The last words trailed off into silence. And, with the little smile still on his face, Smiley Peterson crossed the Great Divide. Minutes later Rand Cameron, utterly unsuccessful in his efforts to console her, rose from beside the bitterly sobbing girl. He walked softly back to the group which had been watching them in silent sympathy. “McCoy,” he said in a low, hoarse voice, “I’m going to take Miss Dudley home. She’s been under too great a strain. I wish you’d bring back little Peterson when you come. I’ll leave these creatures to you, and”—his gray eyes burning into the steady pair that showed through the slits in the black hood before him—“you can use your own judgment!” McCoy threw back his mask. His gaze strayed to a big overhanging branch a little farther back beside the road. His jaw lightened grimly. “All right, chief,” he answered coolly. “Reckon everything’s all ready to take good care o’ them!” CHAPTER IX. THE AFTERGLOW. The afterglow of the sunset, welling up from behind the ridge of mountains along the western horizon, bathed the girl’s face in its soft, warm light. She was seated, cross-legged, on the outermost point of a narrow, jutting crest, and her gaze roamed out across the town of Ramapo, far below her, and the rolling, green velvet of Red Valley beyond. A little way behind her, her big roan, Ted, was peacefully nibbling at the scattered tufts of coarse mountain grass. She heard a step in back of her and turned quickly. A tall, curly-headed man was smiling down at her. His dusty clothes showed abundant evidences of long, hard riding, and he appeared to be exceedingly weary. But there was a quiet satisfaction in his eyes that seemed to overshadow everything else about him. “Rand!” She sprang to her feet, and her voice was glad. “Where have you been all this last week?” “I’ve been about twenty-five miles from here, Jeanne,” he replied, coming forward and taking her hand. “In fact, I was that far away until this very afternoon. Then I decided that there was nothing to keep me away from you any longer; and Baldy and I came back in a hurry.” His gray eyes looked into his blue ones; and, under the influence of that steady gaze, the blue ones dropped. Her cheeks became the color of the red rose. “Let’s sit down for a while, Jeanne,” he said, after a bit. “This is a pretty spot you’ve selected.” “Now,” she said severely, when they were seated, “perhaps you’ll let me know why you were so unkind as to rush off without telling me a word about it. I could not find out what had become of you.” Her smile of welcome, however, robbed the words of their pretended rebuke. “I went away for two reasons,” he answered slowly. “One was that I wanted to verify some information that I had received; the other was that I had something to say to you, Jeanne, and I felt that I couldn’t say it while you were under the—er—influence of certain—certain events that happened recently.” He was beginning to have a hard time of it.