So they sat about in the great room, black with the darkness of the soft spring night, and like the true worshippers they were, they did not speak. Only the red butts of their cigarettes glowed and faded, to glow again and again fade out. Tharon sat curled in the window, her graceful limbs drawn up to her chin, her eyes half closed, her keen ears open like a forest creature's. She was listening for the marked rhythm of the great El Rey, the clap-clap, clap-clap of the king of Last's Holding as he singlefooted down the hollow slopes of the lifting eastern range. And as she waited she thought of many things. Odd little happenings of her childhood came back to her--the time she had caught her father killing the winter's beef, had wept in hysterical pity and forbidden him to finish. They had had no meat those long months following--and she had so tired of beans, that she had never been able to eat them since. She smiled in the dusk as she recalled Jim Last's life-long indulgence of her. And the time she had wanted to make her own knee-short dresses as long as Anita's, to sweep the floors, with fringe upon them and stripes of bright print. She had worn them so--at twelve--until she found that they hindered the free use of her young limbs in mounting a horse, free-foot and bareback. Then, once again the memory of her father's face when she questioned him concerning her mother. "Boys," she said suddenly, smiling to herself, "did you ever know a man like my dad?" There was a movement among the lounging riders, a shifting of position, a striking of cigarette ash. "No, sir," said Billy promptly, "there hain't another man's good with a gun as him, not anywhere's in Lost Valley. Not even Buck Courtrey himself. I'd back Jim Last against him, even, in fair-draw. Why?" "Oh, nothin'," said the girl, "only--listen--Glory!" she added slipping down from the window to stand quietly in the gloom, "that's him now! I was wishin' hard he'd come. Say--listen----Why,--there's somethin' gone wrong with El Rey's feet! 1--2----3, 4, 5, 6----1--2--Boys--he's breakin'! Th' king ain't singlefootin' right, for th' first time since Jim Last put a halter on him! Come--come quick!" Ordinarily Tharon was a bit slow in her movements, as the very graceful often are. Now she was across the room to the western door before a man had moved. They joined her there and she stood at attention, one hand at her breast, the breath held still in her throat. The light, shining through from the eating room beyond, made a halo of her tawny hair. Silently the riders grouped about her and listened.