At last she drew back from him; and instantly his arms were unlocked. She was free! Not a second of time would he clasp her unwillingly. Neither had spoken. Nor, after resetting the saddle, when he took her again in his arms and lifted her, as he would a little child, upon her horse, did they speak. Only when the ranch buildings--outlined against the darkness--showed dimly before them, and they knew that the ride was at an end, did he voice what was uppermost in his mind. “Yo’ don’t---- Yo’ ain’t---- Oh, my pretty, yo’ ain’t mad at me, are yo’?” “No, Mesquite,” came the softly whispered answer. “I’m glad o’ that. Shore, I didn’t mean fur to go an’ do sech a thing; but---- Gawd! I couldn’t help it.” * * * * * But when lifting her down at the ranch-house gate he would have again held her sweetness a moment within his clasp, Miss Glendower (she was once again Miss Glendower of the great world) let her cool, steady voice slip between: “The letter I got tonight is from the man I am to marry in a week. He will be here tomorrow. But, I want to tell you---- Mesquite---- I want you to know that I--I shall always remember this ride of ours. Always.” Mesquite did not answer. “Good-night, Mesquite.” She waited. Still there was no reply. Mesquite led the horses away and Miss Glendower turned and went into the house. Being an uneducated cowboy he was remiss in many matters of courtesy. * * * * * When Lawrence Irving arrived at the Madison ranch, his host, in the list of entertainment he was offering the Bostonian, promised an exhibition of bronco riding that would stir even the beat of that serene gentleman’s well regulated pulse. “This morning,” said Madison, “I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to get my star bronco buster out for your edification, Lawrence, for the boys have been telling me that he has been ‘hitting the jug’ pretty lively down at the store for the past twenty-four hours (he’s never been much of a drinker, either), but when I told him Miss Glendower wanted to show you the convolutions of a bucking horse, it seemed to sober him up a bit, and he not only promised to furnish the thrills, but to do the business up with all the trimmings on--for he’s going to ride ‘Sobrepaso,’ a big, blaze-face sorrel that they call ‘the man killer,’ and that every vaquero in the country has given up unconquered. Mesquite himself refused to mount him again, some time ago; but today he is in a humor that I can’t quite understand--even allowing for all the bad whiskey that he’s been getting away with--and seems not only ready but eager to tackle anything.” “I’m grateful to you, Rob,” began Irving, “for----” “Oh, you’ll have to thank Audrey for the show! Mesquite is doing it solely for her sake. He has been her abject slave ever since she came.”