She laughed lightly, amused over the sudden change that she saw and felt in him. "Of course the gun-man doesn't really intend to kill the rustler," she said. "I don't believe I shall have any one killed in the story. The gun-man is merely attracted by the sum of money promised him by the ranch owner, and when he accepts it is only because he is in dire need of work. Don't you think that could be possible?" "That could happen easy in this country, ma'am," he returned. She laughed delightedly. "That vindicates my judgment," she declared. He was regarding her with unwavering eyes. "Is that gun-man goin' to be the hero in your story, ma'am?" he asked quietly. "Why, of course." "An' I'm to be him?" She gave him a defiant glance, though she blushed immediately. "Why do you ask?" she questioned in reply. "You need have no fear that I will compel my hero to do anything dishonorable." "I ain't fearin' anything," he returned. "But I'd like to know how you come to think of that. Do writers make them things up out of their own minds, or does someone tell them?" "Those things generally have their origin in the mind of the writer," she replied. "Meanin' that you thought of that yourself?" he persisted. "Of course." He lifted his foot from the rock and stood looking gravely at her. "In most of the books I have read there's always a villain. I reckon you're goin' to have one?" "There will be a villain," she returned. His eyes flashed queerly. "Would you mind tellin' me who you have picked out for your villain?" he continued. "I don't mind," she said. "It is Leviatt." He suddenly grinned broadly and held out his right hand to her. "Shake, ma'am," he said. "I reckon if I was writin' a book Leviatt would be the villain." She rose from the rock and took his outstretched hand, her eyes drooping as they met his. He felt her hand tremble a little, and he looked at it, marveling. She glanced up, saw him looking at her hand, swiftly withdrew it, and turned from him, looking down into the flat at the base of the hill. She started, uttering the sharp command: "Look!" Perhaps a hundred yards distant, sitting on his pony in a lounging attitude, was a horseman. While they looked the horseman removed his broad brimmed hat, bowed mockingly, and urged his pony out into the flat. It was Leviatt. On the slight breeze a laugh floated back to them, short, sharp, mocking. For a time they stood silent, watching the departing rider. Then Ferguson's lips wreathed into a feline smile. "Kind of dramatic, him ridin' up that-a-way," he said. "Don't you think puttin' him in the book will spoil it, ma'am?" CHAPTER XIII "DO YOU SMOKE?"