“There were six reds,” said the chief, surveying the remaining bunch with a critical eye. “One must have wandered off while I was gone. Get out there in the brush and round him up, Alec, while I tackle this long-horned gentleman.” Williston turned noiselessly away from the scene which so suddenly threatened danger. Both men were fully armed and would brook no eavesdropping. Once more he crossed the sand in safety and found his horse where he had left him, up the ravine. He vaulted into the saddle and galloped away into the quiet night. CHAPTER II “ON THE TRAIL” Williston himself came to the door. His thin, scholarly face looked drawn and worn in the mid-day glare. A tiredness in the eyes told graphically of a sleepless night. “I’m glad to see you, Langford,” he said. “It was good of you to come. Leave your horse for Mary. She’ll give her water when she’s cooled off a bit.” “You sent for me, Williston?” asked the young man, rubbing his face affectionately against the wet neck of his mare. “I did. It was good of you to come so soon.” “Fortunately, your messenger found me at home. As for the rest, Sade, here, hasn’t her beat in the cow country, if she is only a cow pony, eh, Sade?” At that moment, Mary Williston came into the open doorway of the rude claim shanty set down in the very heart of the sun-seared plain which stretched away into heart-choking distances from every possible point of the compass. And sweet she was to look upon, though tanned and glowing from close association with the ardent sun and riotous wind. Her auburn hair, more reddish on the edges from sunburn, was fine and soft and there was much of it. It seemed newly brushed and suspiciously glossy. One sees far on the plains, and two years out of civilization are not enough to make a girl forget the use of a mirror, even if it be but a broken sliver, propped up on a pine-board dressing table. She looked strangely grown-up despite her short, rough skirt and badly scuffed leather riding-leggings. Langford stared at her with a startled look of mingled admiration and astonishment. She came forward and put her hand on the mare’s bridle. She was not embarrassed in the least. But color came into the stranger’s face. He swept his wide hat from his head quickly. “No indeed, Miss Williston; I’ll water Sade myself.” “Please let me. I’d love to.” “She’s used to it, Langford,” said Williston in his quiet, gentlemanly voice, the well-bred cadence of which spoke of a training far removed from the harassments and harshnesses of life in this plains country. “You see, she is the only boy I have. She must of necessity be my chore boy as well as my herd boy. In her leisure moments she holds down her kitchen claim; I don’t know how she does it, but she does. You had better let her do it; she will hold it against you if you don’t.” “But I couldn’t have a woman doing my grooming for me. Why, the very idea!” He sprang into the saddle.