"Keep it some more. Sit here rotting in your chair till she goes away.
Maybe she's gone."

"What's that?" said Lin. But still she only laughed harshly. "I could be
there by to-morrow night," he murmured. Then his face softened. "She

would never do such a thing!" he said, to himself.
He had forgotten the woman at the table. While she had told him matters

that concerned him he had listened eagerly. Now she was of no more
interest than she had been before her story was begun. She looked at his

eyes as he sat thinking and dwelling upon his sweetheart. She looked at
him, and a longing welled up into her face. A certain youth and heavy

beauty relighted the features.
"You are the same, same Lin everyways," she said. "A woman is too many

for you still, Lin!" she whispered.
At her summons he looked up from his revery.

"Lin, I would not have treated you so."
The caress that filled her voice was plain. His look met hers as he sat

quite still, his arms on the table. Then he took his turn at laughing.
"You!" he said. "At least I've had plenty of education in you."

"Lin, Lin, don't talk that brutal to me to-day. If yus knowed how near I
come shooting myself with 'Neighbor.' That would have been funny!

"I knowed yus wanted to tear that pistol out of my hand because it was
hern. But yus never did such things to me, fer there's a gentleman in you

somewheres, Lin. And yus didn't never hit me, not even when you come to
know me well. And when I seen you so unexpected again to-night, and you

just the same old Lin, scaring Lusk with shooting them chickens, so comic
and splendid, I could 'a' just killed Lusk sittin' in the wagon. Say,

Lin, what made yus do that, anyway?"
"I can't hardly say," said the cow-puncher. "Only noticing him so

turruble anxious to quit me--well, a man acts without thinking."
"You always did, Lin. You was always a comicalgenius. Lin, them were

good times."
"Which times?"

"You know. You can't tell me you have forgot."
"I have not forgot much. What's the sense in this?"

"Yus never loved me!" she exclaimed.
"Shucks!"

"Lin, Lin, is it all over? You know yus loved me on Bear Creek. Say you
did. Only say it was once that way." And as he sat, she came and put her

arms round his neck. For a moment he did not move, letting himself be
held; and then she kissed him. The plates crashed as he beat and struck

her down upon the table. He was on his feet, cursing himself. As he went
out of the door, she lay where she had fallen beneath his fist, looking

after him and smiling.
McLean walked down Box Elder Creek through the trees toward the stable,

where Lusk had gone to put the horse in the wagon. Once he leaned his
hand against a big cotton-wood, and stood still with half-closed eyes.

Then he continued on his way. "Lusk!" he called, presently, and in a few
steps more, "Lusk!" Then, as he came slowly out of the trees to meet the

husband he began, with quiet evenness, "Your wife wants to know--" But he
stopped. No husband was there. Wagon and horse were not there. The door

was shut. The bewildered cow-puncher looked up the stream where the road
went, and he looked down. Out of the sky where daylight and stars were

faintly shining together sounded the long cries of the night hawks as
they sped and swooped to their hunting in the dusk. From among the trees

by the stream floated a cooler air, and distant and close by sounded the
splashing water. About the meadow where Lin stood his horses fed, quietly

crunching. He went to the door, looked in, and shut it again. He walked
to his shed and stood contemplating his own wagon alone there. Then he

lifted away a piece of trailing vine from the gate of the corral, while
the turkeys moved their heads and watched him from the roof. A rope was

hanging from the corral, and seeing it, he dropped the vine. He opened
the corral gate, and walked quickly back into the middle of the field,

where the horses saw him and his rope, and scattered. But he ran and
herded them, whirling the rope, and so drove them into the corral, and

flung his noose over two. He dragged two saddles--men's saddles-- from
the stable, and next he was again at his cabin door with the horses

saddled. She was sitting quite still by the table where she had sat
during the meal, nor did she speak or move when she saw him look in at

the door.
"Lusk has gone," said he. "I don't know what he expected you would do, or

I would do. But we will catch him before he gets to Drybone."
She looked at him with her dumb stare. "Gone?" she said.

"Get up and ride," said McLean. "You are going to Drybone."
"Drybone?" she echoed. Her voice was toneless and dull.

He made no more explanations to her, but went quickly about the cabin.
Soon he had set it in order, the dishes on their shelves, the table

clean, the fire in the stove arranged; and all these movements she
followed with a sort of blank mechanicalpatience. He made a small bundle

for his own journey, tied it behind his saddle, brought her horse beside
a stump. When at his sharp order she came out, he locked his cabin and

hung the key by a window, where travellers could find it and be at home.
She stood looking where her husband had slunk off. Then she laughed.

"It's about his size," she murmured.
Her old lover helped her in silence to mount into the man's saddle--this

they had often done together in former years--and so they took their way
down the silent road. They had not many miles to go, and after the first

two lay behind them, when the horses were limbered and had been put to a
canter, they made time quickly. They had soon passed out of the trees and

pastures of Box Elder and came among the vast low stretches of the
greater valley. Not even by day was the river's course often discernible

through the ridges and cheating sameness of this wilderness; and beneath
this half-darkness of stars and a quarter moon the sage spread shapeless

to the looming mountains, or to nothing.
"I will ask you one thing," said Lin, after ten miles.

The woman made no sign of attention as she rode beside him.
"Did I understand that she--Miss Buckner, I mean--mentioned she might be

going away from Separ?"
"How do I know what you understood?"

"I thought you said--"
"Don't you bother me, Lin McLean." Her laugh rang out, loud and forlorn--

one brief burst that startled the horses and that must have sounded far
across the sage-brush. "You men are rich," she said.

They rode on, side by side, and saying nothing after that. The Drybone
road was a broad trail, a worn strip of bareness going onward over the

endless shelvings of the plain, visible even in this light; and
presently, moving upon its grayness on a hill in front of them, they made

out the wagon. They hastened and overtook it.
"Put your carbine down," said McLean to Lusk. "It's not robbers. It's

your wife I'm bringing you." He spoke very quietly.
The husband addressed no word to the cow-puncher "Get in, then," he said

to his wife.
"Town's not far now," said Lin. "Maybe you would prefer riding the balance

of the way?"
"I'd--" But the note of pity that she felt in McLean's question overcame

her, and her utterance choked. She nodded her head, and the three
continued slowly climbing the hill together.

From the narrows of the steep, sandy, weather-beaten banks that the road
slanted upward through for a while, they came out again upon the

immensity of the table-land. Here, abruptly like an ambush, was the whole
unsuspected river close below to their right, as if it had emerged from

the earth. With a circling sweep from somewhere out in the gloom it cut
in close to the lofty mesa beneath tall clean-graded descents of sand,

smooth as a railroad embankment. As they paused on the level to breathe
their horses, the wet gulp of its eddies rose to them through the

stillness. Upstream they could make out the light of the Drybone bridge,
but not the bridge itself; and two lights on the farther bank showed