Stephen had resolved never to speak of his past, of the golden opportunities lost, of the friends who would have helped if they could; but as he looked at her, at the slightly parted lips, at the frank sympathy that shone from her face, he knew that here was some one who could understand and perhaps help. Slowly at first, controlling the breaks in his voice, then more evenly, he told her of start after start, of the relatives who had disowned him, of drifting and drifting. “Now, here I am, running a hoist! Well, it is probably the best thing of which I am capable and I owe it to you and your father that I have so good a place. I have been tried and found wanting in almost every way the Lord could invent, and,” he tried rather unsuccessfully to smile, “I think I am down and out.” Jean reached out her hand to him, and pressed his warmly, with the proud confidence of not being misunderstood. “Mr. Loring, I do not believe it. You may have been and done all that you say, but you have still the battle ahead of you. I owe my life to you. You risked yours to save me. I will not let you go on throwing yourself away, without trying to help you. I thank you for what you have told me. I think that I understand. It is hard perhaps for a girl to realize the truth; but I do so want to help you! Here in Arizona you have a fresh chance. Go on and win—and never forget that I am going to stand by you.” Stephen set his teeth and looked straight ahead of him. Every nerve within him tingled with the desire to bow his head over the small hand that lay on his, to crave, he knew not what. Then he lifted his head and looked at her. “I will try—and God bless you!” So absorbed had the man and girl been in their talk, that they had failed to realize that the soft, swift night of Arizona was overtaking them. Clouds too were gathering in the west and obscuring the sunset before its time. Jean noticed it at length and took alarm. “We must turn and ride fast,” she said hastily. “My father will be worried if we are late. I think I remember this path which cuts into the trail again farther on and is a shorter way. Let us take it!” Without waiting for Loring’s assent, she dashed off to the left. Stephen followed her with some misgiving. He had known too much of the devious windings of these half-beaten paths and would have chosen the longer way around in confidence of its proving the shorter way home.