There lay the town in the splendor of Wyoming space. Around it spread the watered fields, westward for a little way, eastward to a great distance, making squares of green and yellow crops; and the town was but a poor rag in the midst of this quilted harvest. After the fields to the east, the tawny plain began; and with one faint furrow of river lining its undulations, it stretched beyond sight. But west of the town rose the Bow Leg Mountains, cool with their still unmelted snows and their dull blue gulfs of pine. From three canyons flowed three clear forks which began the river. Their confluence was above the town a good two miles; it looked but a few paces from up here, while each side the river straggled the margin cottonwoods, like thin borders along a garden walk. Over all this map hung silence like a harmony, tremendous yet serene. “How beautiful! how I love it!” whispered the girl. “But, oh, how big it is!” And she leaned against her lover for an instant. It was her spirit seeking shelter. To-day, this vast beauty, this primal calm, had in it for her something almost of dread. The small, comfortable, green hills of home rose before her. She closed her eyes and saw Vermont: a village street, and the post-office, and ivy covering an old front door, and her mother picking some yellow roses from a bush. At a sound, her eyes quickly opened; and here was her lover turned in his saddle, watching another horseman approach. She saw the Virginian’s hand in a certain position, and knew that his pistol was ready. But the other merely overtook and passed them, as they stood at the brow of the hill. The man had given one nod to the Virginian, and the Virginian one to him; and now he was already below them on the descending road. To Molly Wood he was a stranger; but she had seen his eyes when he nodded to her lover, and she knew, even without the pistol, that this was not enmity at first sight. It was not indeed. Five years of gathered hate had looked out of the man’s eyes. And she asked her lover who this was. “Oh,” said he, easily, “just a man I see now and then.” “Is his name Trampas?” said Molly Wood. The Virginian looked at her in surprise. “Why, where have you seen him?” he asked. “Never till now. But I knew.” “My gracious! Yu’ never told me yu’ had mind-reading powers.” And he smiled serenely at her. “I knew it was Trampas as soon as I saw his eyes.” “My gracious!” her lover repeated with indulgent irony. “I must be mighty careful of my eyes when you’re lookin’ at ’em.” “I believe he did that murder,” said the girl. “Whose mind are yu’ readin’ now?” he drawled affectionately. But he could not joke her off the subject. She took his strong hand in hers, tremulously, so much of it as her little hand could hold. “I know something about that--that--last autumn,” she said, shrinking from words more definite. “And I know that you only did--” “What I had to,” he finished, very sadly, but sternly, too.