new in his own heart that hers was the only opinion
among her people that he cared anything about. Furious waves of
resentment alternated with the realization that such an issue was
inevitable--how could it be otherwise? She had heard the loose talk of
men about her--Stone, alone, to reckon no other, could be depended on
to lie freely about him. Van Horn, he was as sure, would not scruple
to blacken an enemy; and added to Laramie's discomfiture was the
reflection that this man whose attentions to Kate he most dreaded, held
her ear against him and could, if need be, poison the wells.

To these could be added, as his implacable enemy, her own father. This
last affair had cut off every hope of getting on with the men for whom
he had no respect and who for one reason or another hated him as
heartily as he hated them.

Under such a load of entanglement lay the thought of Kate. What utter
foolishness even to think of her as he let himself think and hope!
Clattering along, he told himself nothing could ever come of it but
bitterness; and he cast the thought and hope of knowing her better and
better until he could make her his own, completely out of his heart.

The only trouble was that neither she, nor the bitterness would stay
out. As often as he put them out they came in again. The first few
miles of his road were the same that she would soon be riding after
him. Again and again he felt anger at the idea of her riding the worst
of the Falling Wall trail at night to Pettigrew's. More than once he
felt the impulse to wait for her, and even slackened his pace.

But when he did so, there arose before him her picture as she flung the
hateful words at him; they came back as keenly as if he heard them
again and he could feel his cheeks burning in the cold night air.
Self-respect, if nothing else, would prevent his even speaking another
word to her that night. His hatred of her father swelled in the
thought that he should let her attempt such a ride.

For several miles beyond where he knew Kate must turn for the pass,
Laramie rode on toward home; then watching his landmarks carefully he
reined his horse directly to the left and headed for the broken country
lying between the Turkey and the mountains. At some little distance
from the trail, he stopped and sitting immovable in his saddle,
listened to ascertain whether he was followed. For almost thirty
minutes--and that is a long time--he waited, buried in the silence