“Seein’ things!” she laughed jerkily, with a little catch in her throat.  “I’ll ride it off!”

Quickly she stepped over, picked up the saddle, bridle and blanket, returned to the corral gate, swung it open and entered.

The Gold Dust maverick came to her, as if eager, herself, to get out into the night.

A moment later Carolyn June was in the saddle and the mare, dancing lightly, pranced out of the gate.  She turned swiftly toward the grade that led out to the bench and to Eagle Butte.  They had almost reached the foot of the grade, when some impulse caused Carolyn June to whirl the filly about and gallop back past the barn and down the lane toward the Cimarron.

As the feet of the outlaw mare splashed into the water at the lower ford the Ramblin’ Kid rode past the corner of the upland pasture fence and stopped Captain Jack on the brink of the ridge looking down at the crossing.  Below him the river whirled in dark eddies under the overhanging curtains of cottonwoods and willows; the Quarter Circle KT lay in the hollow of the valley, like a faint etching of silent restfulness; through the tops of the trees a white splash of moonlight struck on the smooth level surface of the treacherous quicksand bar that had drawn Old Blue down to an agonizing death and from which, scarcely a month ago, the Ramblin’ Kid had dragged Carolyn June.

This, the Ramblin’ Kid believed, was his last long look at the Quarter Circle KT.

He would ride down to the circular corral, turn out the Gold Dust maverick—­give her again to the range and freedom—­and while the unconscious sleepers at the ranch dreamed he would pass on, silently, toward the south and Mexico should throw about him her black arms of mystery!

For a while he sat and gazed down on the shadowy scene while his mind throbbed with memory of the incidents of the last few weeks.  He drew the pink satin garter from his pocket, looked at it a long moment—­suddenly crushed it tightly in his hand while his eyes closed as if renouncing a vision that had come before them—­then carefully, that the dainty thing might not be lost, replaced it in the pocket that was over his heart.

At last he swung to the ground and tightened the front cinch of his saddle.

As he pulled the leather into place the sound of nervous hoofs kicking the gravel on the grade that led to the ridge on which he stood shattered the silence around him.  The Ramblin’ Kid whirled and faced the direction in which the approaching horse, would appear.  His hand dropped to his gun and without raising the weapon from his hip he leveled it to cover the turn in the road a few feet away.

The waxy mane of the outlaw filly rocked into view as she sprang up and around the turn on to the ridge.

On the maverick’s back, bareheaded, her brown hair tumbled about her neck, was Carolyn June.

Captain Jack pricked forward his ears at the sound of hoofs and as the beautiful mare leaped around the turn and appeared above the bank of the grade the little roan squealed a nicker of recognition.  The filly sprang forward, swerved to the side of the stallion, and with an answering whinny stopped.