r the departing horseman.

Frances touched her horse lightly and rode after him. Mother and
daughter were so estranged from all the world in that happy moment of
reunion that neither saw her go, and the guards at the gate, either
forgetful of their charge or softened by the moving scene, did not
interpose to stop her.

Macdonald raised his drooping head with quick start as she came
dashing to his side. She was weeping, and she put out her hand with a
motion of entreaty, her voice thick with sobs.

"I wronged you and slandered you," she said, in bitter confession,
"and I let you go when I should have spoken! I'm not worthy to ride
along this road with you, Alan Macdonald, but I need your protection,
I need your help. Will you let me go?"

He checked his horse and looked across at her, a tender softening
coming into his tired face.

"Why, God bless you! there's only one road in the world for you and
me," said he. His hand met hers where it fluttered like a dove between
them; his slow, translating smile woke in his eyes and spread like a
sunbeam over his stern lips.

Behind them Mrs. Chadron was calling. Frances turned and waved her
hand.

"Come back, Frances, come back here!" Mrs. Chadron's words came
distinctly to them, for they were not more than a hundred yards from
the gate, and there was a note of eagerness in them, almost a command.
Both of them turned.

There was a commotion among the men at the gate, a hurrying and loud
words. Nola was beckoning to Frances to return; now she called her
name, with fearful entreaty.

"That's Chance Dalton with his arm in a sling," said Macdonald,
looking at her curiously. "What's up?"

"Chadron has made them all believe that you stole Nola for the sole
purpose of making a pretended rescue to win sympathy for your cause,"
she said. "Even Nola will believe it--maybe they've told her. Chadron
has offered a reward of fifty dollars--a bonus, he called it, so maybe
there is more--to the man that kills you! Come on--quick! I'll tell
you as we go."

Macdonald's horse was refreshed in some measure by the diminishing of
its burden, but the best that it could do was a tired, hard-jogging
gallop. In a little while they rounded the screen of brush which hid
them from the ranchhouse and from those who Frances knew would be
their pursuers in a moment. Quickly she told him of her reason for
wanting to go to the post, and Chadron's reason for desiring to hold
her at the ranch.

Mac