happy, and handsome Jim Perris
with his straight, steady eyes and his free laughter was such a
pleasant fellow to work with that Marianne quite forgot moderation.

And before the evening was over, Jim had come within a hair's breadth
of plunging over the cliff and confessing his admiration in terms so
outright that Marianne would have closed up her charming gaiety as a
flower closes up its beauty and fragrance at the first warning chill
of night. A dozen times Red Perris came to this alarming point, but he
was always saved by remembering that this delightful girl had brought
him here for the purpose of--killing a horse. And that memory chilled
Jim to the very core of his manly heart.

Of course he knew that wild-running stallions who steal saddle stock
must be cleared from a range, and by shooting if necessary. He would
have received such an order from a man and never thought the less of
him, but the command was too stern for the smiling lips of Marianne.
To be sure, Perris was by no means a gentle rider. In fact, he rode so
_very_ hard that only fine horses could measure up to his demands, and
who, since the world began, has ridden many fine horses without coming
to love the entire race? Red Perris, at least, was such a man, and
indeed he spent many an hour dreaming of some happy day when he should
find beneath him a mount with speed like an eagle, soul of a lion, and
the gentle, trusting heart of a child.

Finally, the evening ended. He left the house and the puzzled smile
of Marianne behind him and went to the bunkhouse and a sleep of happy
dreams. But every dream ended with the thought of a wild chestnut
running into the circle of his rifle's sights, leaping into the air at
the report of his gun, and dropping inert on the grass. What wonder,
then, that when he wakened he thought of Marianne Jordan with mixed
emotions? Perhaps the really important point was that he thought of
her so much, whether for good or evil.

He went in with the other men to breakfast in the long dining-room of
the ranch house, and there was Marianne Jordan again presiding at the
head of the table. But half of the glamour of the evening before was
gone from her and she kept her eyes seriously lowered, frowning. In
fact, she had much to think about, for late the preceding evening Lew
Hervey had come to her and showed her the first note that her father
had written. She was not alarmed by this sudden trip over the
mountains. There had been so