He led the way to the door, stepped back and let her enter. As she did so she passed close to him and caught the scent of him, the clean soft smell of shaving soap, blended with the aroma of good tobacco. That, too, was different. Inside the cabin there was a sense of comfort, of brightness. The long pennants, like captured rainbows, tacked to the rough walls, the soft toned prints, the gay cushions, all these lent an air of permanence, of home, that she had never before seen in a man's cabin. She stood and looked all around with that same half-insolent stare which had greeted Kenset at the Holding that memorable day. Then she went slowly forward and sat down in the big chair by the table. The man stood in her presence for a moment, thereby giving a subtle effect of deference which was not wholly lost upon Tharon, though she would have been at a loss to define it. Then, he, too, sat down on the edge of the table desk in the corner, and with folded arms waited while she finished her scrutiny of the interior. "I am proud of my home, Miss Last," he said presently. "What do you think of it?" "I think," said Tharon slowly, "that it looks like there's a woman somewhere." This time Kenset laughed in earnest, a ringing peal that startled El Rey at the doorstep, and made him clink his bit-chains. "There is," said the man, "assuredly." Tharon turned her head and looked quickly over her shoulder. "Where?" she asked in surprise. "There in my big chair." "Oh--I meant a woman livin' here, th' woman who owns the pretties." And she waved a hand at the gay furnishings. "No," said Kenset, "these are all my own pretties. I have books, as you see, and my maps and several more pictures to put up, not to mention some Mexican pottery that I brought from Ciudad Juarez, and my chiefest treasure, a tapestry from France. That last I can't decide upon. I have two splendid spaces--over there between the northern windows, facing the door, and yonder at the end. Perhaps you will be good enough to help me choose." There was a boyish eagerness in his voice. "Will you? After a while, I mean, when you have rested from your ride." "Rested?" Tharon looked at him in wonder. That ride had been like wine to her, a stimulant, a thing that sent the blood pounding in her veins. Over the excitement had fallen a subtle shade, however, a hush, with the sight of Bolt so close behind El Rey. If it had not been for that grave thing she would have felt like a wound-up spring, intent with energy, filled with action. She was always so when El Rey ran beneath her. And this stranger spoke of rest! Tharon Last could ride all day without a thought of rest. "Sure," she said, "I'll help you if I can. But what's this thing?"