nch without a word, his face
growing blacker every moment. Before she could start he strode forward and
caught the rein.

"I've got something to say to you," he told her rudely. "You're not going
now. So that's all about it."

Her lips tightened. "Let go of my horse."

"We'll talk first."

"Do you think you can force me to stay here?"

"You're going to hear what I've got to say."

"You bully!"

"I'll tell what I know--Miss Hold-up."

"Tell it!" she cried.

He laughed harshly, his narrowed eyes watching her closely. "If you throw
me down now, I'll ce'tainly tell it. Be reasonable, girl."

"Let go my rein!"

"I've had enough of this. Tumble off that horse, or I'll pull you off."

Her dark eyes flashed scorn of him. "You coward! Do you think I'm afraid
of you? Stand back!"

The man looked long at her, his teeth set; then caught at her strong
little wrist. With a quick wrench she freed it, her eyes glowing like live
coals.

"You dare!" she panted.

Her quirt rose and fell, the lash burning his wrist like a band of fire.
With a furious oath he dropped his hand from the rein. Like a flash she
was off, had dug her heels home, and was galloping into the moonlight
recklessly as fast as she could send forward her pony. Stark terror had
her by the throat. The fear of him flooded her whole being. Not till the
drumming hoofs had carried her far did other emotions move her.

She was furious with him, and with herself for having been imposed upon by
him. His beauty, his grace, his debonair manner--they were all hateful to
her now. She had thought him a god among men, and he was of common clay.
It was her vanity that was wounded, not her heart. She scourged herself
because she had been so easily deceived, because she had let herself
become a victim of his good looks and his impudence. For that she had let
him kiss her--yes, and had returned his kiss--she was heartily
contemptuous of herself. Always she had held herself with an instinctive
pride, but in her passion of abandonment the tears confessed now that this
pride had been humbled to the dust.

This gusty weather of the spirit, now of chastened pride and now of bitter
anger, carried her even through the group of live-oaks which looked down
upon the silent houses of the ranch, lying in a sea of splendid moon-beat.
She was so much less confident of herself than usual that she made up her
mind to tell her father the whole story of the hold-up and of what this
ma