re; on the contrary,
while pacing along there in the dust he was considering himself a sad
esquire to the woman in whose worshipful service he was enlisted. He was
eager to know more about her, and wondered if she would answer if he
were to ask her the cause of her exile. Each moment of her company, each
glimpse of her face, made the thought of losing her more painful. "Will
I ever see her again?" was the question which filled his mind.

At the top of the mesa he again mounted to his seat on the upturned
saddle, and kept the team steadily on the trot down the swiftly
descending road. The sun was high above them now, and every mile carried
them deeper into the heat and dust of the plain, but the girl uttered no
word of complaint. Her throat was parched with thirst, but she did not
permit him to know even this, for to halt at a well meant delay. They
rode in complete silence, save now and again when the ranger made some
remark concerning the character of the ranches they were passing.

"We are down among the men of the future now," he said--"the farmers who
carry spades instead of guns."

Once they met a boy on horseback, who stared at them in open-mouthed,
absorbed interest, and twice men working in the fields beckoned to them,
primitively curious to know who they were and where they were going.

But Hanscom kept his ponies to their pace and replied only by shouting,
"Got to catch the train!" In such wise he stayed them in their tracks,
reluctant but helpless. At last, pointing to a small, wavering speck far
out upon the level sod, he called with forceful cheerfulness: "There's
the tank. We'll overhaul it in an hour." Then he added: "I've been
thinking. What shall I do about the cabin? Shall I pack the furniture
and ship it to you?"

"No, no. Take it yourself or give it away. I care very little for most
of the things, except daddy's violin and my guitar. Those you may keep
until we send for them."

"I shall take good care of the guitar," he asserted, with a look which
she fully understood. "What about the books?"

"You may keep them also. We'd like you to have them--wouldn't we,
daddy?"

"Yes, yes," said Kauffman. "There is nothing there of much value, but
such as they are they are yours."

"I shall store everything," the young fellow declared, firmly, "in the
hope that some day you will come back."

"That will never be! My life here is ended," she asserted.

"You will not always feel as you do now," he urge