is time; look for
me back in two or three days.'

'All right, Al,' said Evans. 'So long.' He went to the door and
paused. He wanted to say something and didn't know just what to say or
how to say it. So he coughed and said again, 'Well, so long, Al,' and
went out.

In the first flush of the dawn Howard rode away toward San Juan. He
turned in the saddle and looked back toward the Last Ridge country. He
fancied that he could make out the Longstreet cabin even when he knew
that his lover's desire was tricking his sense. He thought of Helen;
she would be sleeping now. He would not see her for several days. He
thought of John Carr; Carr would see her every day until he was forced
to go East. Carr had not confided in him when he expected to leave.
His eyes left the uplands lingeringly and wandered across the sweeping
fields of Desert Valley. He straightened in the saddle and his lungs
filled and expanded. The valley was his, his to work for, to struggle
and plan for, to make over as he would have it--to hold for Helen. For
Helen loved it no less than he loved it. And he loved Helen.

'. . . One should be loyal to one's friends.' He held to that
stoutly, insistent and stubborn to play his part. Something had come
over him and Carr, or between them; but none the less he obstinately
sought to refuse to harbour thoughts which came again and again and
which always angered him with himself. There was the suspicion: 'Carr
was unfair in seeking to take Helen and her father away with him to the
East.' He told himself that that was Carr's right if Carr held it so.
There came the accusation: 'Carr had been hard on him last night.' He
told himself that it was easily granted that they had misunderstood
each other when, long ago, they had arranged for the payments; further,
that no doubt Carr, too, was hard up for cash. The thought suggested
itself: 'Carr had no right to berate him for allowing Sanchia to ride
to the Longstreet cabin.' Carr had spoken quickly, unthinkingly, and
they all were under stress. He would play fair and give a man his
due--and his thoughts switched to Helen and Carr was forgotten and,
with a half-smile on his lips, he rode on through the brightening
morning, dreaming of the ranch that should be when Helen came with him
to ride and their hands found each other and she whispered: 'I love it
and--it is ours!'

John Engle, the banker of San Juan, was something more than a banker.
Not only