dirt around the roots of some of the bushes. She had returned to the
Circle C for a day or two to give some directions in the absence of her
father. Buck and the other riders came to her for orders and took them
without contempt. She knew the cattle business, and they knew she knew it.
To a man they were proud of her, of her spirit, her energy, and her good
looks.

This rose garden was one evidence of her enterprise. No ranch in the
county could show such a riot of bloom as the Circle C. The American
Beauty, the Duchess, the La France bowed gracefully to neighbors of a
dozen other choice varieties. Kate had brought this glimpse of Eden into
the desert. She knew her catalogues by heart and she had the loving
instinct that teaches all gardeners much about growing things.

The rider who cantered up to the fence, seeing her in her well-hung
corduroy skirt, her close-fitting blouse, and the broad-rimmed straw hat
that shielded her dark head from the sun, appreciated the fitness of her
surroundings. She too was a flower of the desert, delicately fashioned,
yet vital with the bloom of health.

At the clatter of hoofs she looked up from the bush she was trimming and
at once rose to her feet. With the change in position she showed slim and
tall, straight as a young poplar. Beneath their long lashes her eyes grew
dark and hard. For the man who had drawn to a halt was Cass Fendrick.

From the pocket of his shirt he drew a crumpled piece of stained linen.

"I've brought back your handkerchief, Miss Cullison."

"What have you done with my father?"

He nodded toward the Mexican boy and Kate dismissed the lad. When he had
gone she asked her question again in exactly the same words.

"If we're going to discuss your father you had better get your quirt
again," the sheepman suggested, touching a scar on his face.

A flush swept over her cheeks, but she held her voice quiet and even.
"Where is Father? What have you done with him?"

He swung from the horse and threw the rein to the ground. Then, sauntering
to the gate, he let himself in.

"You've surely got a nice posy garden here. Didn't know there was one like
it in all sunbaked Arizona."

She stood rigid. Her unfaltering eyes, sloe-black in the pale face, never
lifted from him.

"There's only one thing you can talk to me about Where have you hidden my
father?"

"I've heard folks say he did himself all the hiding that was done."

"You know that isn't true. That convict