sure the boys make a mistake in spelling
your name. Judging from your recent actions it should be spelled
'_R-e-c-k-l-e-s-s_.' Anyway, we thank you."

"The same to you, ma'am. So long."

He flashed a smile at Aunt Martha; it broadened as he met Uncle Jepson's
eyes; it turned to a grin of derision as he looked at Masten. And then he
was splashing his pony across the river.

They watched him as he rode up the slope on the opposite side; they held
their breath as pony and rider climbed the steeper slope to the mesa.
They saw him halt when he reached the mesa, saw him wave his hat to them.
But they did not see him halt the pony after he had ridden a little way,
and kiss the palm of the hand that had held hers.

CHAPTER III

AT THE FLYING W

It fell to Uncle Jepson to hitch the blacks to the buckboard--in a frigid
silence Masten had found his trunk, opened it and drawn out some very
necessary dry clothing; then marching behind a thick clump of alder, he
proceeded to make the change. After this he climbed down to the river and
washed the mud from visible portions of his body. Then he returned to the
buckboard, to find the others waiting for him. In a strained silence he
climbed up to the seat beside Ruth, took up the reins, and sent the
blacks forward.

It was ten miles to the Flying W ranchhouse, and during the ride the
silence was broken only once. That was when, at about the fifth mile,
Ruth placed a hand on Masten's arm and smiled at him.

"I really think Mr. Randerson _was_ sorry that he upset you in the mud,
Willard," she said gently. "I don't think he did it to be mean. And it
was so manly of him to apologize to you." She laughed, thinking that time
had already removed the sting. "And you really _did_ look funny, Willard,
with the mud all over you. I--I could have laughed, myself, if I hadn't
felt so indignant."

"I'll thank you to not refer to it again, Ruth," he said crossly.

She flushed and looked straight ahead of her at the unfolding vistas that
their passage revealed: at the undulating plains, green with bunch-grass
that the rain of the night before had washed and reinvigorated; into
gullies where weeds grew thick; peering into arroyos--visible memories of
washouts and cloudbursts; glimpsing barrancas as they flashed by;
wondering at the depth of draws through which the trail led; shivering at
the cacti--a brilliant green after the r