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Yet even Lanty was obliged to admit the next morning that all this was somewhat incongruous with the baking of “corn dodgers,” the frying of fish, the making of beds, and her other household duties, and dismissed the stranger from her mind until he should “happen along.” In her freer and more acceptable outdoor duties she even tolerated the advances of neighboring swains who made a point of passing by “Foster’s Ranch,” and who were quite aware that Atalanta Foster, alias “Lanty,” was one of the prettiest girls in the country. But Lanty’s toleration consisted in that singular performance known to herself as “giving them as good as they sent,” being a lazy traversing, qualified with scorn, of all that they advanced. How long they would have put up with this from a plain girl I do not know, but Lanty’s short upper lip seemed framed for indolent and fascinating scorn, and her dreamy eyes usually looked beyond the questioner, or blunted his bolder glances in their velvety surfaces. The libretto of these scenes was not exhaustive, e.g.:–

The Swain (with bold, bad gayety). “Saw that shy schoolmaster hangin’ round your ridge yesterday! Orter know by this time that shyness with a gal don’t pay.”

Lanty (decisively). “Mebbe he allows it don’t get left as often as impudence.”

The Swain (ignoring the reply and his previous attitude and becoming more direct). “I was calkilatin’ to say that with these yer hoss-thieves about, yer filly ain’t safe in the pasture. I took a turn round there two or three times last evening to see if she was all right.”

Lanty (with a flattering show of interest). “No! DID ye, now? I was jest wonderin”‘–

The Swain (eagerly). “I did–quite late, too! Why, that’s nothin’, Miss Atalanty, to what I’d do for you.”

Lanty (musing, with far off-eyes). “Then that’s why she was so awful skeerd and frightened! Just jumpin’ outer her skin with horror. I reckoned it was a b’ar or panther or a spook! You ought to have waited till she got accustomed to your looks.”

Nevertheless, despite this elegant raillery, Lanty was enough concerned in the safety of her horse to visit it the next day with a view of bringing it nearer home. She had just stepped into the alder fringe of a dry “run” when she came suddenly upon the figure of a horseman in the “run,” who had been hidden by the alders from the plain beyond and who seemed to be engaged in examining the hoof marks in the dust of the old ford. Something about his figure struck her recollection, and as he looked up quickly she saw it was the owner of the dagger. But he appeared to be lighter of hair and complexion, and was dressed differently, and more like a vaquero. Yet there was the same flash of his teeth as he recognized her, and she knew it was the same man.

Alas for her preparation! Without the knife she could not make that haughty return of it which she had contemplated. And more than that, she was conscious she was blushing! Nevertheless she managed to level her pretty brown eyebrows at him, and said sharply that if he followed her to her home she would return his property at once.

“But I’m in no hurry for it,” he said with a laugh,–the same light laugh and pleasant voice she remembered,–“and I’d rather not come to the house just now. The knife is in good hands, I know, and I’ll call for it when I want it! And until then–if it’s all the same to you–keep it to yourself,–keep it dark, as dark as the night I lost it!”

“I don’t go about blabbing my affairs,” said Lanty indignantly, “and if it hadn’t BEEN dark that night you’d have had your ears boxed–you know why!”