cards in the adobe of
'Tonio Moraga, had quarrelled with the surly southerners, had now and
then shot their way out into the clear starlit night or had known the
cruel bite of steel, and in any case had left Big Run as they had found
it--a town oddly American in nothing whatever save its name, which had
come whence and how no man knew.

First into town that morning rode Yellow Barbee; with no urge to linger
and a definite destination ahead, he always rode hard, his hat far
back, his blue eyes shining. He sent his lean roan on the run down the
crooked street among the crooked houses; he scattered a handful of
dirty ducks flopping and scuttling out of his way; he drew after him a
noisy barking of dogs, startled out of their sleep in the shade; he
brought his horse up with a sharp jerk of the reins before the
blue-and-white sign of the saloon; he was half out of the saddle when a
glimpse of something down the street altered his intention in a flash;
he wheeled his horse, and, with one stirrup flying wildly, his big hat
in his hand, his eyes on fire, he went racing back down the street and
again stopped with a jerk. This time the sign before him spelled
hotel. Leaving his horse to pant and fight flies, Yellow Barbee strode
in at the open door.

Next came in due time Tod Barstow and the mule team and Longstreet.
They clattered along in clouds of high-puffed dust, harness jingling.
Barstow swung his leaders skilfully and narrowly around the broken
corners of old adobes and slammed on his brake before the store, that
is to say, half-way between saloon and hotel. He climbed down,
Longstreet after him.

Finally came the loiterers, Helen and Carr and Howard. They noted
Barbee's roan at its hitching-rail; further they glimpsed through a
thirsty-looking dusty vine--that which Barbee had glimpsed before them.
Some one wearing cool, laundered white was out upon the side porch;
Barbee's voice, young and eager, low yet vibrant, bespoke Barbee's
proximity to the Someone.

'The widow.' said Carr. He looked at Howard. 'I'll bet you a hat it's
Mrs. Murray, Al.'

It was vaguely impressed upon Helen that a significance less casual
than the light words themselves lay in Carr's remark. She, too, looked
at Howard. There was a frown in his eyes. Slowly, as his look met
hers, a flush spread in his cheeks. Carr saw it and laughed amusedly.

'Look out, Al,' he chuckled. 'She'll get you yet.'

Now Howard laughed with him and the