“How—­long has he been here?” Lucia wanted to know.

“Oh, before the war we agreed to try our fortune together down here,” “Red” told her; and the little machine went whirring along.  “That’s the Hardy ranch,” he said, pointing to the left.  “Nice folks.”  His eyes seemed to cling to the low house, and Lucia did not realize it at the time, but he slowed up the car.  Presently a young girl came out on the stone terrace and waved to him.  She was like a prairie flower.  “Red” Giddings became another man in the twinkling of an eye.  A flush mounted to his cheeks, and a smile as broad as a fat man’s belt all but encircled his countenance.  He took one hand from the wheel and waved until they were out of sight down a curve in the road.

“Friend of yours?” said Morgan Pell, smiling.

“You bet!  No finer little girl in this territory!” Giddings replied promptly.

They were now in sight of the Jones ranch.  “There she is!” “Red” cried. 
“Pretty, eh?”

The low adobe house, with its gleaming roof, looked like a jewel set in the valley.  Far away, seemingly to the very rim of the world, the flat lands stretched; and then beyond, in a golden haze, the stern mountains loomed, almost kissing the sky.  The range dwindled away in an endless line, and one could never say where the boundary of Arizona stopped and the unseen border of Mexico began.  The two countries simply merged in the mist.  It was as if a battalion of petrified soldiers kept eternal guard in the sun, half the line loping over into another camp, but never caring at all.  In the still heat of the afternoon, sagebrush lifted its bright face to the heavens; and now and then a lonely bird swooped above the rich ranches and desolate valleys, making a black dot against the sky.  A soft wind was blowing now, bringing mercy from the west, and silence brooded like an angel, stretching out its wings as though to shelter a troubled world.

A young man with black hair and tanned skin came out in the yard, hatless.  A gray flannel shirt and a flowing tie, high leggings that laced through many brass clips, completed his picturesque costume.

One look—­and she knew it was Gilbert—­her Gilbert.  He recognized her at the same instant, and a curious light came into his dark eyes.  She had been thinking, all the way down the road, how she should greet him if indeed he turned out to be that one man in the world.  Calmly, yes.  She was sure now that Morgan knew and suspected nothing.  It was simply a coincidence that they should be coming to the adobe of this old love of hers.  The long arm of fate had reached out and snatched her into this ring.  She knew that Gilbert could meet the situation as seemingly unconcerned as she.  There was nothing at all to fear.

He was their host, and he greeted them as only a good host knows how.  Fortunately, Morgan wanted to go directly to his room.  He was cross and tired, he said, and he desired to freshen up.