A hundred feet from the entrance they rode round a great slide of rock into a tiny valley containing a group of buildings. He swung from the horse and offered a hand to help her dismount. A reckless, unholy light burned in his daring eyes. “Home at last, Miss Messiter. Let me offer you a thousand welcomes.” An icy hand seemed to clutch at her heart. “Home! What do you mean? This isn’t the Lazy D.” “Not at all. The Lazy D is sixty miles from here. This is where I hang out—and you, for the present.” “But—I don’t understand. How dare you bring me here?” “The desire for your company, Miss Messiter, made of me a Lochinvar.” She saw, with a shiver, that the ribald eyes were mocking her. “Take me back this instant—this instant,” she commanded, but her imperious voice was not very sure of itself. “Take me home at once, you liar.” “I expect you don’t quite understand,” he exclaimed, with gentle derision. “You’re a prisoner of war, Miss Messiter.” “And who are you?” she faltered. But before he spoke she found an answer to her question, found it by a flash of divination she could never afterward explain. “You’re the man I met at Fraser’s dance—the man they call the King of the Bighorn country.” He accepted identification with an elaborate bow. “Correct, ma’am. I’m Ned Bannister the king.” An instant before she had been sitting rigid with a face of startled fear, but as he spoke a great wave of joy beat into her heart. For if this man were the terror of the country the one she had left wounded at her house could not be. She forgot that she was herself in peril, forgot everything in the swift conviction that the man she loved was an honest gentleman and worthy of her. The man standing by the horse could not understand the light that had so immediately leaped to her eyes. Even _his_ vanity hesitated at the obvious deduction that she had already succumbed to his attractions. “But I don’t understand-0that isn’t your real name, is it? I know another man who calls himself Ned Bannister.” He laughed scornfully. “My cousin, the sheepherder. Yes, that’s his name, too. We both have a right to it.” “Your cousin?” The familiarity in him that had been haunting her all day and that had deceived her at the dance was now explained. It was her lover of which this man reminded her. Now that she had been given the clue she could trace kinship in manner, gait and appearance. “I’m not proud of my mealy-mouthed namesake,” he replied. “Nor he of you, I am sure,” she quickly answered. “I dare say not. But won’t y’u ’light, Miss Messiter?” She slipped immediately to the ground beside him. Her eyes looked him over with quiet scorn. “From first to last you have done nothing but lie to me. When we were out last night you knew that ranch was close at hand. You lied to me again when you said it was deserted.”