inced.

"I reck'n both ob yer might be mistook," he insisted doggedly.

"Not likely," and Keith's brief laugh was not altogether devoid of
bitterness. "We both called her Christie Maclaire, and she didn't even
deny the name; she was evidently not proud of it, but there was no
denial that she was the girl."

"Dat wasn't like no name dat you called her when we was ridin'."

"No; she didn't approve of the other, and told me to call her Hope, but
I reckon she's Christie Maclaire all right."

They rode on through the black, silent night as rapidly as their tired
horses would consent to travel. Keith led directly across the open
prairie, guiding his course by the stars, and purposely avoiding the
trails, where some suspicious eye might mark their passage. His first
object was to get safely away from the scattered settlements lying
east of Carson City. Beyond their radius he could safely dispose of the
horses they rode, disappear from view, and find time to develop future
plans. As to the girl--well, he would keep his word with her, of course,
and see her again sometime. There would be no difficulty about that, but
otherwise she should retain no influence over him. She belonged rather
to Hawley's class than his.

It was a lonely, tiresome ride, during which Neb made various efforts to
talk, but finding his white companion uncommunicative, at last relapsed
into rather sullen silence. The horses plodded on steadily, and when
daylight finally dawned, the two men found themselves in a depression
leading down to the Smoky River. Here they came to a water hole, where
they could safely hide themselves and their stock. With both Indians
and white men to be guarded against, they took all the necessary
precautions, picketing the horses closely under the rock shadows, and
not venturing upon building any fire. Neb threw himself on the turf and
was instantly asleep, but Keith climbed the steep side of the gully, and
made searching survey of the horizon. The wide arc to south, east, and
west revealed nothing to his searching eyes, except the dull brown of
the slightly rolling plains, with no life apparent save some distant
grazing antelope, but to the north extended more broken country with
a faint glimmer of water between the hills. Satisfied they were
unobserved, he slid back again into the depression. As he turned to
lie down he took hold of the saddle belonging to Hawley's horse. In the
unbuckled holster his eye observed the glimm