With the other he raised the Stetson from his head. "Good evenin', Miss," he greeted, pleasantly. "Lost?" "No," she lied brazenly, "I came here on purpose--I--I like it here." She felt the lameness of the lie and her cheeks flushed. But the man showed no surprise at the statement, neither did he smile. Instead, he raised his head and gravely inspected the endless succession of mountains and valleys and timbered ridges. "It's a right nice place," he agreed. To her surprise the girl could find no hint of sarcasm in the words, nor was there anything to indicate the "desperate character" in the way he leaned forward to stroke his horse's mane, and remove a wisp of hair from beneath the headstall. It was hard to maintain her air of cold reserve with this soft-voiced, grave-eyed young stranger. She wondered whether a "desperate character" could love his horse, and felt a wild desire to tell him of her plight. But as her eyes rested upon the brown leather jug she frowned. The man shifted himself in the saddle. "Well, I must be goin'," he said. "Good evenin'." Patty bowed ever so slightly, as he replaced the Stetson upon his head and touched his horse lightly with a spur. "Come along, you Buck, you!" As the horse started down the steep descent on the other side of the divide a feeling of loneliness that was very akin to terror gripped the girl. The sunlight showed only upon the higher levels, and the prospect of spending the night alone in the hills without food or shelter produced a sudden chilling sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Oh! Please----" The buckskin turned in his tracks, and once more the man was beside her upon the ridge. "I _am_ lost," she faltered. "Only, I hated to admit it." "Folks always do. I've be'n lost a hundred times, an' I never _would_ admit it." "I started for the Watts's ranch. Do you know where it is?" "Yes, it's over on Monte's Creek." Patty smiled. "I could have told _you_ that. The trouble is, someone seems to have removed all the signs." "They ought to put 'em up again," opined the stranger in the same grave tone with which he had bid her good evening. "They told me in town that I was to take the left hand trail where it forked at the first creek beyond the canyon." The man nodded. "Yes, that about fits the case." "But I did take the trail that turned to the left up the first creek beyond the canyon, and I haven't seen the slightest intimation of a ranch." "No, you see, this little creek don't count, because most of the time it's dry; an' this ain't a regular trail. It's an' old winter road that was used to haul out cord wood an' timber. Monte's Creek is two miles farther on. It's a heap bigger creek than this, an' the trail's better, too. Watts's is about three mile up from the fork. You can't miss it. It's the only ranch there." "How far is it back to the trail?" asked the girl wearily.