"Why," he exclaimed, "I have seen her. I was only a boy; it was twenty years ago. That was down at Horseshoe; why, bless your soul, I fell head over heels in love with her! I can tell you how she dressed and how she looked. Big blue eyes; golden hair; a pink dress; a great big picture-hat, with ribbons. I was only eight or nine years old, but forget? Never!" "My father married her down in Horseshoe! That was the first time he ever saw her and he didn't let her get away! Dick Brooke; maybe you have heard of him, too? If so you won't ask why the daughter of Olymphe Labelle and Dick Brooke has it in her veins to mingle with the first of the crowd when there's word of a new strike!" There was scarcely a community in all Arizona or New Mexico, certainly none within the broad scope of the great southwestern plateau country, which had not in its time, a generation ago, paid tribute to the gaiety and grace and beauty of Olymphe Labelle. She danced for them; she sang; she went triumphantly from one mining town or lumber-camp to another and men went mad over her. They packed the houses in which she appeared; they spent their money generously to see her, and night after night, captivated, they tossed to the stage under her pretty high-heeled feet both raw and minted gold. Olymphe was to this country what Lotta was to the camps of California in an earlier day. Then young Dick Brooke, a stalwart and hot-blooded young miner, saw her and that was the end of Olymphe's dancing career. They were married within ten days. And from this union was sprung the superb young creature now sitting upon an adventurer's door-step and looking straight up into his eyes. "You see, it is only the thing to be expected, after all, that I should follow the gleam!" She, like himself, was young and eager and unafraid and adventuresome; and within her pulsing arteries was that pioneer blood which, trickling down through the generations is ever prone to set recklessness seething. There was a man coming up through the pines on horseback. In the gloom all detail was wanting. But obviously he meant to come straight on to the cabin. Deveril, seeing this intent, stepped by the girl and a couple of paces forward. The man, sitting in a strange, sideways fashion in the saddle, drew rein and peered at him. "Name of Deveril? Babe Deveril?" "Right, friend. What's your trouble?" "Offering to shake hands, to begin with. I'm Winch; Billy Winch. You and me know each other." He leaned outward from the saddle, putting out his hand. But Deveril ignored it, saying coolly: "Why should I shake hands with you? You and I are not friends that I know of!"