ater."

They all went to see the bride-to-be then. She was hidden away in one of
the _adobe_ houses of the settlement near by, receiving congratulations
from friends. She was a dark little creature, nicely demure and almost
boisterously joyous by turns.

But later Sylvia danced with Wayne, and he thought of a dozen, a score, of
young fellows who would wish to meet her. He brought them singly and in
groups, and they all asked to dance with her. She was immediately popular.
Happiness radiated from her, and she added to the warmth of every heart
that came within her influence.

Harboro watched her with wonder. She was like a flame; but he saw her as a
sacred flame.

CHAPTER XX

Sylvia was resting. She had not danced to her heart's content, but she had
become weary, and she threw Antonia's _rebozo_ over her shoulders and
leaned back in her seat. For the moment Harboro and Valdez and Wayne were
grouped near her, standing. The girl Wayne was to marry the next day had
made her formal appearance now and was the centre of attention. She was
dancing with one after another, equally gracious toward all.

Then Sylvia heard Valdez and Wayne cry out simultaneously:

"Runyon!"

And then both men hurried away toward the entrance to the stockade.

Sylvia drew her wrap more snugly about her. "Runyon!" she repeated to
herself. She closed her eyes as if she were pondering--or recuperating.
And she knew that from the beginning she had hoped that Runyon would
appear.

"It's that inspector fellow," explained Harboro, without looking at her.
His tone was not at all contemptuous, though there was a note of amusement
in it. "He seems a sort of Prince Charming that everybody takes a liking
to." Wayne and Valdez were already returning, with Runyon between them.
They pretended to lead him captive and his face radiated merriment and
good nature. He walked with the elasticity of a feline creature; he
carried his body as if it were the depository of precious jewels. Never
was there a man to whom nature had been kinder--nor any man who was more
graciously proud of what nature had done for him. For the occasion he was
dressed in a suit of fawn-colored corduroy which fitted him as the rind
fits the apple.

"Just a little too much so," Harboro was thinking, ambiguously enough,
certainly, as Runyon was brought before him and Sylvia. Runyon
acknowledged the introduction with a cheerful urbanity which was quite
without discrimination as