n," she said, gently.

"Well, that's odd, ma'am," drawled Linton.

"What is?"

"That I feel the same way about the cuss."

She looked keenly at him, saw the dancing, wayward gleam in his eyes, and
gave him a reproachful glance.

"You've been pumping me, Linton," she charged.

"Well," he defended; "he's my friend, ma'am; an' I was sure worried,
thinkin' you wouldn't take him--if he offered himself."

She smiled, wisely.

"He did that long ago, Linton--right after he--well, the day he got up,
after the doctor told him he could."

"That he could offer himself?"

"That he could get up. Linton," she said, severely; "you want to know too
much."

Linton did not answer. He took her by an arm, raised her to her feet, and
turned her face toward the northeast--where a rider came, not more than
two or three miles distant.

Linton left her to stand there, while he made his way into one of the
bunkhouses, where, with an appearance of unconcern that he did not feel,
he watched the coming rider. And when he saw the rider head his horse
straight for the gate of the patio, Linton grinned widely and sought some
of the other men in the cook-house.

The sun was between the two huge mountains at the western end of the big
valley when Harlan dismounted at the _patio_ gate and dropped, tired and
dusty, to the bench upon which Barbara sat. Had Linton seen what occurred
when Harlan dismounted he would have ceased to speculate over certain
phases of the relations between the man and the girl.

Barbara did not seem to mind the dust on Harlan's sleeve, nor did she
feel it on his shoulder where her head was nestling.

For both were looking out into the big valley, where the sun was sinking
with a splendor that reminded them of another day.

"The gold isn't worth mining," said Harlan, gently. "The assayer used
names that didn't mean anything to me, but he told me enough in plain
talk, to prove that your dad wasted his time."

"I'm satisfied," said the girl.

"Me too," smiled Harlan. "There's somethin' better than gold."

"It's peace--and happiness," said Barbara, gently.

"An' a girl," smiled Harlan.

"And a man," declared Barbara stoutly.

"Well, then," he conceded, "we won't quarrel. We'll say it's both."

And they sat, saying little, watching the colors of the sunset flame over
the mighty valley--stealing over the vast, silent space that spread
between the two mountain ranges. And the big valley smiled back at them,
s