"Well, it's always been my idee that the sun ain't got no compliments due him--he'll set mighty beautiful--sometimes; an' folks will get awed an' thrilly over him. But the next day--if a man happens to be ridin' in the desert, where there ain't any water, he'll cuss the sun pretty thorough--forgettin' the nice things he said about it once." Barbara scowled at him. "You haven't a bit of poetry in your soul!" she charged. "I'm sorry we stopped to look at the valley or the sun--or anything. You don't--you can't appreciate the beautiful!" He was silent as she urged Billy onward. And as they fled southwestward, with Purgatory far behind, Harlan swept his hat from his head and bowed toward the mighty valley, saying lowly: "You're sure a hummer--an' no mistake. But if a man had any poetry in his soul--why----" He rode on, gulping his delight over having accomplished what he had intended to accomplish. "She'll be givin' it to me pretty regular; an' she won't have time for no solemn thoughts. They'll come later, though, when she gets to the Rancho Seco." It was the lowing of cattle that at last brought to Harlan the conviction that they were near the Rancho Seco--that and the sight of the roofs of some buildings that presently came into view. But they had been riding for half an hour before they came upon the cattle and buildings, and the flaming colors had faded into somber gray tones. The filmy dusk that precedes darkness was beginning to settle over the land; and into the atmosphere had come that solemn hush with which the wide, open places greet the night. Barbara had no further word to say to Harlan until they reached a group of buildings that were scattered on a big level near a river. They had passed a long stretch of wire fence, which Harlan suspected, enclosed a section of land reserved for a pasture; and the girl brought her pony to a halt in front of an adobe building near a high rail fence. "This is the Rancho Seco," she said shortly. "This is the stable. Over there is the ranchhouse. Evidently the men are all away somewhere." She got off the pony, removed the saddle and bridle, carried them into the stable, came out again, and opened a gate in the fence, through which she sent "Billy." Then she closed the gate and turned to Harlan, who had dismounted and was standing at Purgatory's head. "I thank you for what you have done for me," she said, coldly. "And now, I should like to know just what you purpose to do--and why you have come." Harlan's eyes narrowed as he returned her gaze. He remembered Lane Morgan's words: "John Haydon is dead stuck on Barbara;" and he had wondered ever since the meeting in Lamo if Barbara returned Haydon's affection, or if she trusted Haydon enough to confide in him.