st men of Lost Valley would have talked, and
he had listened idly.

Now as he rode up along the levels and neared the dark mouth of the
cut he studied it with appraising eyes. It was sinister enough, in all
truth, a deep, dark place behind its veil of poplars, secretive,
hushed.

The red light that dyed Lost Valley so wondrously at the hour of the
sun's sharp decline above the peaks and ridges of the Canon Country
was awash in all the great sunken cup, save at the west under the
Rockface where the shadows were already dark.

Kenset drank in the beauty of the scene with smiling eyes. Already a
love for this hidden paradise had grown wonderfully in his heart. He
felt as if he had never lived before, as if he had never known
beauty.

And so, dreaming a little of other scenes, smiling to himself, he
jogged along on Captain and was nearly past the frowning mouth of the
Coulee, when there came the sharp snap of a rifle in the stillness,
and Captain changed his feet, sagged and quivered, then caught himself
and leaped ahead. For one amazed moment Kenset thought the horse was
hit. Then, as he straightened in his saddle and dropped his hand to
catch up his hanging rein, he looked quickly down. Where he was
accustomed to the smooth feel of the pommel beneath his palm there was
a sharp raw edge. A splinter of wood stood up and a small flare of
leather hung to one side.

A bullet, singing out of Black Coulee, had carried away part of the
pommel.

Kenset shut his lips in a new line, gathered up his rein and drew the
horse down to a walk with an iron hand.

Slowly, without a backward glance, he rode on across the darkening
levels. He was no fool.

He knew he had had his warning.

Very well. He would give back his acceptance of that warning.

He had said to Courtrey that night at the Stronghold that he had come
to stay.

No bunch of lawless bullies were going to scare him out.

No other shot followed. He had not expected one.

For a time after that he went about his work as usual. Nothing
happened; he had no outward sign of the distaste with which he was
regarded by all factions alike, it seemed.

He met Courtrey face to face in Corvan one day and spoke to him
civilly, but Courtrey did not speak. Wylackie Bob did, however--a
sneering salutation that was a covert insult. Kenset touched his hat
with dignity and passed on.

"Of all th' tenderfeet!" said Baston, watching the small by-play. "I
b'lieve you could spit o