desire freedom. He had been
accused of murder, imprisoned for it, and in order to escape, had been
compelled to steal horses, the most heinous crime of the frontier. Not
only for his own protection and safety must the truth of that occurrence
at the Cimmaron Crossing be made clear, but he also had now a personal
affair with "Black Bart" Hawley to be permanently settled. They had
already clashed twice, and Keith intended they should meet again.

Memory of the girl was still in his mind as he and Neb rode silently
forth on the black prairie, leading the extra horse behind them.
He endeavored to drive the recollection from his mind, so he might
concentrate it upon plans for the future, but somehow she mysteriously
wove her own personality into those plans, and he was ever seeing the
pleading in her eyes, and listening to the soft Southern accent of her
voice. Of late years he had been unaccustomed to association with women
of high type, and there was that touch of the gentlewoman about this
girl which had awakened deep interest. Of course he knew that in her
case it was merely an inheritance of her past, and could not truly
represent the present Christie Maclaire of the music halls. However
fascinating she might be, she could not be worthy any serious
consideration. In spite of his rough life the social spirit of the old
South was implanted in his blood, and no woman of that class could hold
him captive. Yet, some way, she refused to be banished or left behind.
Even Neb must have been obsessed by a similar spirit, for he suddenly
observed:

"Dat am sutt'nly a mighty fine gal, Massa Jack. I ain't seen nothin' to
compare wid her since I quit ol' Virginia--'deed I ain't."

Keith glanced back at his black satellite, barely able to distinguish
the fellow's dim outlines.

"You think her a lady, then?" he questioned, giving thoughtless
utterance to his own imagination.

"'Deed I does!" the thick voice somewhat indignant. "I reck'n I knows
de real quality when I sees it. I'se 'sociated wid quality white folks
befo'."

"But, Neb, she's a singer in dance halls."

"I don't believe it, Massa Jack."

"Well, I wouldn't if I could help it. She don't seem like that kind, but
I recognized her as soon as I got her face in the light. She was at the
Gaiety in Independence, the last time I was there. Hawley knew her too,
and called her by name."

Neb rubbed his eyes, and slapped his pony's flank, unable to answer, yet
still unconv