ftest
purple and the beauty of it caused them to halt.

"Oh, it makes me want to sing, or to say my prayers, or--to cry!" she
said, and she blinked tears from her eyes and smiled at him. "I reckon
the colors would look the same from the veranda, but all this makes it
seem different," and her gesture took in the wide ranges.

"Sure it does," he agreed. "One wants to yell, 'Hurrah for God!' when
a combination like this is spread before the poor meek and lowly of
the earth. It is a great stage setting, and makes us humans seem
rather inadequate. Why, we can't even find the right words for it."

"It makes me feel that I just want to ride on and on, and on through
it, no matter which way I was headed."

"Well, take it from me, senorita, you are headed the right way," he
observed. "Going north is safe, but the blue ranges of the south are
walls of danger. The old border line is a good landmark to tie to."

"Um!" she agreed, "but all the fascinating things and the witchy
things, and the mysterious things are down there over the border. I
never get real joy riding north."

"Perhaps because it is not forbidden, Miss Eve."

Then they laughed again and lifted the bridles, and the horses broke
into a steady lope, neck and neck, as the afterglow made the earth
radiant and the young faces reflected the glory of it.

"What was that you said about getting away?" he queried. "Did you
break jail?"

"Just about. Papa Singleton hid my cross-saddle thinking I would not
go far on this one. They have put a ban on my riding south, but I just
had to see my Billie Bernard Herrara."

"And you ran away?"

"N-no. We sneaked away mighty slow and still till we got a mile or two
out, and then we certainly burned the wind. Didn't we, Pat?"

"Well, as range boss of this end of the ranch I reckon I have to herd
you home, and tell them to put up the fences," said Rhodes.

"Yes, you will!" she retorted in derision of this highly improbable
suggestion.

"Surest thing you know! Singleton has good reasons for restricting
your little pleasure rides to Granados. Just suppose El Gavilan, the
Hawk, should cross your trail in Sonora, take a fancy to Pat--for Pat
is some _caballo_!--and gather you in as camp cook?"

"Camp cook?"

"Why, yes; you can cook, can't you? All girls should know how to
cook."

"What if I do? I have cooked on the camp trips with Cap Pike, but that
doesn't say I'll ever cook for that wild rebel, Ramon Rotil. Are you
try