the rest of the men.

"Do you get me, Beasley?" he went on coldly. "You're a dead man if
those gals go. An' if you send them to the farm after this--ever--I'll
shoot you on sight. Wal?"

Beasley knew when he was beaten. He had reckoned only on the Padre. He
had forgotten Buck. However, he wouldn't forget him in the future.

"You can put up your gun, Buck," he said, with an assumption of
geniality that deceived no one, and Buck least of all. "Quit your
racket, gals," he went on. Then he added with the sarcasm he generally
fell back on in such emergencies: "Guess this gentleman feels the same
as Curly--only he ain't as--hasty."

The girls went slowly back to their seats, and Buck, lowering his
guns, quietly restored them both to their holsters.

Beasley watched him, and as he saw them disappear his whole manner
changed.

"Now, Mister Buck," he said, with a snarl, "I don't guess I need
either your dollars or your company on my premises. You'll oblige
me--that door ain't locked." And he pointed at it deliberately for the
man to take his departure.

But Buck only laughed.

"Don't worry, Beasley," he said. "I'm here--till you close up for the
night."

And the enraged saloon-keeper had a vision of a smile at his expense
which promptly lit the faces of the entire company.

CHAPTER XVIII

WHEN LIFE HOLDS NO SHADOWS

The mellow evening light glows with a living warmth of color upon
hill, and valley, and plain. The myriad tints shine in perfect
harmony, for Nature is incapable of discord whether in her reign of
beauty or her moments of terror. Discord belongs to the imperfect
human eye, the human brain, the human heart. Thus must the most
perfect human creation be ever imperfect.

But Nature's perfections are never lost upon the human mind. They are
not intended to be lost. They serve well their purpose of elevating,
of uplifting all thought, and affording inspiration for all that which
is good and beautiful in hearts thrilling with emotions which need
strong support to save them from their own weaknesses.

Something of this influence was at work in the hearts of a man and a
girl riding over the hard sand trail in the pleasant evening light.
The man's youthful heart was thrilling with a hope he dared not
attempt to define, and could not if he would. His every feeling was
inspired by a joy he had no proper understanding of. The glance of his
dark eyes bespoke his mood, and his buoyancy seemed to communic