e that pride. The constraint would soon wear off, and Lance would
be one of the boys again.

The screen door slammed. With a lump in her throat, Belle went to a
window and looked out. Lance, in his new Stetson and a fresh shirt and
gray trousers tucked into his riding boots, was on his way to the
stable again. She watched him pick up a rope and go into the far
corral where a few extra saddle horses dozed through the hot
afternoon. She saw him return, leading a chunky little roan. Saw him
throw his saddle on the horse. Saw him ride off--the handsomest young
fellow in all the Black Rim--but with apparently never a thought that
his mother might like a word with him, since he had been gone for two
days without any explanation or any excuse. Which was not like Lance,
who had always before remembered to be nice to Belle.

Up the Slide trail Lance rode, perhaps two hours behind Tom. The marks
of Coaley's hoofs were still fresh in the trail, but Lance did not
appear to see them at all. He let the roan scramble over the shale as
he would, let him take his own pace among the boulders and up through
the Slide. At the top he put him into an easy lope which did not
slacken until he reached the descent on the other side of the Ridge.

Presently, because the roan was an ambitious young horse and eager to
reach the end of the trail, and Lance was too preoccupied to care
what pace he traveled, they arrived at Cottonwood Spring, circled the
wire fence and whipped in through the open gate at a gallop.

The little schoolhouse was deserted. Lance dismounted and looked in,
saw it still dismal with the disorder of the last unfortunate dance.
It was evident that there had been no school since the Fourth of
July.

Then he remembered that Mary Hope's father had been sick all of the
week, and it was now only two days since the funeral. She would not be
teaching school so soon after his death.

He closed the door and remounted, his face somber. He had wanted to
see Mary Hope. Since the morning after Scotty died he had fought a
vague, disquieting sense of her need of him. There had been times when
it seemed almost as though she had called to him across the distance;
that she wished to see him. To-day he had obeyed the wordless call. He
still felt her need of him, but since she was not at the school he
hesitated. The schoolhouse was in a measure neutral ground. Riding
over to the Douglas ranch was another matter entirely. Too keenly had
he fe