_you_. I know you won't laugh at me, either."

Louise turned toward him. "No. I understand," she said.

"Here was where Red and I first saw you to know who you was. I used to
hate folks that wore good clothes. I thought they was all the same, you
and all that kind. But, no, it ain't so. You looked back once, when you
were riding away from the jail that time. I was going to look for Red
and not go to work at the Moonstone. I saw you look back. That settled
it. I was proud to think you cared even anything for a tramp. I was
mighty lonesome then. Since, I got to thinking I'd be somebody some day.
But I can see where I stand. I'm a puncher, working for the Moonstone.
You kind of liked me because I had hard luck when I was a kid. But that
made me _love_ you. It ain't wrong, I guess, to love something you can't
ever reach up to. It ain't wrong to keep on loving, only it's awful
lonesome not to ever tell you about it."

"I'm sorry, Collie," said Louise gently.

"Please don't you be sorry. Why, I'm glad! Maybe you don't think it is
the best thing in the world to love a girl. I ain't asking anything but
to just go on loving you. Seems like a man wants the girl he loves to
know it, even if that is just all. You said I love horses. I do. But
loving you started me loving horses. Red said once that I was just
living like what I thought you wanted me to be. Red's wise when he
takes his time to it. But now I'm living the way I think I want to. I
won't ask you to say you care. I guess you don't--that way. But if I
ever get rich--then--"

"Collie, you must not think I am different from any other girl. I'm just
as selfish and stubborn as I can be. I almost feel ashamed to have you
think of me as you do. Let's be sensible about it. You know I like you.
I'm glad you care--for--what you think I am."

"That's it. You are always so kind to a fellow that it makes me feel
mean to speak like I have. You listened--and I am pretty glad of that."

He turned and caught Boyar's bridle. Mounting he caught up Yuma and
Rally. Slowly Collie and the girl rode the trail to the level of the
summit. Slowly they dropped down the descent into Moonstone Canon. The
letter, Overland Red, Silent Saunders, were forgotten. Side by side
plodded the pony Yuma and Black Boyar. Rally followed. The trees on the
western edge of the canon threw long, shadowy bars of dusk across the
road. Quail called from the hillside. Other quail answered plaintively
from a dista