ht, Doc." The cattleman turned to Ridley. "Run ahead, boy, an'
prepare' Mona so's she won't be scared plumb to death. Tell her it's
only a triflin' flesh-wound. Keep her busy fixin' up a bed for me--an'
bandages. Don't let her worry. See?"

Ridley had come to town only two days before. Ever since the robbery he
had kept a lone camp on Turkey Creek. There was plenty of game for the
shooting, and in that vast emptiness of space he could nurse his wounded
self-respect. But he had run out of flour and salt. Because Tascosa was
farther from the A T O ranch than Clarendon he had chosen it as a point
to buy supplies. The owner of the corral had offered him a job, and he
had taken it. He had not supposed that Ramona was within a hundred miles
of the spot. The last thing in the world he wanted was to meet her, but
there was no help for it now.

Her aunt carried to Ramona the word that a man was waiting outside with
a message from her father. When she came down the porch steps, there
were still traces of tear-stains on her cheeks. In the gathering dusk
she did not at first recognize the man at the gate. She moved forward
doubtfully, a slip of a slender-limbed girl, full of the unstudied charm
and grace of youth.

Halfway down the path she stopped, her heart beating a little faster.
Could this wan and ragged man with the unkempt beard be Art Ridley,
always so careful of his clothes and his personal appearance? She was a
child of impulse. Her sympathy went out to him with a rush, and she
streamed down the path to meet him. A strong, warm little hand pressed
his. A flash of soft eyes irradiated him. On her lips was the tender
smile that told him she was still his friend.

"Where in the world have you been?" she cried. "And what have you been
doing to yourself?"

His blood glowed at the sweetness of her generosity.

"I've been--camping."

With the shyness and the boldness of a child she pushed home her
friendliness. "Why don't you ever come to see a fellow any more?"

He did not answer that, but plunged at his mission. "Miss Ramona, I've
got bad news for you. Your father has been hurt--not very badly, I
think. He told me to tell you that the wound was only a slight one."

'Mona went white to the lips. "How?" she whispered.

"The Dinsmores shot him. The men are bringing him here."

He caught her in his arms as she reeled. For a moment her little head
lay against his shoulder and her heart beat against his.

"A trifling f