ighway, facing old King, and saying: "Sir, I love your daughter.
Let bygones be bygones. Dad and I forgive you, and hope you will do the
same. Let us have peace, and let me have Beryl--" or something to that
effect.

He'd only have done one of two things; he'd have taken a shot at me, or
he'd have told me to go to the same old place where we consign unpleasant
people. But I didn't tempt him, though I did tempt fate. I went over to
the little butte, climbed it pensively, and sat on the flat rock and gazed
forlornly at the mouth of the pass.

I had the rock to myself, but I made a discovery that set the nerves of me
jumping like a man just getting over a--well, a season of dissipation. In
the sandy soil next the rock were many confused footprints--the prints of
little riding-boots; and they looked quite fresh. She had been there, all
right, and I had missed her! I swore, and wondered what she must think of
me. Then I had an inspiration. I rolled and half-smoked eight cigarettes,
and scattered the stubs with careful carelessness in the immediate
vicinity of the rock. I put my boots down in a clear spot of sand where
they left marks that fairly shouted of my presence. Then I walked off a
few steps and studied the effect with much satisfaction. When she came
again, she couldn't fail to see that I had been there; that I had waited a
long time--she could count the cigarette stubs and so form some estimate
of the time--and had gone away, presumably in deep disappointment. Maybe
it would make her feel a little less sure of herself, to know that I was
camping thus earnestly on her trail. I rode home, feeling a good deal
better in my mind.

That night it rained barrelsful. I laid and listened to it, and gritted my
teeth. Where was all my cunning now? Where were those blatant footprints
of mine that were to give their own eloquent message? I could imagine just
how the water was running in yellow streams off the peak of that butte.
Then it came to me that, at all events, some of the cigarette-stubs would
be left; so I turned over and went to sleep.

I wish to say, before I forget it, that I don't think I am deceitful by
nature. You see, it changes a fellow a lot to get all tangled up in his
feelings over a girl that doesn't seem to care a rap for you. He does
things that are positively idiotic At any rate, I did. And I could
sympathize some with Barney MacTague; only, his girl had a crooked nose
and no eyebrows to speak of, so he