y, and he
had waited to see if he would say it. He did not suppose that he and
Sylvia would see a great deal of Runyon in Eagle Pass, where they were not
invited to entertainments of any kind, but there might be occasional
excursions into the country, and Runyon seemed to be invited everywhere.

But Sylvia refused to respond to this. The pagan in her nature reasserted
itself, and she felt resentful of Runyon's affable attitude toward
Harboro. The attraction which she and Runyon exerted toward each other was
not a thing to be brought within the scope of a conventionally friendly
relationship. Its essence was of the things furtive and forbidden. It
should be fought savagely and kept within bounds, even if it could never
be conquered, or it should be acknowledged and given way to in secret. Two
were company and three a crowd in this case. She might have derived a
great deal of tumultuous joy from Runyon's friendship for her if it could
have been manifested in secret, but she could feel only a sense of
duplicity and shame if his friendship included Harboro, too. The wolf does
not curry favor with the sheep-dog when it hungers for a lamb. Such was
her creed. In brief, Sylvia had received her training in none of the
social schools. She was a daughter of the desert--a bit of that jetsam
which the Rio Grande leaves upon its arid banks as it journeys stealthily
to the sea.

They were riding along in silence half an hour later, their horses at a
walk, when the stillness of the night was rudely shattered by the sound of
iron wheels grinding on stone, and in an instant a carriage could be seen
ascending a branch road which arose out of a near-by _arroyo_.

The riders checked their horses and waited: not from curiosity, but in
response to the prompting of a neighborly instinct. Travellers in the
desert are never strangers to one another.

The approaching carriage proved to be an impressively elegant affair, the
locality considered, drawn by two horses which were clearly not of the
range variety. And then further things were revealed: a coachman sat on
the front seat, and a man who wore an air of authority about him like a
kingly robe sat alone on the back seat. Then to Harboro, sitting high with
the last rays of the moon touching his face, came the hearty hail:
"Harboro! How are you, Harboro?"

It was the voice of the General Manager.

Harboro turned his horse so that he stood alongside the open carriage. He
leaned over the wh