“That’s bad. That’ll worry me. But, Lassiter, now you’re here I’m glad to see you. And—and my companion here is not a young fellow!... Bess, this is a friend of mine. He saved my life once.” The embarrassment of the moment did not extend to Lassiter. Almost at once his manner, as he shook hands with Bess, relieved Venters and put the girl at ease. After Venters’s words and one quick look at Lassiter, her agitation stilled, and, though she was shy, if she were conscious of anything out of the ordinary in the situation, certainly she did not show it. “I reckon I’ll only stay a little while,” Lassiter was saying. “An’ if you don’t mind troublin’, I’m hungry. I fetched some biscuits along, but they’re gone. Venters, this place is sure the wonderfullest ever seen. Them cut steps on the slope! That outlet into the gorge! An’ it’s like climbin’ up through hell into heaven to climb through that gorge into this valley! There’s a queer-lookin’ rock at the top of the passage. I didn’t have time to stop. I’m wonderin’ how you ever found this place. It’s sure interestin’.” During the preparation and eating of dinner Lassiter listened mostly, as was his wont, and occasionally he spoke in his quaint and dry way. Venters noted, however, that the rider showed an increasing interest in Bess. He asked her no questions, and only directed his attention to her while she was occupied and had no opportunity to observe his scrutiny. It seemed to Venters that Lassiter grew more and more absorbed in his study of Bess, and that he lost his coolness in some strange, softening sympathy. Then, quite abruptly, he arose and announced the necessity for his early departure. He said good-by to Bess in a voice gentle and somewhat broken, and turned hurriedly away. Venters accompanied him, and they had traversed the terrace, climbed the weathered slope, and passed under the stone bridge before either spoke again. Then Lassiter put a great hand on Venters’s shoulder and wheeled him to meet a smoldering fire of gray eyes. “Lassiter, I couldn’t tell Jane! I couldn’t,” burst out Venters, reading his friend’s mind. “I tried. But I couldn’t. She wouldn’t understand, and she has troubles enough. And I love the girl!” “Venters, I reckon this beats me. I’ve seen some queer things in my time, too. This girl—who is she?” “I don’t know.” “Don’t know! What is she, then?” “I don’t know that, either. Oh, it’s the strangest story you ever heard. I must tell you. But you’ll never believe.” “Venters, women were always puzzles to me. But for all that, if this girl ain’t a child, an’ as innocent, I’m no fit person to think of virtue an’ goodness in anybody. Are you goin’ to be square with her?” “I am—so help me God!” “I reckoned so. Mebbe my temper oughtn’t led me to make sure. But, man, she’s a woman in all but years. She’s sweeter’n the sage.” “Lassiter, I know, I know. And the _hell_ of it is that in spite of her innocence and charm she’s—she’s not what she seems!”