er in the Michoacan mountains and swamps, he had caught himself
almost crying aloud, that he wanted her, that he wanted her--wanted
again the subtle comradeship of those silences which require no words.
And here, at last, here she was, riding beside him!

He looked at her furtively. She was in profile. He looked again, to be
sure that it was not memory, but the breathing girl herself. Yes, for a
fact, it was the girl herself. And here was her own queenly head, here
its regal poise, here the superb line of the neck to the shoulder.
Reverence grew on admiration, for as he gazed he beheld her character
revealed, of lines as stately, as womanly, and withal as flexible, too,
before the cheery glow of each moment's life. He stirred, and was
vaguely restive, and perhaps a little frightened also, because of the
deep mystery of something within himself which he could not understand.
The classic outline of her features was softened now in the warmth of
flesh. Her vivacity was off guard, in the forgetfulness of reverie. The
pure white of the little tip of ear was tinged with pink. Her eyes were
lowered to the saddle horn. They were melting. They were almost blue.

"Jack'leen!" He burst out fervently, before he thought, with an arm half
lifted toward her.

The drooping lashes raised. The eyes were gray again. She regarded him
for awhile without speaking.

"Why don't you quarrel?" she asked finally.

The spell was broken. Her pounding heart had vent in a nervous laugh of
raillery. She touched her horse with the riding crop in her gauntleted
hand. Somehow she would not leave that dumb brute, the horse, in peace.
Driscoll's old Demijohn, however, was used to the game by now. He
pointed his ears, and checkmated that last move by bringing his master
once more to the lady's side.

"You used to," she went on, as though there had been no interruption,
"nicely. You were of an interest then. In fact, I reck-_on_--I know
no one that I had rather have quarreled with."

But still he would not, though that "reckon" from her lips was most
alluring. She stole a mischievous glance at his face, but the fixed look
there made her lift _her_ hand toward _him_. Perhaps, if he
had seen and had spoken then--But he did see.

"Eh bien, since monsieur won't fight, won't, _won't_," she cried,
"then it's more fun to----"

Evidently to seek livelier company. For she wheeled the mustang, swerved
from a grasp at her bridle, and went galloping back to th