behind him, steadying him. And in this manner they rode on
toward Catherson's shack, miles down the river.

It was late in the morning when they came in sight of the shack, and
seeing them from afar Hagar ran to them. She stopped when she saw Masten,
her eyes wide with wonder and astonishment that changed quickly to joy as
she saw a smile gathering on Catherson's face.

"I've brought you your husband, Hagar," he told her.

Hagar did not move. Her hands were pressing her breast; her eyes were
eloquent with doubt and hope. They sought Masten's, searchingly,
defiantly. And she spoke directly to him, proudly, her head erect:

"If you've come ag'in your will--If dad had to bring you--" She paused,
her lips trembling.

"Shucks," said Catherson gently; "he's come on his own hook, Hagar. Why,
he asked me to bring him--didn't you, Masten?"

And then he dismounted and helped Masten down, leading his pony forward
toward the shack, but turning when he reached the porch, to look back at
Masten and Hagar, standing together in the shade of the trees, the girl's
head resting on the man's shoulder.

Catherson pulled the saddle and bridle from the pony, turned him into the
corral, and then went into the house. A little later he came out again,
smoking a pipe. Masten and Hagar were sitting close together on a fallen
tree near where he had left them. Catherson smiled mildly at them and
peacefully pulled at his pipe.

CHAPTER XXVI

A DREAM COMES TRUE

On the edge of the mesa, from which, on the day of her adventure with the
injured ankle, Ruth had viewed the beautiful virgin wilderness that
stretched far on the opposite side of the river, she was riding, the
afternoon of a day a week later, with Randerson. She had expressed a wish
to come here, and Randerson had agreed joyfully.

Seated on a rock in the shade of some trees that formed the edge of that
timber grove in which he had tied Ruth's pony on a night that held many
memories for both, they had watched, for a long time, in silence, the
vast country before them. Something of the solemn calmness of the scene
was reflected in Ruth's eyes. But there was a different expression in
Randerson's eyes. It was as though he possessed a secret which, he felt,
she ought to know, but was deliberately delaying the telling of it. But
at last he decided, though he began obliquely:

"I reckon there's a set plan for the way thi