keeping with his wishes that he should meet
a dark-browed rider a few miles farther up the trail whose identity he
had happened to learn a few days before.

Now Forsythe would, perhaps, not have dared to enter into any compact
against Gardley with men of such ill-repute had it been a matter of
money and bribery, but, armed as he was with information valuable to the
criminals, he could so word his suggestion about Gardley's detention as
to make the hunted men think it to their advantage to catch Gardley
some time the next day when he passed their way and imprison him for a
while. This would appear to be but a friendly bit of advice from a
disinterested party deserving a good turn some time in the future and
not get Forsythe into any trouble. As such it was received by the
wretch, who clutched at the information with ill-concealed delight and
rode away into the twilight like a serpent threading his secret, gliding
way among the darkest places, scarcely rippling the air, so stealthily
did he pass.

As for Forsythe, he rode blithely to the Temple ranch, with no thought
of the forces he had set going, his life as yet one round of trying to
please himself at others' expense, if need be, but please himself,
_anyway_, with whatever amusement the hour afforded.

At home in the East, where his early life had been spent, a splendid
girl awaited his dilatory letters and set herself patiently to endure
the months of separation until he should have attained a home and a
living and be ready for her to come to him.

In the South, where he had idled six months before he went West, another
lovely girl cherished mementoes of his tarrying and wrote him loving
letters in reply to his occasional erratic epistles.

Out on the Californian shore a girl with whom he had traveled West in
her uncle's luxurious private car, with a gay party of friends and
relatives, cherished fond hopes of a visit he had promised to make her
during the winter.

Innumerable maidens of this world, wise in the wisdom that crushes
hearts, remembered him with a sigh now and then, but held no illusions
concerning his kind.

Pretty little Rosa Rogers cried her eyes out every time he cast a
languishing look at her teacher, and several of the ladies of the fort
sighed that the glance of his eye and the gentle pressure of his hand
could only be a passing joy. But the gay Lothario passed on his way as
yet without a scratch on the hard enamel of his heart, till one wo