ter
crossing the river, and Ruth was concealed from his view by a stretch of
intervening brush and trees.

Ruth had been worried more than she would have been willing to admit,
over the presence of Chavis and his two men in the vicinity, and that
morning after she had questioned a puncher about the former Flying W
foreman, she had determined to ride down the river for the purpose of
making a long distance observation of the "shack" the puncher and
Randerson had mentioned as being inhabited by Chavis. That determination
had not been acted upon until after dinner, however, and it was nearly
two o'clock when she reached the ford where she had passed Randerson.

The puncher had told her that Chavis' shack was about fifteen miles
distant from the Flying W ranchhouse, and situated in a little basin near
the river, which could be approached only by riding down a rock-strewn
and dangerous declivity. She had no intention of risking the descent; she
merely wanted to view the place from afar, and she judged that from the
edge of a plateau, which the puncher had described to her, she would be
able to see very well.

When she passed the ford near the Lazette trail, she felt a sudden qualm
of misgiving, for she had never ridden quite that far alone--the ford was
about ten miles from the ranchhouse--but she smiled at the sensation,
conquering it, and continued on her way, absorbed in the panoramic view
of the landscape.

At a distance of perhaps a mile beyond the ford she halted the pony on
the crest of a low hill and looked about her. The country at this point
was broken and rocky; there was much sand; the line of hills, of which
the one on which her pony stood was a part, were barren and uninviting.
There was much cactus. She made a grimace of abhorrence at a clump that
grew near her in an arid stretch, and then looked beyond it at a stretch
of green. Far away on a gentle slope she saw some cattle, and looking
longer, she observed a man on a horse. One of the Flying W men, of
course, she assured herself, and felt more secure.

She rode on again, following a ridge, the pony stepping gingerly. Another
half mile and she urged the pony down into a slight depression where the
footing was better. The animal made good progress here, and after a while
they struck a level, splotched with dry bunch-grass, which rustled
noisily under the tread of the pony's hoofs.

It was exhilarating here, for presently the level became a slope, and the