ealized that she had not been entirely prepared. She sought refuge in
banter, facing him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dancing.

"'Firebrand,'" she said. "The name fits you--Mr. Carson was right. I
warned you--if you remember--that you placed too much dependence on brawn
and fire. You are making it very hard for me to see you again."

He had risen too, and stood before her, and he now laughed frankly.

"I told you I couldn't play the hypocrite. I have said what I think. I
want you. But that doesn't mean that I am going to carry you away to the
mountains. I've got it off my mind, and I promise not to mention it
again--until you wish it. But don't forget that some day you are going to
love me."

"How marvelous," said she, tauntingly, though in her confusion she could
not meet his gaze, looking downward. "How do you purpose to bring it
about?"

"By loving you so strongly that you can't help yourself."

"With your confidence--" she began. But he interrupted, laughing:

"We're going to forget it, now," he said. "I promised to show you that
_Pueblo_, and we'll have just about time enough to make it and back to the
Bar B before dark."

And they rode away presently, chatting on indifferent subjects. And,
keeping his promise, he said not another word about his declaration. But
the girl, stealing glances at him, wondered much--and reached no
decision.

When they reached the abandoned Indian village, many of its houses still
standing, he laughed. "That would make a dandy fort."

"Always thinking of fighting," she mocked. But her eyes flashed as she
looked at him.

CHAPTER X

THE SPIRIT OF MANTI

The Benham private car had clacked eastward over the rails three weeks
before, bearing with it as a passenger only the negro autocrat. At the
last moment, discovering that she could not dissuade Rosalind from her mad
decision to stay at Blakeley's ranch, Agatha had accompanied her. The
private car was now returning, bearing the man who had poetically declared
to his fawning Board of Directors: "Our railroad is the magic wand that
will make the desert bloom like the rose. We are embarked upon a project,
gentlemen, so big, so vast, that it makes even your president feel a pulse
of pride. This project is nothing more nor less than the opening of a
region of waste country which an all-wise Creator has permitted to slumber
for ages, for no less purpose than to reserve it to the horny-handed son
of toil of our glorious co