h things with money. So far as I can make
out the puncher didn't do anything to write home about, but he didn't
want pay for it anyhow."

"Of course, Bromfield doesn't understand the West," said Whitford. "I
wouldn't like that young puncher half so well if he'd taken the money."

"He didn't need to spoil a perfectly good fifty-dollar bill, though,"
admitted Clay.

"Yes, he did," denied Beatrice. "That was his protest against
Clarendon's misjudgment of him. I've always thought it perfectly
splendid in its insolence. Some day I'm going to tell him so."

"It happened in your corner of Arizona, Lindsay. If you ever find out
who the chap was I wish you'd let us know," Whitford said.

"I'll remember."

"If you young people are going riding--"

"--We'd better get started. Quite right, Dad. We're off. Clarendon
will probably call up. Tell him I'll be in about four-thirty."

She pinched her father's ear, kissed him on one ruddy cheek, then on
the other, and joined Clay at the door.

They were friends again, had been for almost half an hour, even though
they had not yet been alone together, but their friendship was to hold
reservations now. The shadow of Clarendon Bromfield rode between them.
They were a little stiff with each other, not so casual as they had
been. A consciousness of sex had obtruded into the old boyish
_camaraderie_.

After a brisk canter they drew their horses together for a walk.

Beatrice broke the ice of their commonplaces. She looked directly at
him, her cheeks flushing. "I don't know how you're going to forgive
me, Clay. I've been awf'ly small and priggish. I hate to think I'm
ungenerous, but that's just what I've been."

"Let's forget it," he said gently.

"No, I don't want to forget--not till I've told you how humble I feel
to-day. I might have trusted you. Why didn't I? It would have been
easy for me to have taken your little friend in and made things right
for her. That's what I ought to have done. But, instead of that--Oh,
I hate myself for the way I acted."

Her troubled smile, grave and sweet, touched him closely. It was in
his horoscope that the spell of this young Diana must be upon him.

He put his hand on hers as it rested on the pommel of the saddle and
gave it a slight pressure. "You're a good scout, li'l' pardner."

But it was Beatrice's way to step up to punishment and take what was
coming. As a little girl, while still almost a baby, she had once