word, but
there was a world of confidence in his tone: "Stick."

She arched her brows as she returned his gaze, and with a little
troubled laugh drew closer. "Stick, Nan," he repeated. "It will come
out all right."

She paused a moment. "How can you know?"

"I know because it's got to. I talked it all over with my best friend
in Medicine Bend, the other day."

"Who, Henry?"

"Whispering Smith. He laughed at your uncle's opposing us. He said if
your uncle only knew it, it's the best thing that could happen for
him. And he said if all the marriages opposed by old folks had been
stopped, there wouldn't be young folks enough left to milk the cows."

"Henry, what is this report about the Calabasas barns burning?"

"The old Number One barn is gone and some of the old stages. We didn't
lose any horses, and the other barns are all right. Some of our
Calabasas or Gap friends, probably. No matter, we'll get them all
rounded up after a while, Nan. Then, some fine day, we're going to get
married."

De Spain rode that night to Calabasas to look into the story of the
fire.

McAlpin, swathed in bandages, made no bones about accusing the common
enemy. No witnesses could be found to throw any more light on the
inquiry than the barn boss himself. And de Spain made only a pretense
of a formal investigation. If he had had any doubts about the origin
of the fire they would have been resolved by an anonymous scrawl, sent
through the mail, promising more if he didn't get out of the country.

But instead of getting out of the country, de Spain continued as a
matter of energetic policy to get into it. He rode the deserts
stripped, so to say, for action and walked the streets of Sleepy Cat
welcoming every chance to meet men from Music Mountain or the Sinks.
It was on Nan that the real hardships of the situation fell, and Nan
who had to bear them alone and almost unaided.

Duke came home a day or two later without a word for Nan concerning
his encounter with de Spain. He was shorter in the grain than ever,
crustier to every one than she had ever known him--and toward Nan
herself fiercely resentful. Sassoon was in his company a great deal,
and Nan knew of old that Sassoon was a bad symptom. Gale, too, came
often, and the three were much together. In some way, Nan felt that
she herself was in part the subject of their talks, but no information
concerning them could she ever get.

One morning she sat on the porch sewing when Gale rod