her own will, would taste the savage triumph of seeing her come suing
for his mercy.

If Tharon meant to break Courtrey, he meant no less to break her.

Outlawry--mob law--they were pitted against each other.

And, lifting its head dimly through the smother of hatred, of wrong,
of repression and reprisal, another law was struggling toward the
light in Lost Valley--the sane, quiet law of right and equality,
typified by the smiling, dark-eyed man of the cabin in the forest
glade.

Courtrey sent word to Tharon--an illy spelled letter, mailed at
Baston's--that he had meant nothing by that race above the Black
Coulee, except another kiss. There was Courtrey's daring in the
affronting words.

She sent the letter back to him--riding in on El Key alone--with the
outline of a gun traced across it.

"Th' little wildcat!" grinned the man, "she's sure spunky!"

* * * * *

Once again Tharon met Kenset in the days that followed. Riding by the
Silver Hollow she stopped one breathless afternoon, drank of the
snow-cold waters, shared them with El Rey, dropped the rein over the
stallion's head and flung herself full length on the earth beside the
spring. A clump of willow trees grew here, for every spring in Lost
Valley had its lone sentinels to call its presence across the
stretching miles. As the girl lay flat on her back with her hands
beneath her head, she looked up into the blue heart of the arching
skies where the fleecy white clouds sailed, and a sense of sweetness
and peace came down upon her like a garment.

"You're sure some lovely spot, Lost Valley," she said aloud, "an' no
mistake. I know, more'n ever as th' days go by that Jim Last was only
jokin' when he told me of those other places out below, big as you,
lovely as you. It just ain't possible. Is it, El Rey, old boy?"

And she moved a booted foot to the king's striped hoof and tapped it
smartly.

El Rey, always aloof, always touchy, never sure of temper, jumped and
snorted. The girl laughed and crossed her feet and fell to speculating
idly about the world that lay beyond Lost Valley. Little she knew of
it. Only the brief words of her father from time to time, the
reluctant speech of Last's riders, for the master of the Holding had
laid down the law concerning this.

His daughter was of the Valley, content. He meant her to be so always.
The man who had instilled into her young mind a discontent with her
environment,