from a young lady," Flandrau said, and handed it to
Cullison.

Sam did not read his note at once, but put it in his pocket carelessly, as
if it had been an advertisement. They lay down in the bushes about twenty
yards apart, close to the hole where the birds flew every evening to
water. Hidden by the mesquite, Sam ran over his letter two or three times
while he was waiting. It was such a message as any brave-hearted,
impulsive girl might send to the man she loved when he seemed to her to
walk in danger. Cullison loved her for the interest she took in him, even
while he ridiculed her fears.

Presently the quails came by hundreds on a bee-line for the water hole.
They shot as many as they needed, but no more, for neither of them cared
to kill for pleasure.

As they rode back to the ranch, Curly mentioned that he had seen Sam's
people a day or two before.

Cullison asked no questions, but he listened intently while the other told
the story of his first rustling and of how Miss Kate and her father had
stood by him in his trouble. The dusk was settling over the hills by this
time, so that they could not see each other's faces clearly.

"If I had folks like you have, the salt of the earth, and they were
worrying their hearts out about me, seems to me I'd quit helling around
and go back to them," Curly concluded.

"The old man sent you to tell me that, did he?" Hard and bitter came the
voice of the young man out of the growing darkness.

"No, he didn't. He doesn't know I'm here. But he and your sister have done
more for me than I ever can pay. That's why I'm telling you this."

Sam answered gruffly, as a man does when he is moved, "Much obliged,
Curly, but I reckon I can look out for myself."

"Just what I thought, and in September I have to go to the penitentiary.
Now I have mortgaged it away, my liberty seems awful good to me."

"You'll get off likely."

"Not a chance. They've got me cinched. But with you it's different. You
haven't fooled away your chance yet. There's nothing to this sort of life.
The bunch up here is no good. Soapy don't mean right by you, or by any
young fellow he trails with."

"I'll not listen to anything against Soapy. He took me in when my own
father turned against me."

"To get back at your father for sending him up the road."

"That's all right. He has been a good friend to me. I'm not going to throw
him down."

"Would it be throwing him down to go back to your people?"

"Yes, i