There was an angry start in one or two of the seats; one man caught at the swinging side-strap and half rose, a husky voice began, “It’s a d——­d”—­and then all as suddenly subsided.  Every eye was turned to an insignificant figure in the back seat.  It was a woman, holding a child on her lap, and gazing out of the window with her sex’s profound unconcern in politics.  Clarence understood the rude chivalry of the road well enough to comprehend that this unconscious but omnipotent figure had more than once that day controlled the passions of the disputants.  They dropped back weakly to their seats, and their mutterings rolled off in the rattle of the wheels.  Clarence glanced at the Missourian; he was regarding the red-bearded miner with a singular curiosity.

The rain had ceased, but the afternoon shadows were deepening when they at last reached Fair Plains, where Clarence expected to take horse to the Rancho.  He was astonished, however, to learn that all the horses in the stable were engaged, but remembering that some of his own stock were in pasturage with a tenant at Fair Plains, and that he should probably have a better selection, he turned his steps thither.  Passing out of the stable-yard he recognized the Missourian’s voice in whispered conversation with the proprietor, but the two men withdrew into the shadow as he approached.  An ill-defined uneasiness came over him; he knew the proprietor, who also seemed to know the Missourian, and this evident avoidance of him was significant.  Perhaps his reputation as a doubtful Unionist had preceded him, but this would not account for their conduct in a district so strongly Southern in sympathy as Fair Plains.  More impressed by the occurrence than he cared to admit, when at last, after some delay, he had secured his horse, and was once more in the saddle, he kept a sharp lookout for his quondam companion.  But here another circumstance added to his suspicions:  there was a main road leading to Santa Inez, the next town, and the Rancho, and this Clarence had purposely taken in order to watch the Missourian; but there was also a cutoff directly to the Rancho, known only to the habitues of the Rancho.  After a few moments’ rapid riding on a mustang much superior to any in the hotel stables, he was satisfied that the stranger must have taken the cut-off.  Putting spurs to his horse he trusted still to precede him to the Rancho—­if that were his destination.

As he dashed along the familiar road, by a strange perversity of fancy, instead of thinking of his purpose, he found himself recalling the first time he had ridden that way in the flush of his youth and hopefulness.  The girl-sweetheart he was then going to rejoin was now the wife of another; the woman who had been her guardian was now his own wife.  He had accepted without a pang the young girl’s dereliction, but it was through her revelation that he was now about to confront the dereliction of his own wife.  And this was the reward of his youthful trust and loyalty!  A bitter laugh broke from his lips.  It was part of his still youthful self-delusion that he believed himself wiser and stronger for it.