re they rode into the cottonwoods of Lone Tree
Spring. Chad lifted her, stiff and cold from lack of circulation, to the
ground. She clung to his coat sleeve for a moment dizzily before she
limped forward to the live-oak that gave the place its name. The girl
sank down beside the water-hole with her back to the trunk of the tree.

There was faint, humorous apology in the tired smile she lifted to the
man.

"I guess I'm what the boys call a quitter, Chad," she decided.

"You're a game little thoroughbred," he blurted out. "You're all in.
That's what's the matter with you. Never mind, little girl. I'll fix the
tarps so as you can get some sleep. When you wake you'll be good as
ever."

"Don't let me sleep too long. Perhaps I'd better just rest."

"No; take a couple of hours' sleep. I'll wake you when it's time to go."

He brought the saddle blankets, spread them on the ground, and covered
them with his slicker. His coat served for a pillow. Above her he spread
a tarp and tucked the edges under.

"You're good to me, Chad," she told him with a sleepy little smile.

"I aim to be." He stooped and kissed her with a sudden passionate
impulse.

Startled at his roughness, she drew back. "Don't ... please!"

He rose abruptly. "Go to sleep," was his harsh command.

A vague uneasiness that was almost fear stirred in her mind. She did not
know this man at all. Except for the merest surface commonplaces he was
a stranger to her. Yet she had promised to give her life into his
keeping. They were alone together in this moonlit night of stars, a
thousand miles from all the safeguards that had always hedged her soft
youth. After she had married him they would always be together. Even her
mother and Phil would be outsiders. So would all her friends--Daisy
Ellington and Frank Farrar ... and Steve Yeager if he lived. And he must
live. She affirmed that passionately, clung to the thought of it as a
drowning man does to a plank. He would get well--of course he would....

And so she fell asleep.

CHAPTER XIII

THE NIGHT TRAIL

Yeager rode into Los Robles an hour after Harrison and Ruth had left. He
turned in at the Lunar stables the pony Pasquale had so kindly donated
to his use and walked across town to the Seymour bungalow. Passing
through the garden and round the house, he disappeared without being
seen into the remodeled barn where he lodged.

He felt bully. After an adventure that had been a close call he was back