And now she was free, wholly free. The tentacle that had been reached out to draw her back had been cast away. Tonight's renunciation had burned the last bridge to that which had been; Dick Hilton, she believed, would never again be an active influence in her life. She could not--perhaps fortunately--foretell how mistaken this belief actually would prove to be. She did not know the intensity of a man's jealousy, particularly when Fate has tricked him of his most valued prize. Nor could she foresee those events which would impell her to send for Hilton, to call him back, and the wells of misery which that action would tap! To-night he was gone, and she was even strong enough to rise above loathing and pity him for the failure he was. Just one fact of him remained. Again she heard his ominous prediction, pronounced on his first visit there: You cannot stand alone! You will fail! You will come back to me! She knew, now, that she would never return to him, but there were other possibilities as disastrous. Could she meet this new life and beat it and make in it a place for herself? Was her faith in herself strong enough to outride the defeat which very possibly confronted her? She did not know.... Outside the rain drummed and the cottonwoods, now in full leaf, sighed as the wind bowed their water weighted branches. She went to the window and looked out, searching the darkness for movement. There was none but he was not far away she knew.... Her fingers again sought the locket and she lifted it quickly, holding it pressed tightly against her mouth. "It's all there, locked up in a little gold disc!" CHAPTER X A MATTER OF DIRECTION If Dick Hilton had not been bewildered by passion, jealousy and rage at thwarted desires, he might have known that his horse was not taking the homeward way, and had the horse not been bred and raised by one of Colonel Hunter's mares he might have carried his rider straight back to Ute Crossing. But he was a canny little beast, he was cold and drenched, the trip to town was long and the range on which he had spent his happy colthood was not far off. Horses know riders before riders know horses so, as he went through the gate, he slyly tried out this rider and instead of swinging to the right he bore to the left. He went tentatively through the pitch darkness, one ear cocked backward at first but when Hilton, collar up, hat down, bowed before the storm, gave no evidence of detecting this plan, the beast picked up his rapid walk and took the trail for the nearer, more satisfactory place where many times in the past he had stood out such downpours with no great discomfort under the shelter of a spreading cedar.