ande
del Norte.

A quarter of a mile from town he halted on the bare knob of a low hill
and took a lingering look at the pretentious house amid the green
surroundings.

Near the house was something he had not seen when he had looked
before--the flutter of a white dress against the background of green. As
he looked the white figure moved rapidly through the garden and
disappeared behind the house.

"She didn't say a word," said Texas chokingly.

* * * * *

Ten hours out of Socorro Texas Rankin rode morosely into San Marcial.
Into San Marcial the unbeautiful, with its vista of unpainted shanties
and lurid dives. For in San Marcial foregathered the men of the mines
and the ranges; men of forgotten morals, but of brawn and muscle, whose
hearts beat not with a yearning for high ideals, but with a lust for
wealth and gain--white, Indian, Mexican, half-breed; predatory spirits
of many nations, opposed in the struggle for existence.

For ten hours Texas had ridden the river trail, and for ten hours his
ears had been burdened with the dull beat of his pony's hoofs on the
matted mesquite grass, and the rattle of his wooden stirrups against the
chaparral growth. And for ten hours his mind had been confused with a
multitude of perplexities and resentments.

But all mental confusions reach a culminating point when the mind
finally throws aside the useless chaff of thought and considers only the
questions that have to do with the heart. Wherefore, Texas Rankin's mind
dwelt on Mary Jane. Subconsciously his mind harbored rebellion against
her father, who had judged him; against Socorro, which had misunderstood
him; against Fate, which had been unjust. All these atoms of personal
interest were elements of a primitive emotion that finally evolved into
one great concrete determination that he would show Jim Webster,
Socorro, Mary Jane--the world, that he was not the creature they had
thought him. Tearing aside all mental superfluities, there was revealed
a new structure of thought:

"I am goin' to be a man again!"

And so Texas rode his tired pony in the gathering dusk; down the wide
street that was beginning to flicker with the shafts of light from grimy
windows; down to the hitching rail in front of the Top Notch
Saloon--where he dismounted and stood stiffly beside his beast while he
planned his regeneration.

* * * * *

Half an hour later Texas sat opposite