelty
and sinister malice. And yet--the facts spoke for themselves. He had not
even attempted a denial. Still there was a mystery about him, else how
was it possible for two so distinct personalities to dwell together in
the same body.

She hated him with all her lusty young will; not only for what he was,
but also for what she had been disappointed in not finding him after her
first instinctive liking. Yet it was with an odd little thrill that
she ran down again into the coulee where her prosaic life had found its
first real adventure. He might be all they said, but nothing could wipe
out the facts that she had offered her life to save his, and that he
had lent her his body as a living shield for one exhilarating moment of
danger.

As she reached the hill summit beyond the coulee, Helen Messiter
was aware that a rider in ungainly chaps of white wool was rapidly
approaching. He dipped down into the next depression without seeing her;
and when they came face to face at the top of the rise the result was
instantaneous. His pony did an animated two-step not on the programme.
It took one glance at the diabolical machine, and went up on its hind
legs, preliminary to giving an elaborate exhibition of pitching. The
rider indulged in vivid profanity and plied his quirt vigorously. But
the bronco, with the fear of this unknown evil on its soul, varied its
bucking so effectively that the puncher astride its hurricane deck was
forced, in the language of his kind, to "take the dust."

His red head sailed through the air and landed in the white sand at
the girl's feet. For a moment he sat in the road and gazed with chagrin
after the vanishing heels of his mount. Then his wrathful eyes came
round to the owner of the machine that had caused the eruption. His
mouth had opened to give adequate expression to his feelings, when he
discovered anew the forgotten fact that he was dealing with a woman.
His jaw hung open for an instant in amaze; and when he remembered the
unedited vocabulary he had turned loose on the world a flood of purple
swept his tanned face.

She wanted to laugh, but wisely refrained. "I'm very sorry," was what
she said.

He stared in silence as he slowly picked himself from the ground. His
red hair rose like the quills of a porcupine above a face t