“Good,” cried both the boys at once, and they came laughingly forward to present her the pretty new weapon. James cleared his throat preparatory to making a presentation speech, and as the words “In behalf of” were said, Bess threw her arms about his neck and then placed both her hands over his mouth. “Thanks, Henry, it is a perfect beauty,” said Bess, as she accepted the gun. As she read engraved on one side of the handle, her name, “Bess Fletcher” and on the other, _HW_ brand, she extended her hand and happy tears filled her eyes. Both men demanded that she give the pistol a trial, and both were really astonished to see how quickly she used it and how accurate were her aim and judgment of distance. “See, I have the pocket in my skirt all ready for it,” and the gun slid into the ingenious opening near the waist, leaving only the handle inconspicuously exposed. “You see, I was determined to win, although I really cannot see what possible use it can ever be to me. I could not bear to shoot a bird, and as far as defense, what can harm me, Henry?” “I have carried a gun here on the range always,” remarked West, as he drew one from his holster, “and I have never used it but once, and that was to shoot a rattlesnake which put up a fight. See, here are the rattles,—eleven and the button.” Taking off his hat he showed the interested pair where he wore it on his hat-band. “Another time I had it drawn and cocked, but,”—he paused; “but—I replaced it.” Bess saw him bite his lip as if the memory of the incident, even, filled him with hate. Neither asked what the occasion was, but as he carefully looked at the weapon his face told them that he might use it again. He thrust it back into its leathern receptacle, giving the holster a firm pat, as if to assure himself the gun was secure—and ready. Bess had remounted her horse and gone back to the house to show the prize to Mrs. West. As she left them, James turned to West, who was re-adjusting one of his stirrups before remounting. The three had come a short distance from the house for the shooting exhibition, and now James and West were going on to gather up some running horses which he wished to get in shape for the races to be held within the next few days. “Henry,” began James, as he walked to the man standing near Eagle, “why can’t you tell me what troubles you? You are not like your old self, not one bit. I have seen it ever since my return, and of late your mood is becoming worse. Is it anything which I could help—if it is, tell me, and you know I’ll do anything under God’s sun to help you, old boy.” He placed a friendly arm about the dark, silent man’s shoulder, and with a gentle pat or two rested it there. He noted the sudden dilation of the wide nostrils, heard the teeth as they ground together and caught a hopeful expression in the dark, deep eyes as they were lifted to his face for a moment.