"Away!" cried Lucy eagerly, "would you go? You know father and I have talked of it time and again, but you just stick and stick, and nothing will make you leave. But listen--what was that?" A succession of rifle shots, like the popping of wet logs over a fire, came dully to their ears, muffled by the bleating of sheep and the echoing of the cliffs. Hardy leapt to his feet and listened intently, his eyes burning with suppressed excitement; then he stepped reluctantly back into the house and resumed his seat. "I guess it's only those Mexican herders," he said. "They shoot that way to drive their sheep." "But look!" cried Lucy, pointing out the door, "the Black Butte is afire! Just see that great smoke!" Hardy sprang up again and dashed out into the open. The popping of thirty-thirtys had ceased, but from the summit of the square-topped butte a signal fire rose up to heaven, tall and straight and black. "Aha!" he muttered, and without looking at her he ran out to the corral to saddle Chapuli. But when he came back he rode slowly, checking the impatience of his horse, until at last he dismounted beside her. For days his eyes had been furtive and evasive, but now at last they were steady. "Lucy," he said, "I haven't been very honest with you, but I guess you know what this means--the boys are turning back the sheep." His voice was low and gentle, and he stood very straight before her, like a soldier. Yet, even though she sensed what was in his mind, Lucy smiled. For a month he had been to her like another man, a man without emotion or human thought, and now in a moment he had come back, the old Rufus that she had known in her heart so long. "Yes," she said, holding out her hand to him, "I knew it. But you are working for me, you know, and I cannot let you go. Listen, Rufus," she pleaded, as he drew away, "have I ever refused you anything? Tell me what you want to do." "I want to go down there and help turn back those sheep," he said, bluntly. "You know me, Lucy--my heart is in this fight--my friends are in it--and I must go." He waited for some answer, but Lucy only turned away. There were tears in her eyes when she looked back at him and her lips trembled, but she passed into the house without a word. Hardy gazed wonderingly after her and his heart smote him; she was like some sensitive little child to whom every rough word was a blow, and he had hurt her. He glanced at the signal fire that rolled up black and sombre as the watcher piled green brush upon it, then he dropped his bridle rein and stepped quickly into the house. "You must forgive me, Lucy," he said, standing humbly at the door. "I--I am changed. But do not think that I will come to any harm--this is not a battle against men, but sheep. No one will be killed. And now may I go?" Once more his voice became low and gentle and he stood before her like some questing knight before his queen, but she only sat gazing at him with eyes that he could not understand.