But you seem kinda quiet. Shore you get quieter all the
time. Did you see any sign of Jim out Sonoyta way?"

Then Belding led the lame horse toward the watering-trough, while the
two rangers went toward the house, Dick was telling Ladd about the
affair at Papago Well when they turned the corner under the porch.
Nell was sitting in the door. She rose with a little scream and came
flying toward them.

"Now I'll get it," whispered Ladd. "The women'll make a baby of me.
An' shore I can't help myself."

"Oh, Laddy, you've been hurt!" cried Nell, as with white cheeks and
dilating eyes she ran to him and caught his arm.

"Nell, I only run a thorn in my ear."

"Oh, Laddy, don't lie! You've lied before. I know you're hurt. Come
in to mother."

"Shore, Nell, it's only a scratch. My bronch throwed me."

"Laddy, no horse every threw you." The girl's words and accusing eyes
only hurried the ranger on to further duplicity.

"Mebbe I got it when I was ridin' hard under a mesquite, an' a sharp
snag--"

"You've been shot!... Mama, here's Laddy, and he's been shot!.... Oh,
these dreadful days we're having! I can't bear them! Forlorn River
used to be so safe and quiet. Nothing happened. But now! Jim comes
home with a bloody hole in him--then Dick--then Laddy!.... Oh, I'm
afraid some day they'll never come home."

The morning was bright, still, and clear as crystal. The heat waves
had not yet begun to rise from the desert.

A soft gray, white, and green tint perfectly blended lay like a mantle
over mesquite and sand and cactus. The canyons of distant mountain
showed deep and full of lilac haze.

Nell sat perched high upon the topmost bar of the corral gate. Dick
leaned beside her, now with his eyes on her face, now gazing out into
the alfalfa field where Belding's thoroughbreds grazed and pranced and
romped and whistled. Nell watched the horses. She loved them, never
tired of watching them. But her gaze was too consciously averted from
the yearning eyes that tried to meet hers to be altogether natural.

A great fenced field of dark velvety green alfalfa furnished a rich
background for the drove of about twenty white horses. Even without
the horses the field would have presented a striking contrast to the
surrounding hot, glaring blaze of rock and sand. Belding had bred a
hundred or more horses from the original stock he had brought up from
Durango. His particular interest was in the almost unblemish