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on this display. Sheā€™s sure a hummer!ā€

The girlā€™s eyes seemed to leap at his praise.

ā€œI never want to leave this place,ā€ she said. ā€œThere is nothing like it. Those two mountains that you see far out into the westā€”where the sun is going downā€”are about forty miles distant. If you will notice, you can see that there are other mountainsā€”much smallerā€”connected with them. They are two small ranges, and they melt into the plains thereā€”and there.ā€

She pointed to the south and to the north, where the two ranges, seemingly extending straight westward, merged into the edge of the big level where Barbara and Harlan sat on their horses.

The two ranges were perhaps a dozen miles apart, separated by a low level valley through which ran a narrow river, its surface glowing like burnished gold in the rays of the sinking sun.

Gazing westwardā€”straight into the glowā€”Harlan noted the virgin wildness of the immense valley. It lay, serene, slumberous; its salient featuresā€”ridges, low hills, rocky promontories and wooded slopesā€”touched by the rose tints that descended upon them; while in the depressions reigned purple shadows, soft-toned, blending perfectly with the brighter colors.

With the sunset glow upon it; with the bastioned hillsā€”barren at their peaks, ridged and seamedā€”looming clear and definite above the vast expanse of green, the colossal valley stretched, with no movement in it or above itā€”in a vacuum-like stillness that might have reigned over the world on the dawn of creationā€™s first morning.

Harlan looked covertly at Barbara. The girlā€™s face was pale, and her eyes were glowing with a light that made him draw a long breath of sympathy and understanding. But it had been many years since he had felt the thrill of awe that she was experiencing at this minute.

He knew that presently the spell would pass, and that material things would exact their due. And the resulting contrast between the beauty of the picture upon which she was gazing, and the solemn realization of loss that memory would bring, instantly, would almost crush her.

Therefore he spoke seriously when he caught her looking at him.

ā€œThereā€™s sunsets anā€™ sunsets,ā€ he said. ā€œThey tell me that theyā€™re a heap common in some parts of the world. Wyoming, nowā€”Wyoming prides herself on sunsets. Anā€™ Iā€™ve heard they have ā€™em in Italy, anā€™ Franceā€”anā€™ some more of them foreign placesā€”where guys go to look at ā€™em. But itā€™s always seemed to me that there ainā€™t a heap of sense in gettinā€™ fussed up over a sunset. The sun has got his work to do; anā€™ he does it without any fussinā€™. Anā€™ they tell me that itā€™s the same sun that sets in all them places Iā€™ve been tellinā€™ you about.

ā€œWell, itā€™s always been my idee that the sun ainā€™t got no compliments due himā€”heā€™ll set mighty beautifulā€”sometimes; anā€™ folks will get awed anā€™ thrilly over him. But the next dayā€”if a man happens to be ridinā€™ in the desert, where there ainā€™t any water, heā€™ll cuss the sun pretty thoroughā€”forgettinā€™ the nice things he said about it once.ā€

Barbara scowled at him.

ā€œYou havenā€™t a bit of poetry in your soul!ā€ she charged. ā€œIā€™m sorry we stopped to look at the valley or the sunā€”or anything. You donā€™tā€”you canā€™t appreciate the beautiful!ā€

He was silent as she urged Billy onward. And as they fled southwestward, with Purgatory far behind, Harlan swept his hat from his head and bowed toward the mighty valley, saying lowly:

ā€œYouā€™re sure a hummerā€”anā€™ no mistake. But if a man had any poetry in his soulā€”whyā€”ā€”ā€

He rode on, gulping his delight over having accomplished what he had intended to accomplish.

ā€œSheā€™ll be givinā€™ it to me pretty regular; anā€™ she wonā€™t have time for no solemn thoughts. Theyā€™ll come later, though, when she gets to the Rancho Seco.ā€

It was the lowing of cattle that at last brought to Harlan the conviction that they were near the Rancho Secoā€”that and the sight of the roofs of some buildings that presently came into view.

But they had been riding for half an hour before they came upon the cattle and buildings, and the flaming colors had faded into somber gray tones. The filmy dusk that precedes darkness was beginning to settle over the land; and into the atmosphere had come that solemn hush with which the wide, open places greet the night.

Barbara had no further word to say to Harlan until they reached a group of buildings that were scattered on a big level near a river. They had passed a long stretch of wire fence, which Harlan suspected, enclosed a section of land reserved for a pasture; and the girl brought her pony to a halt in front of an adobe building near a high rail fence.

ā€œThis is the Rancho Seco,ā€ she said shortly. ā€œThis is the stable. Over there is the ranchhouse. Evidently the men are all away somewhere.ā€

She got off the pony, removed the saddle and bridle, carried them into the stable, came out again, and opened a gate in the fence, through which she sent ā€œBilly.ā€ Then she closed the gate and turned to Harlan, who had dismounted and was standing at Purgatoryā€™s head.

ā€œI thank you for what you have done for me,ā€ she said, coldly. ā€œAnd now, I should like to know just what you purpose to doā€”and why you have come.ā€

Harlanā€™s eyes narrowed as he returned her gaze. He remembered Lane Morganā€™s words: ā€œJohn Haydon is dead stuck on Barbara;ā€ and he had wondered ever since the meeting in Lamo if Barbara returned Haydonā€™s affection, or if she trusted Haydon enough to confide in him.

Barbaraā€™s attitude toward Haydon would affect Harlanā€™s attitude toward the girl. For if she loved Haydon, or trusted him enough to confide in himā€”or even to communicate with him concerning ordinary details, Harlan could not apprise her of the significance of his presence at the Rancho Seco.

For Haydon was unknown to Harlan and Harlan was not inclined to accept Morganā€™s praise of him as conclusive evidence of the manā€™s worthiness. Besides, Morgan had qualified his instructions with: ā€œTake a look at John Haydon, anā€™ if you think heā€™s on the levelā€”anā€™ you want to drift onā€”turn things over to him.ā€

Harlan did not want to ā€œdrift on.ā€ Into his heart since his meeting in Lamo with Barbaraā€”and during the ride to the Rancho Secoā€”had grown a decided reluctance toward ā€œdrifting.ā€ And not even the girlā€™s scorn could have forced him to leave her at the ranch, unprotected.

But he could not tell her why he could not go. Despite her protests he must remainā€”at least until he was able to determine the character of John Haydon.

A gleam of faint mockery came into his eyes as he looked at Barbara.

ā€œIā€™m keepinā€™ my promise to your dadā€”Iā€™m stayinā€™ at the Rancho Seco because he told me to stay. He wanted me to sort of look out that nothinā€™ happened to you. I reckon weā€™ll get along.ā€

The girl caught her breath sharply. In the growing darkness Harlanā€™s smile seemed to hold an evil significance; it seemed to express a thought that took into consideration the loneliness of the surroundings, the fact that she was alone, and that she was helpless. Moreā€”it seemed to be a presumptuous smile, insinuating, full of dire promise.

For Harlan was an outlawā€”she could not forget that! He bore a reputation for evil that had made him feared wherever men congregated; and as she watched him it seemed to her that his face betrayed signs of his ruthlessness, his recklessness, and his readiness for violence of every kind.

He might not have killed her fatherā€”Rogers and Lawson had acquitted him of that. But he might be lying about the promise to her father merely for the purpose of providing an excuse to come to the Rancho Seco. It seemed to her that if her father had really exacted a promise from him he would have written to her, or sent her some token to prove the genuineness of it. There was no visible evidence of Harlanā€™s truthfulness.

ā€œDo you mean to say you are going to stay hereā€”indefinitely?ā€ she demanded, her voice a little hoarse from the fright that was stealing over her.

He smiled at her. ā€œYouā€™ve hit it about right, maā€™am.ā€

ā€œI donā€™t want you to stay here!ā€ she declared, angrily.

ā€œIā€™m stayinā€™, maā€™am.ā€ His smile faded, and his eyes became seriousā€”earnest.

ā€œLater onā€”when things shape themselves upā€”Iā€™ll tell you why Iā€™m stayinā€™. But just nowā€”ā€”ā€

She shrank from him, incredulous, a growing fear plain in her eyes. And before he could finish what he intended to say she had wheeled, and was running toward the ranchhouse.

He watched until she vanished through an open doorway; he heard the door slam, and caught the sound of bars being hurriedly dropped into place. And after that he stood for a time watching the house. No light came from within, and no other sound.

He frowned slightly, drawing a mental picture of the girl inside, yielding to the terror that had seized her. Then after a while he walked down along the corral fence until he came to another buildingā€”a bunkhouse. And for a long time he stood in the doorway of the building, watching the ranchhouse, afflicted with grim sympathy.

ā€œIt ainā€™t so damnā€™ cheerful, at that,ā€ he mused. ā€œI reckon she thinks sheā€™s landed into trouble with both feetā€”with her dad cashinā€™ in like he did, anā€™ Deveny after her. It sure must be pretty hard to consider all them things. Anā€™ on top of that I mosey along, with a reputation as a no-good son-of-a-gun, anā€™ scare the wits out of her with my homely mug. Anā€™ I canā€™t tell her why she hadnā€™t ought to be scared. I call that mighty mean.ā€

CHAPTER X ON GUARD

The man whose soul held no love of the poetic sat for two or three hours on the threshold of the bunkhouse door, his gaze on the ranchhouse. He was considering his ā€œreputation,ā€ and he had reached the conclusion that Barbara Morgan had reason to fear himā€”if rumorā€™s tongues had related to her all of the crimes that had been attributed to him. And he knew she must have heard a great many tales about him, for rumor is a tireless worker.

And for the first time in his life Harlan regretted that he had permitted rumor to weave her fabric of lies. For not one of the stories that luridly portrayed him in the rƓle of a ruthless killer and outlaw was true.

It was easy enough for him to understand how he had gained that reputation. He grinned mirthlessly now, as he mentally reviewed a past which had been rather like the record of a professional man-killer. And yet, reviewing his pastā€”from the day about five years ago, when he had shot a Taos bully who had drawn a gun on him with murderous intent, until today, when he had sent Laskar to his deathā€”he could not remember one shooting affray for which he could be blamed. As a matter of fact, he hadā€”by the courts in some instances, and by witnesses in others, where there were no courtsā€”been held blameless.

There had been men who had seen Harlan draw his weapons with deadly intentā€”men who insisted that the manā€™s purpose was plain, to goad an enemy to draw a weapon, permitting him partially to draw it, and then to depend upon his superior swiftness and unerring aim. And this theory of Harlanā€™s character had gone abroad.

And because the theory had been accepted, Harlanā€™s name became associated with certain crimes which are inseparable from the type of character which the popular imagination had given him. Strangersā€”criminalsā€”in certain towns in the Territory and out of it must have heard with considerable satisfaction that their depredations had been charged to Harlan. Only once had Harlan been able to refute the charge of rumor. That was when, having

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