rament to run forward gayly to meet adventure, but when the man
opposite her ordered wine and she sipped it reluctantly with a little
grimace, the cowpuncher was of opinion that she was likely to get more
of this adventure than was good for her. In her unsophistication
danger lay. For she was plainly easily influenced, and in the beat of
her healthy young blood probably there was latent passion.

They left the diner before Clay. He passed them later in the vestibule
of the sleeper. They were looking out together on the moonlit plain
through which the train was rushing. The arm of the man was stretched
behind her to the railing and with the motion of the car the girl
swayed back slightly against him.

Again Clay sought the smoking compartment and was led into talk by the
officer. It was well past eleven when he rose, yawned, and announced,
"I'm goin' to hit the hay."

Most of the berths were made up and it was with a little shock of
surprise that his eyes fell on Kitty Mason and her new friend, the
sleek black head of the man close to her fair curls, his steady eyes
holding her like a charmed bird while his caressing voice wove the
fairy tale of New York to which she yielded herself in strange delight.

"Don't you-all want yo' berth made up, lady?"

It was the impatient porter who interrupted them. The girl sprang up
tremulously to accept.

"Oh, please. Is it late?" Her glance swept down the car and took in
the fact that her section alone was not made up. "I didn't know--why,
what time is it?"

"Most twelve, ma'am," replied the aggrieved porter severely.

She flashed a look of reproach at her companion and blushed again as
she fled with her bag to the ladies' dressing-room. As for the man,
Lindsay presently came on him in the smoking-room where he sat with an
unlit cigar between his teeth and his feet on a chair. Behind
half-shuttered lids his opaque eyes glittered with excitement. Clearly
he was reviewing in his mind the progression of his triumph. Clay
restrained a good, healthy impulse to pick a row with him and go to the
mat with the ex-prize-fighter. But after all it was none of his
business.

The train was rolling through the cornfields of the Middle West when
the Arizonan awoke. He was up early, but not long before Kitty Mason,
who was joined at once by Durand.

"Shucks! Nothin' to it a-tall," the range-rider assured himself.
"That li'l' girl sure must have the number of this guy. She