ngs were studded with
silver _chonchas_ as large as trade dollars. A coiled rope hung from a
strap upon the right side of his saddle, while a leather-covered jug
was swung upon the opposite side by a thong looped over the horn. All
this the girl took in at a glance as the rangy buckskin picked his way
easily up the slope. She noted, also, the white butt-plates of the
revolver that protruded from its leather holster. Her first impulse
was to mount and fly, but the futility of the attempt was apparent. If
the man followed she could hardly hope to elude him upon a horse that
was far from fresh, and even if she did it would be only to plunge
deeper into the hills--become more hopelessly lost. Aunt Rebecca's
words "desperate character" seemed suddenly to assume significance.
The man was very close now. She could distinctly hear the breathing of
his horse, and the soft rattle of bit-chains. Despite her defiant
declaration that she was glad she had come, she knew that deep down in
her heart, she fervidly wished herself elsewhere. "Maybe he's a
ranchman," she thought, "but why should any honest man be threading
unfrequented hill trails armed with a revolver and a brown leather
jug?" No answer suggested itself, and summoning her haughtiest,
coldest look, she met the glance of the man who drew rein beside her.
His features were clean-cut, bronzed, and lean--with the sinewy
leanness of health. His gray flannel shirt rolled open at the throat,
about which was loosely drawn a silk scarf of robin's-egg blue, held
in place by the tip of a buffalo horn polished to an onyx luster. The
hand holding the bridle reins rested carelessly upon the horn of his
saddle. With the other he raised the Stetson from his head.

"Good evenin', Miss," he greeted, pleasantly. "Lost?"

"No," she lied brazenly, "I came here on purpose--I--I like it here."
She felt the lameness of the lie and her cheeks flushed. But the man
showed no surprise at the statement, neither did he smile. Instead,
he raised his head and gravely inspected the endless succession of
mountains and valleys and timbered ridges.

"It's a right nice place," he agreed. To her surprise the girl could
find no hint of sarcasm in the words, nor was there anything to
indicate the "desperate character" in the way he leaned forward to
stroke his horse's mane, and remove a wisp of hair from beneath the
headstall. It was hard to maintain her air of cold reserve with this
soft-voiced, grave-eyed y