ing that was manly; and she
had long ago decided that he was all these things--and more.

Buck laughed in his quiet fashion. He rarely laughed loudly. Joan
thought it sounded more like a deep-throated gurgle.

"She sure is," he declared heartily.

"Of course," Joan smiled. "You have crossed swords with her."

The man shook his head.

"Not me," he said. "She did the battlin'. Guess I sat tight. You see,
words ain't as easy to a man, as to--some women."

Joan enjoyed the tact of his remark. She leant forward and smoothed
the silky neck of the Padre's horse, and Buck's admiring eyes took in
the perfect lines of her well-cut habit. He had never seen anything
like it before, and failed to understand the excellence of its
tailoring, but he knew that everything about this girl was wonderfully
beautiful, and he would have liked to have been able to tell her so.

As he watched her he could not help thinking of the moment when he had
held her in his arms. It was a thought almost always with him, a
thought which never failed to stir his pulses and set them racing.

"But you see I can't do without her," the girl went on as she sat up
in her saddle again. "She's a good worker, herself. She's taught me a
good deal already. Oh, yes," she smiled at his look of incredulity,
"I've begun my lessons. I am learning all I can, preparing for the
bigger lessons of this--this"--she gave a comprehensive glance at the
hills--"wonderful world."

Buck nodded. But he rode on in silence, his face for the moment
clouded with deep thought. He was thinking of that night in Beasley's
store. He was thinking of what might have happened there if those
women had carried out their purpose. He was wondering what the lessons
might be that this girl might yet find herself confronted with. The
matter troubled him. And Joan's surreptitious glance into his face
warned her that the cloud had obscured his sun.

The man finally broke the silence.

"Have you got any menfolk?" he asked abruptly.

Joan turned quickly.

"No--why?"

"An uncle--a brother. Maybe a--father?"

There was something almost anxious in Buck's manner as he enumerated
the possible relationships.

But the girl shook her head at each one, and he went on in a tone of
disappointment.

"It's kind of a pity," he observed. Then, in answer to the girl's
quick look of inquiry, he added evasively: "You see it's lonesome for
a gal--out in these hills."

Joan knew that that was not the re