"I reckon there ain't any use asking you if you seen anything of
Wolf Leroy's outfit," said Forbes, a weather-beaten Westerner
with a shrewd, wrinkled face.
"No, I reckon there's no use asking me that," returned Collins,
with a laugh that deceptively seemed to include the older man in
the joke.
"We're after them for rustling a bunch of Circle 33 cows. Well,
I'll be moving. Glad you found the lady, Val. She don't look none
played out from her little trek across the desert. Funny, ain't
it, how she could have wandered that far and her afoot?"
The Arizona sun was setting in its accustomed blaze of splendor,
when Val Collins and Alice Mackenzie put their horses again
toward the ranch and the rainbow-hued west. In his contented eyes
were reflected the sunshine and a serenity born of life in the
wide, open spaces. They rode in silence for long, the gentle
evening breeze blowing in soughs.
"Did you ever meet a man of such promises gone wrong so utterly?
He might have been anything--and it has come to this, that he is
hunted like a wild beast. I never saw anything so pitiful. I
would give anything to save him.
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