originally the property of a grown man. Nan recognized the broad, freckled face, with its tousled head of tow- coloured hair, as belonging to a lad who did odd jobs at the hotel.
'Why, Timmie, what has brought you into this neck o' the woods?' she smiled.
'I was headin' for the ranch,' the boy explained, 'An' was havin' a rest--guess I dozed some'--rather sheepishly. 'See yu go by an' took out after yu. These blame' boots warn't made for runnin'--none whatever.'
'But you haven't walked, have you?'
'No'm, got the of mare back in the brush--Turkey said for me to borry her.' 'Turkey' was the name by which McTurk, the proprietor of Windy's one hotel, was universally known. 'She ain't much, but she was a good cow-hoss once, an' we all gotta git old, I reckon,' the boy added philosophically.
Nan divined the working of the youthful mind. 'Quite right of you to give her a rest,' she told him. 'But why were you going to the ranch?'
Timmie's face opened in an expansive grin. 'Well, darn my whiskers if I warn't near forgettin'; I've brung this for yu.' He dived into his one sound pocket and produced a somewhat crumpled and soiled envelope. 'Turkey tol' me to give it when yu was alone; I reckon I'm some lucky meetin' up with yu.'
The girl took the missive, saw that it bore her name and was marked 'Private.' A suspicion as to the identity of the sender fetched a warm flush to her cheeks, the effect of which the boy noted.
'She's as purty as a spotted pup,' was his unspoken criticism.
Somewhat to his disappointment, she tucked the letter unopened into the pocket of her shirt-waist.
'Mebbe there's an answer,' he suggested.
'Then I'll send one of the boys in with it,' Nan smiled. 'Now, Timmie, you must thank Mister McTurk for the trouble he has taken, and...'
The boy looked at the coin she slid into his hand.
'Shucks, Miss Nan, I don't want no pay doin' things for yu,' he protested manfully, for the sum was more than he earned in a week.
'That isn't pay, Timmie,' the girl explained. 'It's just a little present--something to buy cartridges with, so that you can kill that thieving old coyote I've heard about.'
For Timmie's mother was trying to raise chickens, a difficult proposition in a land where those lean grey prowlers of the night were prevalent. The boy brightened up--this altered the case; the money was bestowed where the letter had been.
'Yessir--miss, I mean; an' I bet I'll git that of pirut nex' time,' he said, and pulling a lock of hair--he had no hat--he went whistling cheerfully in search of the mare.
Nan rode on and presently pulled out the mysterious missive, studying it. She did not know the writing, but then, the man she had instantly thought of had never written to her. Tremulously she tore upon the envelope; the note inside appeared to be no more than a hurried scrawl, in pencil.
'DEAR NAN,
I am leaving the country--can't stand it any longer. Will you be at the old place to-morrow morning? Please come; I got to see you before I go.
LuCE.'
For a moment the girl thought her heart had ceased to function. He was going away--she would never see him again. In that instant she comprehended what this enemy of the Purdie family had come to mean to her. Though he had never spoken of it, she knew that Luce cared, and now, she too.... Hopeless as it all was, Nan felt that she must see him. Impulsively she swung off the trail, turning her pony's head in the direction of the glade.
It did not take her long to reach the place; one glance told her no one was there, and her feeling of disappointment frightened her; life without Luce was going to be harder than she had feared. Trying to account for his absence, she remembered that no time had been specified. Also, the writer could not have foreseen that his messenger would meet her on the way, thus enabling her to reach the glade earlier than he might expect. She decided to wait; that such an act might be unmaidenly did not occur to her frank, open nature.
Seated upon the fallen tree, she took out the note again; it was the nearest approach to a love-letter she had ever received, and a sad little smile trembled upon her lips as she read and re-read it. So absorbed was she that a faint rustling of the bushes behind failed to attract her attention --until too late. She turned only to encounter a blackness which blotted out the sunshine, and the suffocating folds of a blanket which was being drawn around her head. At the same moment her wrists were gripped, forced together, and tied. Then, despite her resistance, she was dragged along the ground, lifted to the back of a horse, which, following a gruff command, began to move.
With a sinking heart she divined that she had fallen into a trap, baited by a letter which was not from Luce. Who were the abductors? A sudden chill came over her as she remembered that only one man knew of their meetings in the glade. King Burdette! She recalled his threats and his hatred for her father; it could be no other. One grain of comfort presented itself--her lover was not leaving the country.
She had no means of ascertaining where she was being taken, but the fact that her mount swished through long grass, slipped and slithered down stony declivities, and that branches brushed against her body, indicated that they were travelling a new or little-used route. Occasionally, when a mis-step on the part of her steed caused her to sway in the saddle, a hand gripped her arm. She gathered that there were several in her escort, but they spoke little, and then only in low tones so that words and voices were indistinguishable.
Nearly choked by the stifling folds of the blanket and wearied by the constant effort to stay in the saddle, the ride proved exhausting enough to the prisoner. At length, however, it came to an end. Lifted down, she was led into a building, up some stairs, and, following a curt order, subsided upon a seat of sorts. Then the blanket was removed and she looked into the grinning, triumphant face of King Burdette. He bowed mockingly.
'Welcome to the Circle B, Miss Purdie,' he said. 'The invite was a trifle pressin' mebbe, but it shows how eager we were to have yu.'
The girl faced him with stormy, undaunted eyes. 'What do you expect to gain by this outrage?' she asked.
'Just everythin' I want, honey,' he replied. 'An' that, o' course, includes yu.'
Her gesture was contemptuous. 'You must be mad,' she told him. 'How long do you think you can keep me here without it being known, and what will the men in town do to you when they hear?'
He smiled. 'I ain't aimin' to make a secret of it, an' the fellas won't do a thing when they hear that yu came of yore own accord,' he said.
'Do you imagine they'll believe that lie?'
'Why not? Yu won't be able to tell 'em any different. When yo're my wife
Her scornful, incredulous laugh moved him, but his face showed no sign of it. His insolent, appraising eyes travelled over her from head to foot, taking in the supple slimness of her rounded form, the youthful beauty of her features, weighing her up as he might have done a horse he contemplated buying. Under that searching scrutiny Nan felt the hot blood flame in her cheeks; she could not know that beneath his cold exterior the man's heart was pounding with passion, and that she had never been in greater danger. Burdette nodded slowly as he continued :
'That is, o' course, if I decide to concede yu a ceremony,' he said carelessly. 'So far, it hasn't been my custom, but in yore case it may suit me, even though yu are a Purdie.'
If he expected this outrageous insult to cow the girl he was woefully mistaken. Nan came of a fighting stock--the daughter of a woman who had dared the dangers of the wilderness and fought Indians side by side with her man, was not of the breed to scare easily.
'You unspeakable beast,' she cried, and the disgust in voice and look roused a demon of rage in him.
'Yu said it,' he snarled. 'I'll make that good.'
With the speed of a striking snake his arms shot out, clutching her round the waist, raising and drawing her writhing form to his. In that grip of steel she was well-nigh powerless, but as the leering, lustful face neared her own she lifted her bound fists and brought them down full upon it. She expected he would kill her, but King Burdette only laughed in savage glee.
'That's the spirit,' he cried. 'Fight, my beauty, fight; I love yu for it. I don't give a damn for woman or hoss without some devil.'
A quick snatch with his left hand imprisoned her wrists, forced them down, and she was helpless. Sick with
