"Well," said the cowboy, as if resolved to do the best he could in the circumstances, "sometimes--maybe three or four times a year--it's weird. It's religious. The white peaks turn red as blood--that's why they're called Sangre de Cristo. It's Spanish for Blood of Christ. It makes you feel queer-like"--He paused a moment thoughtfully, watching the golden horse as it stepped quietly, lightly, with head high, just ahead of them. "The red comes onto Sangre de Cristo, an' Brinker sees it. He looks at the blood on the peaks, an' then at the gold horse lyin' there all torn an' dirty, an' this is what Brinker does, an' maybe he couldn't help it. He ups an' cuts the ropes, an' Sunnysides's off to his waitin' bunch, an' they all go snortin' down the valley." There was a touch of awe in the man's voice, and Marion felt a little of it too. She looked toward the serrated barrier of mountains, in the very middle of which stood old Thunder under his pall of cloud. Beyond lay San Luis--Sangre de Cristo--and what romance! Would she ever--Her eyes rested for a moment on the black pile that now, as always, fascinated and yet disturbed her. "And you?" she said at length, turning to the cowboy. "There wasn't no red sunset this time," the man answered, with a grim smile. "But we ain't slep' since," he added, with a return of weariness. "You caught him?" she asked admiringly. "Us three." "But what are you doing with him here?" "He's sold, if we c'n find the man't offered a thousand for him a year ago." "Who was he?" But she knew already. Some swift flash of intuition told her there was but one man in Paradise Park who-- "His name's Haig, an' he's--" "Philip Haig!" she murmured. "You know him?" "Yes--no. That is, I've heard of him." It was on her lips,--the explanation that the men had passed the branch road leading to Haig's ranch, that they were now riding away from it. But she hesitated. And why? She did not know then; but an hour later she would be reproaching herself bitterly for that moment's indecision. The words were almost spoken, but something checked them; and before she could make up her mind to follow her first natural impulse it was too late. The leader of the party turned in his saddle, and called to the man at Marion's side, who rode quickly forward and joined his companions. There was a conversation inaudible to her ears, and while she still pondered over her inexplicable hesitation the cowboys and the golden horse, followed by Marion, approached the group of squat, unpainted houses that bore without apology the name of Paradise. CHAPTER III SETH HUNTINGTON'S OPPORTUNITY