Her head was bowing to the inevitable. She was grasping the truth, when suddenly there came, in inward constriction, a hardening of gentle forces within her breast. Like a steel bar it was stiffening all that had been soft and weak in her. She felt a birth in her of something new and unintelligible. Once more her strained gaze sought the sage-slopes. Jane Withersteen loved that wild and purple wilderness. In times of sorrow it had been her strength, in happiness its beauty was her continual delight. In her extremity she found herself murmuring, “Whence cometh my help!” It was a prayer, as if forth from those lonely purple reaches and walls of red and clefts of blue might ride a fearless man, neither creed-bound nor creed-mad, who would hold up a restraining hand in the faces of her ruthless people. The restless movements of Tull’s men suddenly quieted down. Then followed a low whisper, a rustle, a sharp exclamation. “Look!” said one, pointing to the west. “A rider!” Jane Withersteen wheeled and saw a horseman, silhouetted against the western sky, coming riding out of the sage. He had ridden down from the left, in the golden glare of the sun, and had been unobserved till close at hand. An answer to her prayer! “Do you know him? Does any one know him?” questioned Tull, hurriedly. His men looked and looked, and one by one shook their heads. “He’s come from far,” said one. “Thet’s a fine hoss,” said another. “A strange rider.” “Huh! he wears black leather,” added a fourth. With a wave of his hand, enjoining silence, Tull stepped forward in such a way that he concealed Venters. The rider reined in his mount, and with a lithe forward-slipping action appeared to reach the ground in one long step. It was a peculiar movement in its quickness and inasmuch that while performing it the rider did not swerve in the slightest from a square front to the group before him. “Look!” hoarsely whispered one of Tull’s companions. “He packs two black-butted guns—low down—they’re hard to see—black akin them black chaps.” “A gun-man!” whispered another. “Fellers, careful now about movin’ your hands.” The stranger’s slow approach might have been a mere leisurely manner of gait or the cramped short steps of a rider unused to walking; yet, as well, it could have been the guarded advance of one who took no chances with men. “Hello, stranger!” called Tull. No welcome was in this greeting only a gruff curiosity. The rider responded with a curt nod. The wide brim of a black sombrero cast a dark shade over his face. For a moment he closely regarded Tull and his comrades, and then, halting in his slow walk, he seemed to relax. “Evenin’, ma’am,” he said to Jane, and removed his sombrero with quaint grace.