“Yes—but not until she spoke first to me. I was still staring at her, amazed, for I knew that she did not live anywhere around here—at least with any one I know, and there’s few families in the State that I do not know. She said: “‘What is your name?’ “Just that and nothing more. Of course I told her. But that voice! It corresponded perfectly with her face and figure, rich, mellow, voluptuous—just such a voice as I believe Homer endowed the goddess Calypso with, when she was seeking to captivate Ulysses.” “Ha! ha! the invincible conquered—Fred Hawksley in love with the fair unknown!” “Laugh if you will, Ned Campbell,” was the sober reply. “I half-believe it myself. But as I said, I answered her. She did not speak again, but gave me a look—a glance that set my brain afire—my heart to throbbing like a trip-hammer. Then she touched the rein and shot off to the right, swift as an arrow. At a little distance she paused and raised one hand toward me. I was dumbfounded then, but since I believe that she meant it as a _challenge_ to me. I did mount Mott, but jaded as he was, I knew that he stood no chance in a race with that mustang. “Ned, as I rode slowly toward camp, the strange woman—whoever she may be—fairly rode round me, then with a clear, taunting laugh, gave loose rein and dashed away over the prairie like a bird. In five minutes, she was out of sight. Now you know all that I know about the matter.” “And you chose this camp in hopes of seeing her again?” “Well, no, not that exactly; and yet I did think of her. If we _do_ meet again, I’ll find out who she is, if it lies in old Mott’s limbs to carry me up to her. There’s some mystery ’bout the woman, that I’ve determined to unravel.” “Give old ‘buck-skin’ a fair show, with plenty of ground before him, and he’ll ride over the best mustang that ever scored turf in Texas.” “I believe he can,” and Hawksley glanced proudly toward the large, but nobly-shaped yellow horse that munched the grass at the timber’s edge. “Hark!” There was little need of the exclamation, for all, both human and quadruped, heard the sound that called it forth; the quick, rapid thud of a horse’s hoofs upon the solid prairie. All eyes were instantly turned toward the arch before alluded to. The rider—and a trained ear has but little difficulty in deciding whether a galloping horse is riderless—whoever it might be, was beyond the neck of timber, yet evidently approaching the bivouac. The hunters felt only curiosity, for they knew that only one horseman approached. Then a simultaneous cry broke from their lips. For a moment they appeared awe-stricken. Sitting a noble looking mustang beneath the leafy canopy, with form perfectly outlined against the still glowing sky in the west, was none other than the strange being who had formed the subject of conversation for the past half-hour. Her features were indistinctly visible, but there could be no mistake.