“We’re in tin-can land, you know, and live on air-tights. I milk my cow with a can-opener. Let me recommend this quail on toast.” He handed her a battered tin plate, and prepared to help her from the frying-pan. “I suppose that is another name for pork?” “No, really. I happened to bag a couple of hooters before you wakened.” “You’re a missionary of the good-foods movement. I shall name your mission St. Sherry’s-in-the-Wilderness.” “Ah, Sherry’s! That’s since my time. I don’t suppose I should know my way about in little old New York now.” She found him eager to pick up again the broken strands that had connected him with the big world from which he had once come. It had been long since she had enjoyed a talk more, for he expressed himself with wit and dexterity. But through her enjoyment ran a note of apprehension. He was for the moment a resurrected gentleman. But what would he be next? She had an insistent memory of a heavenly flood of music broken by a horrible discord of raucous oaths. It was he that lingered over their breakfast, loath to make the first move to bring him back into realities; and it was she that had to suggest the need of setting out. But once on his feet, he saddled and packed swiftly, with a deftness born of experience. “We’ll have to ask Two-step to carry double to-day,” he said, as he helped her to a place behind him. Two-step had evidently made an end of the bronco spree upon which he had been the evening before, for he submitted sedately to his unusual burden. The first hilltop they reached had its surprise to offer the girl. In a little valley below them, scarce a mile away, nestled a ranch with its corrals and buildings. “Look!” she exclaimed; and then swiftly, “Didn’t you know it was there?” “Yes, that’s the Hilke place,” he answered with composure. “It hasn’t been occupied for years.” “Isn’t that some one crossing to the corral now?” “No. A stray cow, I reckon.” They dropped into a hollow between the hills and left the ranch on their left. She was not satisfied, and yet she had not grounds enough upon which to base a suspicion. For surely the figure she had seen had been that of a man. He let his horse take it easy, except when some impulse of mischief stirred him to break into a canter so as to make the girl put her arm round his waist for support. They stopped about noon by a stream in a cañon defile to lunch and rest the pony. “I don’t remember this place at all. Are we near home?” she asked. “About five miles. I reckon you’re right tired. It’s an unhandy way to ride.” Every mile took them deeper into the mountains, through winding cañons and over unsuspected trails, and the girl’s uneasiness increased with the wildness of the country. “Are you _sure_ we’re going the right way? I Don’t think we can be,” she suggested more than once. “Dead sure,” he answered the last time, letting Two-step turn into a blind draw opening from sheer cañon walls.