he flushed in confusion, then turned her eyes away
slowly.

"I liked him that day he outran the flier; I've often thought of him
since then."

Lambert looked off over the wild landscape, the distant buttes softened
in the haze that seemed to presage the advance of autumn, considering
much. When he looked into her face again it was with the harshness gone
out of his eyes.

"I wouldn't sell that horse to any man, but I'd give him to you, Grace."

She started a little when he pronounced her name, wondering, perhaps,
how he knew it, her eyes growing great in the pleasure of his generous
declaration. She urged her horse nearer with an impetuous movement and
gave him her hand.

"I didn't mean for you to take it that way, Duke, but I appreciate it
more than I can tell you."

Her eyes were earnest and soft with a mist of gratitude that seemed to
rise out of her heart. He held her hand a moment, feeling that he was
being drawn nearer to her lips, as if he must touch them, and rise
refreshed to face the labors of his life.

"I started out on him to look for you, expecting to ride him to the
Pacific, and maybe double back. I didn't know where I'd have to go, but
I intended to go on till I found you."

"It seemed almost a joke," she said, "that we were so near each other
and you didn't know it."

She laughed, not seeming to feel the seriousness of it as he felt it. It
is the woman who laughs always in these little life-comedies of ours.

"I'll give him to you, Grace, when he picks up again. Any other horse
will do me now. He carried me to the end of my road; he brought me to
you."

She turned her head, and he hadn't the courage in him to look and see
whether it was to hide a smile.

"You don't know me, Duke; maybe you wouldn't--maybe you'll regret you
ever started out to find me at all."

His courage came up again; he leaned a little nearer, laying his hand on
hers where it rested on her saddle-horn.

"You wanted me to come, didn't you, Grace?"

"I hoped you might come sometime, Duke."

He rode with her when she set out to return home to the little valley
where he had interposed to prevent a tragedy between her and Vesta
Philbrook. Neither of them spoke of that encounter. It was avoided in
silence as a thing of which both were ashamed.

"Will you be over this way again, Grace?" he asked when he stopped to
part.

"I expect I will, Duke."

"Tomorrow, do you think?"

"Not tomorrow," shaking her head in the