er a level, up another slope, to another
plain, and so away into the distance.

Up and down the river the water ran deeply in a canyon, the painted
buttes that flanked it lending an appearance of constriction to its
course, but at the crossing it broadened formidably and swirled
splashingly around numerous rocks that littered its course.

The man's gaze rested briefly on the river and the crossing.

"She's travelin' some, this mornin'," he said aloud, mentally referring
to the water. "I reckon that mud over there must be hub deep on a
buckboard," he added, looking at the level on the opposite side of the
crossing. "I'd say, if anybody was to ask me, that last night's rain has
made Calamity some risky this mornin'--for a buckboard." He drew out a
silver timepiece and consulted it with grave deliberation. "It's eleven.
They'd be due about now--if the Eight O'clock was on time--which she's
never been knowed to be." He returned the timepiece to the pocket and
rode along the edge of the mesa away from the river, his gaze
concentrated at the point where the trail on the plains below him
vanished into the distant foothills. A little later he again halted the
pony, swung crossways in the saddle and rolled a cigarette, and while
smoking and watching drew out two pistols, took out the cylinders,
replaced them, and wiped and polished the metal until the guns glittered
brightly in the swimming sunlight. He considered them long before
restoring them to their places, doubt in his gaze. "I reckon she's been
raised a lot different," was his mental conclusion.

"But anyway, I reckon there ain't nothin' in Poughkeepsie's name to give
anyone comin' from there any right to put on airs." He tossed the butt of
the cigarette away and frowned, continuing his soliloquy: "The Flyin' W
ain't no place for a lady. Jim Pickett an' Tom Chavis ain't fit for no
lady to look at--let alone talkin' to them. There's others, too. Now, if
she was comin' to the Diamond H--why, shucks! Mebbe she wouldn't think
I'm any better than Pickett an' Chavis! If she looks anything like her
picture, though, she's got sense. An'--"

He saw the pony flick its ears erect, and he followed its gaze to see on
the plain's trail, far over near where it melted into the foothills, a
moving speck crawling toward him.

He swung back into the saddle and smilingly patted the pony's neck.

"You was expectin' them too, wasn't you, Patches? I reckon you're a right
knowin' horse!"