it had seemed far in
the background; it was a skeleton which had not obtruded itself. Now,
by accident, she had surprised it stalking abroad in the glare of day.

That afternoon she and Casey rode together. He was in his usual
spirits, laughing, joking, full of whimsical good humour. But back of
it she thought she detected a preoccupation. Occasionally he would be
silent and his eyes would narrow as if he were working out some
problem.

Far up beneath the shoulder of a butte a little spring of delicious
water bubbled from the gravelly soil, trickled a few hundred yards, and
disappeared. It was hidden by willow and cottonwood, draped with
greenery, an oasis. Here they dismounted, drank the sweet spring water,
watered the horses, and rested. Clyde sat down, leaning against a
convenient tree. Casey stretched himself against another, his hands
clasped behind his head, a long, thin cigar clenched between his teeth.

Through the fragrant smoke he eyed his companion in lazy content,
noting how the mottled sunlight, filtering through the leaves, touched
her glorious hair to living, coppery gold.

"Did you ever have your picture painted?" he asked suddenly.

"Why, no," she replied. "Whatever made you think of that?"

"Your hair and the sunlight on it. If I were a painter I should like to
paint you now--and keep the picture."

"The first compliment you have ever paid me," she laughed, pleased
nevertheless. "I shall remember it."

"And that's a compliment to me," he responded. "Funny what we recollect
and what we don't. There doesn't seem to be any rule for it. But I
think I shall always remember just how you look at this moment."

"That's very nice."

"I wonder if I may ask you something without offending you?"

"I don't think you would ask anything that should offend me."

"Thanks! It's this: I want to make things pleasant for you all. I've
been wondering in my own mind why you came here. You won't
misunderstand me. But why?"

"Have you forgotten your invitation?"

"No. But its acceptance was an unexpected piece of luck. There isn't
much here to amuse you. What's the real reason?"

She looked full at him, and then dropped her eyes; her fingers plucked
blades of grass and cast them aside.

"I don't think I know the answer," she replied at last. "For one thing,
I thought I might help you--if you'd let me."

"Help me! How?"

"With money. You and the others."

"Good Lord!" he ejaculated. "Whatever put that i