"It won't be long," she said, assuringly, when Bruce stood before her to say farewell, forlorn and lonely looking already. "It can't be too quick," he answered. "Impatient?" "I'd wait till 'th' stars grow old an' th' sun grows cold'" he quoted with his slow smile, "but ... it wouldn't be a pleasant occupation." She looked at him earnestly. "You might; you could," she whispered, "but _I_ wouldn't wait ... that long...." * * * * * Weeks had passed and October was offering its last glorious days. Not with madly colored leaves and lazy hazes of Indian summer that are gifts to men in the hardwood belt, but with the golden light, the infinite distances, the super silence which comes alone to Northern Arizona. The green was gone from grasses and those trees which drop their foliage were clothed only in the withered remains of leaves, but color of incredible variety was there--the mauves, the lavendars, the blues and purples and ochres of rock and soil, changing with the swinging sun, becoming bold and vivid or only a tint and modest as the light rays played across the valley from various angles. The air, made crystal by the crisp nights, brought within the eyes' register ranges and peaks that were of astonishing distance. The wind was most gentle, coming in leisurely breaths and between its sighs the silence was immaculate, ravished by no jar or hum; even the birds were subdued before it. On a typical October morning, before the sun had shoved itself above the eastern reaches of the valley, two men awoke in the new bunkhouse that had been erected at the Circle A ranch. They were in opposite beds, and, as they lifted their heads and stared hard at one another with that momentary bewilderment which follows the sleep of virile, active men, the shorter flung back his blankets and swung his feet to the floor. He rubbed his tousled hair and yawned and stretched. "Awake!" he said, sleepily, and shook himself, "... awake,"--brightening. "Awake, for 'tis thy weddin' morn!" The speaker was Tommy Clary and on his words Bruce Bayard grinned happily from his pillow. "... weddin' morn ..." he murmured, as he sat up and reached for his boots at the head of his bunk. "Yes, you wake up this mornin', frisky an' young an' full of th' love of life an' liberty, just like them pictures of th' New Year comin' in! An' by sundown you'll be roped an' tied for-good-an'-for-all-by-God, an' t' won't be long before you look like th' old year goin' out!" He grinned, as he drew on his shirt, then dodged, as Bayard's heavy hat sailed at him. "It's goin' to be th' other way round, Tommy," the big fellow cried. "We're going to turn time backward to-day!" "Yes, I guess _you_ are, all right," deliberated Tommy. "Marriage has always seemed to me like payin' taxes for somethin' you owned or goin' to jail for havin' too much fun; always like payin' for somethin'. But yourn ain't. Not much."