ce and then curved abruptly to
the south. So far as she knew, it led nowhere, and yet, to her
astonishment, not a hundred feet away a saddled horse, with bridle-reins
trailing, stood cropping the leaves of a stunted mesquite.

"That's funny," she said aloud in a low tone.

As she spoke the horse threw up his head and stared at her, ears pointed
inquiringly. When Freckles nickered, the strange animal gave an answering
whinny, but did not move.

Puzzled and a little nervous, Mary glanced sharply to right and left
amongst the scattered rocks. In her experience a saddled horse meant that
the owner was not far away; but she could see no signs of any one, and at
length, taking courage from the silence, she rode slowly forward.

As she came closer the horse backed away a foot or two and half turned,
exposing a brand on his shoulder. The girl stared at it with a puckered
frown, wondering what on earth any one from the Rocking-R was doing here.
Then her glance strayed to the saddle, flittered indifferently over cantle
and skirts, to pause abruptly, with a sudden keen attention, on the flap
of the right-hand pocket, which bore the initials "R. S." cut with some
skill on the smooth leather.

With eyes widening, the girl bent forward, studying the flap intently. She
was not mistaken; the initials _were_ R. S., and in a flash there came
back to her a memory of that afternoon, which seemed so long ago, when she
and Buck Green rode out together to the south pasture. She had noticed
those initials then on his saddle-pocket, and knowing how unusual it was
for a cow-man to touch his precious saddle with a knife, she made some
casual comment, and learned how it had come into Buck's possession.

What did it mean? What was _he_ doing here on a Rocking-R horse? Above
all, where was he?

Suddenly her heart began to beat unevenly and her frightened eyes stared
down the gulch to where an out-thrust buttress provokingly hid the greater
part of it from view. Her glance shifted again to the horse, who stood
motionless, regarding her with liquid, intelligent eyes, and for the first
time she noticed that the ends of the trailing reins were scratched and
torn and ragged.

How still the place was! She fumbled in her blouse, and drawing forth a
handkerchief, passed it mechanically over her damp forehead. Then abruptly
her slight figure straightened, and tightening the reins she urged
Freckles along the rock-strewn bottom of the gulch.

The di