No, she could not leave a crippled man to die alone, even though he were her enemy. That was the goal to which her circling thoughts came always home, and with a sob she turned her horse’s head. It was a piece of soft-headed folly, she confessed, but she could not help it. So back she went and found him lying just where she had left him. His derisive smile offered her no thanks. She doubted, indeed, whether he felt any sense of gratitude. “Y’u didn’t break your neck hurrying,” he said. She made her confession with a palpable chagrin. “I meant to ride away. I rode a mile or two. But I had to come back. I couldn’t leave you here alone.” His eyes sparkled triumphantly. She saw that he had misunderstood the reason of her return, that he was pluming himself on a conquest of his fascinated victim. “One couldn’t leave even a broken-legged dog without help,” she added, quietly. “So how could we expect a woman to leave the man she’s getting ready to love?” She let her contemptuous eyes rest on him in silence. “That’s right. Look at me as if I were dirt under your feet. Hate me, if it makes y’u feel better. But y’u’ll have to come to loving me just the same.” “Can you get on without help?” she asked, ranging the pony alongside him. “Yes.” He dragged himself to the saddle and smiled down at her. “So y’u better make up your mind to that soon as convenient.” Disdaining answer, she walked in front of the pony down the trail. She was tired, but her elastic tread would not admit it to him. For she was dramatizing unconsciously, with firmly clenched fingers that bit into her palms, the march of the unconquerable. Evening had fallen before they reached the ranch. It was beautifully still, except for the call of the quails. The hazy violet outline of the mountains came to silhouette against the skyline with a fine edge. As they passed the pony corral he spoke again. “I’ll never forget to-day. I’ve got it fenced from all the yesterdays and to-morrows. I have surely enjoyed our little picnic.” “Nor will I forget it,” she flung back quickly, as she followed him into the house. “For I never before met a man wholly incapable of gratitude and entirely lacking in all the elements that go to distinguish a human being from a wolf.” He turned to speak to her, and as he did so a quiet voice cautioned him: “Don’t move, seh, except to throw up your hands.” At the sound of that pleasant drawl Helen’s heart jumped to her throat. Jim McWilliams, half seated on the edge of the table, was looking intently at Bannister, and there was a revolver in his hand. On the other side of the room sat Morgan and the Cheyenne woman, apparently in charge of the young giant Denver. Bannister’s hands went up, even as he whirled with a snarl toward the man Morgan. “I told y’u to watch out, y’u muttonhead!” “But y’u clean forgot to remember to watch out your own self,” spoke up McWilliams, unbuckling the belt from the waist of his new captive.