venture or because of David Eden. He was
still further troubled when she came out to the breakfast table in the
patio. He had expected that she would be more or less confused by the
presence of David after his queer talk of the night before, but sleep
seemed to have wiped everything from her memory. Her first nod, to be
sure, was for the gambler, but her smile was for David of Eden. Connor
fell into a reverie which was hardly broken through the meal by the deep
voice of David or the laughter of Ruth. Their gayety was a barrier, and
he was, subtly, left on the outside. David had proposed to the girl a
ride through the Garden, and when he went for the horses the gambler
decided to make sure of her position. He was too much disturbed to be
diplomatic. He went straight to the point.

"I'm sorry this is such a mess for you; but if you can buck up for a
while it won't take long to finish the job."

She looked at him without understanding, which was what he least wanted
in the world. So he went on: "As a matter of fact, the worst of the job
hasn't come. You can do what you want with him right now. But
afterward--when you get him out of the valley the hard thing will be to
hold him."

"You're angry with poor David. What's he done now?"

"Angry with him? Of course not! I'm a little disgusted, that's all."

"Tell me why in words of one syllable, Ben."

"You're too fine a sort to have understood. And I can't very well
explain."

She allowed herself to be puzzled for a moment and then laughed.

"Please don't be mysterious. Tell me frankly."

"Very well. I think you can make David go out of the valley when we go.
But once we have him back in a town the trouble will begin. You
understand why he's so--fond of you, Ruth?"

"Let's not talk about it."

"Sorry to make you blush. But you see, it isn't because you're so
pretty, Ruth, but simply because you're a woman. The first he's ever
seen."

All her high coloring departed at once; a pale, sick face looked at
Connor.

"Don't say it," murmured the girl. "I thought last night just for a
moment--but I couldn't let myself think of it for an instant."

"I understand," said Connor gently. "You took all that highfaluting
poetry stuff to be the same thing. But, say, Ruth, I've heard a young
buck talk to a young squaw--before he married her. Just about the same
line of junk, eh? What makes me sick is that when we get him out in a
town he'll lose his head entirely when he sees a