et-up--with your
creel and rod--and figured how you might have come there. So I thought I
would go a little slow."

"And you wear rather heavy boots too," said the artist suggestively. Then,
more at ease, he joined in the laugh at himself.

"Catch any fish?" asked the Ranger--lifting the cover of the creel.
"Whee!" as he saw the contents. "That's bully! And I'm hungry as a she
wolf too! Been in the saddle since sunup without a bite. What do you say
if I make that long deferred social call upon you and Lagrange this
evening?"

"I say, good! Mr. Oakley," returned the artist, heartily. "I guess you
know what Lagrange will say."

"You bet I do." He whistled--a low, birdlike note. In answer, a beautiful,
chestnut saddle-horse came out of the chaparral, where it had not been
seen by the painter. "We're going, Max," said the officer, in a
matter-of-fact way. And, as the two men set out, the horse followed, with
a business-like air that brought a word of admiring comment from the
artist.

That Aaron King had won the approval of the Ranger was evidenced by the
mountaineer's inviting himself to supper the camp in the sycamores. The
fact that the officer considerately told Conrad Lagrange only that he had
met the artist with his creel full of trout, and so had been tempted to
accompany him, won the enduring gratitude of the young man. Thus the
circumstances of their meeting introduced each to the other, with
recommendations of peculiar value, and marked the beginning of a genuine
and lasting friendship. But, while, out of delicate regard for the
artist's feelings, he refrained from relating the--to the young
man--embarrassing incident, Brian Oakley could not resist making, at every
opportunity, sly references to their meeting--for the painter's benefit
and his own amusement. Thus it happened that, after supper, as they sat
with their pipes, the talk turned upon Sibyl Andres and the woman with the
disfigured face.

The Ranger, to tease the artist, had remarked casually,--after
complimenting them upon the location of their camp,--"And you've got some
mighty nice neighbors, less than a mile above too."

"Neighbors!" ejaculated Conrad Lagrange--in a tone that left no doubt as
to his sentiment in the matter.

The others laughed; while the officer said, "Oh, I know how _you_ feel!
You think you don't want anybody poaching on your preserves. You're up
here in the hills to get away from people, and all that. But you don't
need