sure as anything on earth. But
suppose the train is wrecked? Suppose she puts a foot in a hole? Suppose
at the post some rotten, cheap-selling plater kicks her and lays her
up!"

He passed a trembling hand along the neck of Shakra.

"God, suppose!"

"But you only brought one; nothing else worth while in the valley?"

"Nothing else? I tell you, the place is full of 'em! And there's a
stallion as much finer than Shakra as she's finer than that broken-down,
low-headed, ewe-necked, straight-shouldered, roach-backed skate you have
out yonder!"

"Mr. Connor, that's the best little pony in Lukin! But I know--compared
with this--oh, to see her run, just once!"

She sighed, and as her glance fell Connor noted her pallor and her
weariness. She looked up again, and the great eyes filled her face with
loveliness. Color, too, came into her cheeks and into her parted lips.

"You beauty!" she murmured. "You perfect, perfect beauty!"

Shakra was nervous under the fluttering hands, but in spite of her
uneasiness she seemed to enjoy the light-falling touches until the
finger-tips trailed across her forehead; then she tossed her head high,
and the girl stood beneath, laughing, delighted. Connor found himself
smiling in sympathy. The two made a harmonious picture. As harmonious,
say, as the strength of Glani and the strength of David Eden. His face
grew tense with it when he drew the girl away.

"Would you like to have a horse like that--half a dozen like it?"

The first leap of hope was followed by a wan smile at this cruel
mockery.

He went on with brutal tenseness, jabbing the points at her with his
raised finger.

"And everything else you've ever wanted: beautiful clothes? Manhattan? A
limousine as big as a house. A butler behind your chair and a maid in
your dressing room? A picture in the papers every time you turn around?
You want 'em?"

"Do I want heaven?"

"How much will you pay?"

He urged it on her, towering over her as he drew close.

"What's it worth? Is it worth a fight?"

"It's worth--everything."

"I'm talking shop. I'm talking business. Will you play partners with
me?"

"To the very end."

"The big deaf-mute doesn't own the grays in that valley they call the
Garden of Eden. They're owned by a white man. They call him David Eden.
And David Eden has never been out in the world. It's part of his creed
not to. It's part of his creed, however, to go out just once, find a
woman for his wife, and brin