ight, and Leslie is as daft
over him as she is. Leslie and my father are the ones who backed him
on the Zariba Dam."

"How interesting! And I suppose Mr. Blake is a Western man. So many of
the best engineers come from the West."

Ashton looked at her suspiciously. He could not make out her interest
in Blake. She apparently had come to regard the engineer as a sort of
hero. Yet why should she continue to inquire about him, now that she
knew he was a married man?

"I'm sure I cannot tell you," he replied, somewhat stiffly. "The
fellow seems to have come from nowhere. Had it not been for an
accident, he would never have got within speaking distance of
Genevieve, but they happened to be shipwrecked together alone--on the
coast of Africa."

"Wrecked?--shipwrecked? How perfectly glorious!"

"I wouldn't mind it myself--with you!" he flashed back.

"I might," she bantered. "This Mr. Blake, I imagine, was hardly a
tenderfoot."

"No, he was a roughneck," muttered Ashton.

"You do not like him," she remarked the second time.

"Why should I, a low fellow like that? I've heard that he even brags
that he started in the Chicago slums."

The girl put her hand to her bosom. "In the--the Chicago slums!" she
half whispered.

"No wonder you are surprised," said Ashton. "Anyone would presume
that he would keep such a disgrace to himself. It shows what he
is--absolutely devoid of good taste."

"Is he--What does he look like?" she eagerly inquired.

Ashton shrugged. "Pardon me. I prefer not to talk any more about the
fellow."

Miss Isobel checked her curiosity. "Very well, Mr. Ashton." She looked
around, and suddenly flourished her leathern quirt. "Look--there are
Kid and Daddy trying to head us. Come on, if you want a race. I'm
going to beat them down to Dry Fork."

CHAPTER IV

DOWNHILL AND UP

The lash of the quirt fell with a swish on the flank of the girl's
pony. He did not wait for a second hint, but started down the steep
slope "on the jump." Before Ashton realized what was happening, his
own horse was following at the same breakneck pace.

Down plunged the two ponies--down, down, down the sharply pitched
mountain side, leaping logs and stones, crashing through brush,
scrambling or slithering stiff-legged down rock slides. It was a wild
race, a race that would have been utterly foolhardy with any other
horses than these mountain bred cow ponies. A single misstep would
have sent horse and rider rolling f