us moment
Stanley Fyles had followed the direction of her gaze, then his own
eyes came back to her face and riveted themselves upon it.

She was very, very beautiful. Her hair was abundant and dark. Yet it
was quite devoid of that suggestion of great weight so often found in
very dark hair. There was a melting luster in the velvet softness of
her deeply fringed eyes. Her features were sufficiently irregular to
escape the accusation of classic form, and possessed a firmness and
decision quite remarkable. At that moment the solitary horseman
decided in his mind that here was the most beautiful creature he had
ever looked upon.

She was dressed in a light summer frock, through the delicate texture
of which peeped the warm tint of beautifully rounded arms and
shoulders. She was hatless, too, in spite of the summer blaze. To his
fired imagination she belonged to a canvas painted by some old master
whose portrayals suggested a strength and depth of character rarely
seen in life. Even the beautiful olive of her complexion suggested
those southern climes whence alone, he had always been led to believe,
old masters hailed.

To him it was the face of a woman whose heart and mind were crowding
with a yearning for something--something unattainable. Such was her
look of strength and virility that he almost regretted them, fearing
that her character might belie her wondrous femininity.

But in a moment he had denial forced upon him. The girl turned slowly,
and gazed up into his face with smiling frankness. Her eyes took him
in from his prairie hat to his well-booted feet. They passed swiftly
over his dark patrol jacket, with its star upon its shoulder, and down
the yellow stripe of his riding breeches. There was nothing left him
but to salute, which he did as her voice broke the silence.

"You're Inspector Stanley Fyles?" she said, with a rising inflection
in her deep musical voice.

The man answered bluntly. He was taken aback at the unconventional
greeting.

"Yes----" He cleared his throat in his momentary confusion. Then he
responded to her still smiling eyes. "And--that's Rocky Springs?" he
inquired, pointing down the valley. The information was quite
unnecessary.

The girl nodded.

"Yes," she said, "a prairie village that's full of everything
interesting--except, perhaps, honesty."

The man smiled broadly.

"That's why I'm here."

The girl laughed a merry, rippling laugh.

"Sure," she nodded. "We heard you wer