“I see it is utterly useless to offer anything but my thanks, Mrs. West.” Davis held out his hand to her and turning to the girl he added, “And may I send more roses?” As he took his departure a moment later, Mrs. West asked Bess if she would ride as far as Polson with Mr. Davis and bring the mail. There did not seem any plausible excuse to offer for not wishing to go, and Davis gladly waited until she had donned her riding habit and a man had brought Mauchacho from the stables. What a delight to the eye was the tall, lithe form, with its becoming green skirt and soft, fluffy waist. The sombrero was tied on securely with her long, white, silky veil, that caressed the pink cheeks. Long gauntlet gloves with fringed ends dangling, and a dainty quirt, gave her an added touch of individuality. She spurned the proffered assistance to mount, and had gained the saddle before it was fairly given. The little dread which she had at first felt at riding the three miles with Mr. Davis had left her, for somehow the indescribable feeling she had, when he first came, had completely vanished, and she knew that she was again complete mistress of herself—she was the generalissimo! The horses’ hoofs filled her ears with music as the two rode along, almost without a word, and by the time they reached Polson’s she was completely at ease and all the passion and fear of the past hour were, for the time, at least, forgotten. Mr. White, seeing their approach, brought the packet of letters out to Bess, who eagerly examined them. At one, her face lighted up with beautiful happiness, and she cried out: “Oh, goody—one at last from Bee!” After a few desultory remarks to Mr. White, Davis turned his horse to go. Lifting his hat to Miss Fletcher, now buried in the pages of a voluminous letter, he spoke so low that he doubted if she heard, she gave a nod and smile to his, “Remember, the roses are only for you!” Bess crowded the pages of the letter into its envelope, and thrusting all the mail into her blouse she leaned forward with a quick command to Mauchacho, who almost instantly caught the girl’s eagerness and sped like the wind along the border of the lake for home. Davis turned in the saddle, resting his hand on his horse’s back, to watch with admiration the beautiful rider. The long, white veil was now streaming far behind her like some dainty, fleecy cloud, trying to keep pace with a fleeing nymph. There was no movement to her body, and she seemed to be flying through space. Davis’ hand unconsciously restrained his horse, who was now standing perfectly still. He watched the girl ride out of sight behind a low hill, and when he again resumed his journey he was filled with greater determination than ever to win her at any cost.