ried a
parasol that was lilac-trimmed, which shade was also the outstanding
note of her dress. She was looking her very best, and no doubt knew it.
To Val her dainty freshness seemed to breathe the sweetness of spring
violets.

"Good morning, Miss Mackenzie. Weather like this I'm awful glad I ain't
a mummy," he told her. "The world's mighty full of beautiful things this
glad day."

"Essay on the Appreciation of Nature, by Professor Collins," she smiled.

"To be continued in our next," he amended. "Won't you come in and have
a sundae? You look as if you didn't know it, but the rest of us have
discovered it's a right warm morning."

Looking across the little table at him over her sundae, she questioned
him with innocent impudence. "I saw you and dad deep in plans Tuesday. I
suppose by now you have all the train robbers safely tucked away in the
penitentiary?"

"Not yet," he answered cheerfully.

"Not yet!" Her lifted eyebrows and the derisive flash beneath mocked
politely his confidence. "By this time I should think they might be
hunting big game in deepest Africa."

"They might be, but they're not."

"What about that investment in futurities you made on the train? The
month is more than half up. Do you see any chance of realizing?"

"It looks now as if I might be a false prophet, but I feel way down deep
that I won't. In this prophet's business confidence is half the stock in
trade."

"Really. I'm very curious to know what it is you predicted. Was it
something good?"

"Good for me," he nodded.

"Then I think you'll get it," she laughed. "I have noticed that it
is the people that expect things--and then go out and take them--that
inherit the earth these days. The meek have been dispossessed."

"I'm glad I have your good wishes."

"I didn't say you had, but you'll get along just as well without them,''
she answered with a cool little laugh as she rose.

"I'd like to discuss that proposition with you more at length. May I
call on you some evening this week, Miss Mackenzie?"

There was a sparkle of hidden malice in her answer. "You're too late,
Mr. Collins. We'll have to leave it undiscussed. I'm going to leave
to-day for my uncle s ranch, the Rocking Chair."

He was distinctly disappointed, though he took care not to show it.
Nevertheless, the town felt empty after her train had gone. He was glad
when later in the day a message came calling him to Epitaph. It took him
at least seventy-five miles neare