At the ford the girl took the trail to the uplands, deciding to visit
the farthest camp first, and then, if she had time, to call at one or
two other camps on her way back to the rancho. As the trail grew
steeper, she curbed the impatient Challenge to a steadier pace and rode
leisurely to the level of the timber. On the park-like level,
clean-swept between the boles of the great pines, she again put
Challenge to a lope until she came to the edge on the upper mesa. Then
she drew up suddenly and held the horse in.

Far out on the mesa was the figure of a man, on foot. Toward him came
a horse without bridle or saddle. She recognized the figure as that of
John Corliss, and she wondered why he was on foot and evidently trying
to coax a stray horse toward him. Presently she saw Corliss reach out
slowly and give the horse something from his hand. Still she was
puzzled, and urging Challenge forward, drew nearer. The stray, seeing
her horse, pricked up its ears, swung round stiffly, and galloped off.
Corliss turned and held up his hand, palm toward her. It was their old
greeting; a greeting that they had exchanged as boy and girl long
before David Loring had become recognized as a power to be reckoned
with in the Concho Valley.

"Peace?" she queried, smiling, as she rode up.

"Why not, Nell?"

"Oh, cattle and sheep, I suppose. There's no other reason, is there?"

Corliss was silent, thinking of his brother Will.

"Unless--Will--" she said, reading his thought.