rowed down
his lean, brown cheeks. The streak in him that was still tender-hearted
child had suddenly come to the surface. For he had expected to find her
dead at best; instead, her warm, soft body was in his arms, her eyes
were telling him an unbelievable story that her tongue as yet could find
no words to utter. There flamed in him, like fire in dead tumbleweeds, a
surge of glad triumph that inexplicably blended with humble
thankfulness.

To her his emotion was joy without complex. The Ranger was tough as a
hickory withe. She knew him hard as tempered steel to those whom he
opposed, and her heart throbbed with excitement at his tears. She alone
among all women could have touched him so. It came to her like a
revelation that she need never have feared. He was her destined mate.
Across that wide desert space empty of life he had come straight to her
as to a magnet.

And from that moment, all through the night, she never once thought of
being afraid. Her man was beside her. He would let no harm come to her.
Womanlike, she exulted in him. He was so lithe and brown and slender, so
strong and clean, and in all the world there was nothing that he feared.

With her hand in his she walked through the passage to where Dinsmore
held watch. The outlaw turned and looked at the Ranger. If anybody had
told him that a time would come when he would be glad to see Tex Roberts
for any purpose except to fight him, the bandit would have had a swift,
curt answer ready. But at sight of him his heart leaped. No hint of this
showed in his leathery face.

"Earnin' that dollar a day, are you?" he jeered.

"A dollar a day an' grub," corrected Jack, smiling.

"Much of a posse with you?"

"Dropped in alone. My men are camped a few miles back. Mr. Wadley is
with us."

"They got Gurley, I reckon. He tried to sneak away." Dinsmore flashed a
quick look toward Ramona and back at Jack. "Leastways I'm not bettin' on
his chances. Likely one of the 'Paches shot him."

"Mebbeso."

The girl said nothing. She knew that neither of the men believed Gurley
had been shot. Those horrible cries that had come out of the night had
been wrung from him by past-masters in the business of torture.

"You'd better get back an' hold the other end of the passage," suggested
Dinsmore. He jerked his head toward 'Mona. "She'll show you where."

Ramona sat beside her lover while he kept watch, her head against his
shoulder, his arm around her waist. Beneath the st