wap it for any other country on earth?"

Maloney nodded. He had felt that emotion a hundred times, though he had
never put it into words.

At Willow Wash their ways diverged. They parted with a casual "So-long;
see you later." Curly was striking for the headwaters of Dead Cow Creek,
where Soapy Stone had a horse ranch.

He put up that night at the place of a nester in the foothills. His host
looked at him curiously when he mentioned his destination, but he did not
say anything. It was none of his business how many young fellows rode to
Soapy's ranch.

Flandrau took the trail again next morning after breakfast. About two
o'clock he reached a little park in the hills, in the middle of which, by
a dry creek, lay a ranch.

The young man at first thought the place was deserted for the day, but
when he called a girl appeared at the door. She smiled up at him with the
lively interest any ranch girl may be expected to feel in a stranger who
happens to be both young and good looking.

She was a young person of soft curves and engaging dimples. Beneath the
brown cheeks of Arizona was a pink that came and went very attractively.

Curly took off his dusty gray hat. "_Buenos tardes; senorita!_ I'll bet
I'm too late to draw any dinner."

"_Buenos, senor_," she answered promptly. "I'll bet you'd lose your
money."

He swung from the saddle. "That's good hearing. When a fellow has had his
knees clamped to the side of a bronch for seven hours he's sure ready for
the dinner bell."

"You can wash over there by the pump. There's a towel on the fence."

She disappeared into the house, and Curly took care of his horse, washed,
and sauntered back to the porch. He could smell potatoes frying and could
hear the sizzling of ham and eggs.

While he ate the girl flitted in and out, soft-footed and graceful,
replenishing his plate from time to time.

Presently he discovered that her father was away hunting strays on Sunk
Creek, that the nearest neighbor was seven miles distant, and that Stone's
ranch was ten miles farther up Dead Cow.

"Ever meet a lad called Sam Cullison?" the guest asked carelessly.

Curly was hardly prepared to see the color whip into her cheeks or to meet
the quick stabbing look she fastened on him.

"You're looking for him, are you?" she said.

"Thought while I was here I'd look him up. I know his folks a little."

"Do you know him?"

He shook his head. She looked at him very steadily before she spoke.