back of his neck; while at his forehead it was punctiliously parted, and
plastered down with precision.

Warden was not alone. At another window, her elbows on the sill, her
hands crossed, her chin resting on the knuckles of the upper one, sat a
woman.

She was young, slender, lissom. There was grace in every line of her,
and witchery in the eyes that watched Warden with a steady gaze. She
too, was hatless, seemingly conscious of the beauty of her hair, which
was looped and twisted into glistening strands that fell over her
temples and the back of her neck.

As she watched Warden, who was smiling at the empty corral, she withdrew
her elbows from the window-sill, twisted around, so that she faced
Warden, and idly twirled the felt hat that she took from her lap.

"Does something please you, Gary?" she asked with slight, bantering
emphasis.

Warden's smile broadened. "Well, I'm not exactly displeased."

"With Willets--and the rest of it?"

"With that corral--over there." He pointed.

"Why, it's empty!"

"That's why."