precedent, was free from fly specks.

She recalled the scene at the Notch: the sickening sway of the car; the
heavy, brutal features of the bandit, who seemed to have risen from the
ground; the unexpected appearance of the young cowboy, the flash of his
rope, and a struggling form whirling through the brush.

And she had said "please" when she had asked the young cowboy to let the
man go. He had refused. She thought Western men more gallant. But what
difference did that make? She would never see him again. The young
cowboy had seemed rather nice, until just toward the last. As for the
other man--she shivered as she wondered what would have happened if the
cowboy had not arrived when he did.

It occurred to her that she had never been refused a request in her life
until that afternoon. And the fact piqued her. The fate of the tramp was
a secondary consideration now. She and her mother were safe. The car
would have to be repaired; but that was unimportant. The fact that they
were stranded in a real desert town, with Indians and cowboys in the
streets, and vistas such as she had dreamed of shimmering in the
afternoon sun, awakened an erstwhile slumbering desire for a draught of
the real Romance of the West, heretofore only enjoyed in unsatisfying
sips as she read of the West and its wonder trails.

A noise in the street attracted her attention. She stepped to the
window. Just across the street a tall, heavy man was unlocking a door in
a little adobe building. Near him stood the young cowboy whom she had
not expected to see again. And there was the tramp, handcuffed and
strangely white of face. The door swung open, and the tall man stepped
back. The tramp shuffled through the low doorway, and the door was