He laughed. “I think it more likely he’ll capture Forbes. But we know now where he hangs out, and who he is. He has always been a mystery till now. The mystery is solved, and unless he strikes out for Sonora, Leroy is as good as a dead man.” “A dead man?” “Does he strike you as a man likely to be taken alive? I look to see a dramatic exit to the sound of cracking Winchesters.” “Yes, that would be like him,” she confessed with shudder. “I think he was made to lead a forlorn hope. Pity it won’t be one worthy of the best in him.” “I guess he does have more moments set to music than most of us, and I’ll bet, too, he has hidden way in him a list of ‘Thou shalt nots.’ I read a book once by a man named Stevenson that was sure virgin gold. He showed how every man, no matter how low he falls, has somewhere in him a light that burns, some rag of honor for which he is still fighting I’d hate to have to judge Leroy. Some men, I reckon, have to buck against so much in themselves that even failure is a kind of success for them.” “Yet you will go out to hunt him down?” she’ said, marveling at the broad sympathy of the man. “Sure I will. My official duty is to look out for society. If something in the machine breaks loose and goes to ripping things to pieces, the engineer has to stop the damage, even if he has to smash the rod that’s causing the trouble.” The ponies dropped down again into the bed of the wash, and plowed across through the heavy sand. After they had reached the solid road, Collins resumed conversation at a new point. “It’s a month and a day since I first met you Miss Mackenzie,” he said, apparently apropos of nothing. She felt her blood begin to choke. “Indeed!” “I gave you a letter to read when I was on the train.” “A letter!” she exclaimed, in well-affected surprise. “Did you think it was a book of poems? No, ma’am, it was a letter. You were to read it in a month. Time was up last night. I reckon you read it.” “Could I read a letter I left at Tucson, when it was a hundred miles away?” she smiled with sweet patronage. “Not if you left it at Tucson,” he assented, with an answering smile. “Maybe I _did_ lose it.” She frowned, trying to remember. “Then I’ll have to tell you what was in it.” “Any time will do. I dare say it wasn’t important.” “Then we’ll say _this_ time.” “Don’t be stupid, Mr. Collins. I want to talk about our desert Villon.” “I said in that letter—” She put her pony to a canter, and they galloped side by side in silence for half a mile. After she had slowed down to a walk, he continued placidly, as if oblivious of an interruption: “I said in that letter that I had just met the young lady I was expecting to marry.” “Dear me, how interesting! Was she in the smoker?” “No, she was in Section 3 of the Pullman.” “I wish I had happened to go into the other Pullman, but, of course, I couldn’t know the young lady you were interested in was riding there.” “She wasn’t.” “But you’ve just told me—”