the day, it was not so rough that
it hid the thing which the quick eyes of the cattle man found and
understood. There, close to the water's edge and almost under his own
horse's body, were the tracks a shod horse had left not very long ago.
The spring water was still trickling into one of them. There, too, a
little to the side was the imprint of the foot of the rider who had
gotten down to drink from the same stream, the mark of a tiny, high
heeled boot.

"It might be some other girl," he told himself by way of answer to his
own question. "And it might be a Mex with a proud, blue-blooded foot.
But," and he leaned further forward studying the foot print, "it's a
mighty good bet I could tell what she looks like from the shape of her
head to the colour of her eyes! Now, what do you suppose she's tackling?
Something that Mr. Templeton says is plumb foolish and full of danger?"

He slipped the bit back into his horse's mouth and swung up into the
saddle.

"She didn't come out the way I came," he reflected as for a moment he
sat still, looking down at the medley of tracks. "I'd have seen her
horse's tracks. She must have made a big curve somewhere. I wonder what
for?"

Then slowly the gravity left his eyes and a slow smile came into them.
He surprised his horse with a touch of the spurs.

"Get into it, you long-legged wooden horse, you!" he chuckled. "We've
got something to ride for now! We're going to see Miss Grey Eyes again.
There's something besides stick-up men worth a man's thinking about,
little horse!"

He reined back into the trail, rode through the little valley, climbed
the ridge beyond and so pushed on deeper and ever deeper into the long
sweep of flat country upon the other side. Often his eyes ran far ahead,
seeking swiftly for the slender figure he constantly expected to see
riding eastward before him; often they dropped to the trail underfoot to
see that her horse's tracks had not turned to right or left should she
leave this main horseman's highway for some one of the countless cross
trails.

The afternoon wore on, the miles dropped away behind him; and he came to
the end of the flat country and again was in low rolling hills. Her
horse's tracks were there always before him, and yet he had had no sight
of any rider that day since leaving the county road. Again much gravity
came back into his eyes.

"Where's she going?" he asked himself again. "It looks like she was
headed for Harte's Camp too. And