t away after a time, naturally. If he doesn't I'll
take him out for a walk."

This they did. Made less of a cowboy by Jack's straw hat, Harold went
forth on a trail whose course was not well-defined in his mind, though
now that Jack had arranged details so deftly that Mary was not in danger
of being put to shame, his native courage and resolution came back to
him. In the full springtide of his powerful manhood Mary's name and face
had come at last to stand for everything worth having in the world, and
like a bold gambler he was staking all he had on a single whirl of the
wheel.

Their meeting was so self-contained that only a close observer could
have detected the tension. Mary was no more given to externalizing her
emotions than he. She met him with a pale, sweet, dignified mask of
face. She put out her hand, and said, "I am glad to see you, Mr.
Harding," but his eyes burned down into hers with such intensity that
she turned to escape his glance. "Father, you know Mr. Burns, and this
is his friend, Mr. Harding, whom I used to know."

Jack came gallantly to the rescue. He talked crops, politics, weather,
church affairs, and mining. He chattered and laughed in a way which
would have amazed Harold had he not been much preoccupied. He was
unprepared for the change in Mary. He had carried her in his mind all
these years as a little slip of a maiden, wrapt in expression, somber of
mood, something half angel and half child, and always she walked in a
gray half light, never in the sun. Now here she faced him, a dignified
woman, with deep, serene eyes, and he could not comprehend how the pale
girl had become the magnetic, self-contained woman. He was thrown into
doubt and confusion, but so far from showing this he sat in absolute
silence, gazing at her with eyes which made her shiver with emotion.

Talk was purposeless and commonplace at first, a painful waiting.
Suddenly they missed Jack and the father. They were alone and free to
speak their most important words. Harold seized upon the opportunity
with most disconcerting directness.

"I've come for you, Mary," he said, as if he had not hitherto uttered a
word, and his voice aroused some mysterious vibration within her bosom.
"I'm not a cattle king; I have nothing but two horses, a couple of guns,
and a saddle--but all the same, here I am. I got lonesome for you, and
at last I took the back trail to find out whether you had forgot me or
not."

His pause seemed to requir