eside him, a giant horseman on a mammoth steed.

He returned from this little sentimental excursion feeling somewhat like
a sneak. The country was empty of Grace Kerr. In going out to seek her
in the folly of a romance too trivial for a man of his serious mien, he
was guilty of an indiscretion deserving Vesta Philbrook's deepest scorn.
He burned with his own shame as he dismounted to adjust the wire, like
one caught in a reprehensible deed, and rode home feeling foolishly
small. Kerr! He should hate the name.

But when he came to shaving by lamplight that night, and lifted out his
pied calfskin vest to find his strop, the little handkerchief brought
all the old remembrances, the old tenderness, back in a sentimental
flood. He fancied there was still a fragrance of violet perfume about it
as he held it tenderly and pressed it to his cheek after a furtive
glance around. He folded it small, put it in a pocket of the garment,
which he hung on the foot of his bed.

An inspiration directed the act. Tomorrow he would ride forth clothed in
the calfskin vest, with the bright handkerchief that he had worn on the
Sunday at Misery when he won Grace Kerr's scented trophy. For
sentimental reasons only; purely sentimental reasons.

No, he was not a handsome man any longer, he confessed, grinning at the
admission, rather pleased to have it as it was. That scar gave him a
cast of ferocity which his heart did not warrant, for, inwardly, he
said, he knew he was as gentle as a dove. But if there was any doubt in
her mind, granted that he had changed a good deal since she first saw
him, the calfskin vest and the handkerchief would settle it. By those
signs she would know him, if she had doubted before.

Not that she had doubted. As her anger and fear of him had passed that
morning, recognition had come, and with recognition, confidence. He
would take a look out that way in the morning. Surely a man had a right
to go into the enemy's country and get a line on what was going on
against him. So as he shaved he planned, arguing loudly for himself to
drown the cry of treason that his conscience raised.

Tomorrow he would take a further look through the herd and conclude his
estimate. Then he'd have to go to Glendora and order cars for the first
shipment. Vesta wouldn't be able to get all of them off for many weeks.
It would mean several trips to Chicago for him, with a crew of men to
take care of the cattle along the road. It might be well