It was dark before he reached the canyon gates.  In the blackness of the gorge, with only the light of a narrow strip of stars overhead, he was forced to ride more slowly.  But his confidence that he would find her at the Ranger Station had increased as he approached the scenes of her girlhood home.  To go to her friends, seemed so inevitably the thing that she would do.  A few miles farther, now, and he would see her.  He would tell her why he had come.  He would claim the love that he knew was his.  And so, with a better heart, he permitted his tired horse to slacken the pace.  He even smiled to think of her surprise when she should see him.

It was a little past nine o’clock when the artist saw, through the trees, the lights in the windows at the Station, and dismounted to open the gate.  Hiding up to the house, he gave the old familiar hail, “Whoo-e-e.”  The door opened, and with the flood of light that streamed out came the tall form of Brian Oakley.

“Hello!  Seems to me I ought to know that voice.”

The artist laughed nervously.  “It’s me, all right, Brian—­what there is left of me.”

“Aaron King, by all that’s holy!” cried the Ranger, coming quickly down the steps and toward the shadowy horseman.  “What’s the matter?  Anything wrong with Sibyl or Myra Willard?  What brings you up here, this time of night?”

Aaron King heard the questions with sinking heart.  But so certain had he come to feel that the girl would be at the Station, that he said mechanically, as he dropped wearily from his horse to grasp his friend’s hand, “I followed Sibyl.  How long has she been here?”

Brian Oakley spoke quickly; “Sibyl is not here, Aaron.”

The artist caught the Ranger’s arm.  “Do you mean, Brian, that she has not been here to-day?”

“She has not been here,” returned the officer, coolly.

“Good God!” exclaimed the other, stunned and bewildered by the positive words.  Blindly, he turned toward his horse.

Brian Oakley, stepping forward, put his hand on the artist’s shoulder.  “Come, old man, pull yourself together and let a little light in on this matter,” he said calmly.  “Tell me what has happened.  Why did you expect to find Sibyl here?”

When Aaron King had finished his story, the other said, still without excitement, “Come into the house.  You’re about all in.  I heard Doctor Gordan’s ‘auto’ going up the canyon to Morton’s about an hour ago.  Their baby’s sick.  If Sibyl was on the road, he would have passed her.  I’ll throw the saddle on Max, and we’ll run over there and see what he knows.  But first, you’ve got to have a bite to eat.”

The young man protested but the Ranger said firmly, “You can eat while I saddle; come.  I wish Mary was home,” he added, as he set out some cold meat and bread.  “She is in Los Angeles with her sister.  I’ll call you when I’m ready.”  He spoke the last word from the door as he went out.