“Coffee at the ranch,” Jack answered.

In their expeditious preparations for departure he hummed no snatches of song as a paean of stretching muscles and the expansion of his being with the full tide of the conscious life of day; and this, too, was contrary to custom.

Before it was fairly light they were on the road, with Jack urging P.D. forward at a trot.  The silence was soft with the shimmer of dawn; all glistening and still the roofs and trees of Little Rivers took form.  The moist sweetness of its gardens perfumed the fresh morning air in greeting to the easy traveller, while the makers of gardens were yet asleep.

It was the same hour that Mary had hurried forth after her wakeful night to stop the duel in the arroyo.  As Jack approached the Ewold home he had a glimpse of something white, a woman’s gown he thought, that disappeared behind the vines.  He concluded that Mary must have risen early to watch the sunrise, and drew rein opposite the porch; but through the lace-work of the vines he saw that it was empty.  Yet he was positive that he had seen her and that she must have seen him coming.  She was missing the very glorious moment which she had risen to see.  A rim of molten gold was showing in the defile and all the summits of the range were topped with flowing fire.

“Mary!” he called.

There was no answer.  Had he been mistaken?  Had mental suggestion played him a trick?  Had his eyes personified a wish when they saw a figure on the steps?

“Mary!” he called again, and his voice was loud enough for her to have heard if she were awake and near.  Still there was no answer.

The pass had now become a flaming vortex which bathed him in its far-spreading radiance.  But he had lost interest in sunrises.  A last backward, hungry glance over his shoulder as he started gave him a glimpse through the open door of the living-room, and he saw Mary leaning against the table looking down at her hands, which were half clasped in her lap, as if she were waiting for him to get out of the way.

Thus he understood that he had ended their comradeship when he had broken through the barrier on the previous afternoon, and the only thing that could bring it back was the birth of a feeling in her greater than comradeship.  His shoulders fell together, the reins loosened, while P.D., masterless if not riderless, proceeded homeward.

“Hello, Jack!”

It was the greeting of Bob Worther, the inspector of ditches, who was the only man abroad at that hour.  Jack looked up with an effort to be genial and found Bob closely studying his features in a stare.

“What’s the matter, Bob?” he asked.  “Has my complexion turned green over night or my nose slipped around to my ear?”

“I was trying to make out if you do look like him!” Bob declared.

“Like whom?  What the deuce is the mystery?”

“What—­why, of course you’re the most interested party and the only Little Riversite that don’t know about it, seh!”