o which his life had fallen. Indeed, unless some vital
change came, her father must soon mourn himself into a grave. For the
first time Marianne clearly perceived this. Oliver Jordan was wasting
for grief over his lost freedom just as some youthful lover might
decline because of the death of his mistress. The shock of this
perception brought Marianne to a halt. When she looked up Shorty and Red
Perris were not a hundred yards away, swinging along at a steady lope!

All sad thoughts were whisked from her mind as a gust whirls dead leaves
away and shows the green grass beneath, newly growing. How it lifted her
heart to see him. But she looked down, with a cold falling of gloom, at
her blue gingham dress. That was not as she wished to appear. She could
be in her riding costume, with the rather mannish blouse and loosely
tied cravat, spurs on her boots and quirt in her hand as became the
mistress and ruling force of a big ranch. Then she received sudden and
convincing proof that mere outward appearances meant nothing in the life
of Red Jim Perris. He took off his hat and swung it in greeting. There
was a white flash of his teeth as he laughed, a red flash of his amazing
hair in the sunset light. Then he was pulling up and swinging down to
the ground. He came to meet her with his hat dangling in one hand and
the other extended.

Typically Western, she thought, that in their second meeting he should
act like an old friend. Delightfully Western, too! Under his
straight-glancing eyes, his open smile of pleasure, new confidence came
in Marianne, new self-reliance. The grip of his hand sent strength up her
arm and into her heart.

"I'd given you up," she admitted.

"Mighty sorry it took so long," said Perris. "You see, I was right in
the middle of a little poker game that hung on uncommon long. But when
it finished up, me and Shorty come as fast as we could. Eh, Shorty?"

"Huh!" grunted Shorty. Marianne looked to her messenger for the first
time.

He sat his saddle loosely, one hand falling heavily on the pommel, and
his head bent. He did not raise it to meet her glance, but rolled his
eyes up in a gloomy scowl which flitted over her face and then came to a
rest on the face of Red Jim Perris. A frown of weariness puckered the
brow of Shorty. Purple, bruised places of sleeplessness surrounded his
eyes. And every line of age or worry or labor was graven more deeply on
his face.

"Huh!" grunted Shorty again, mumbling his wor