under his breath.

The peculiar nature of this mission which he had taken upon himself had
been recalled. He was always doing something like that--permitting
himself to become involved in the affairs of others. Now why should he
be here, riding alone through the dark to prevent this unknown girl
from reaching Devere? She was nothing to him--even that glimpse of her
pictured face had not impressed him greatly; rather interesting, to be
sure, but nothing extraordinary; besides he was not a woman's man, and,
through years of isolation, had grown to avoid contact with the
sex--and he was under no possible obligation to either McDonald or
Travers. Yet here he was, fully committed, drawn into the vortex, by a
hasty ill-considered decision. He was tired still from his swift
journey across the desert from Fort Union, and now faced another three
days' ride. Then what? A headstrong girl to be convinced of danger,
and controlled. The longer he thought about it all, the more intensely
disagreeable the task appeared, yet the clearer did he appreciate its
necessity. He chafed at the knowledge that it had become his
work--that he had permitted himself to be ensnared--yet he dug his
spurs into the mustang and rode steadily, grimly, forward.

The real truth was that Hamlin comprehended much more fully than did
the men at Devere the danger menacing travellers along the main trail
to Santa Fé. News reached Fort Union much quicker than it did that
isolated post up on the Cimarron. He knew of the fight in Raton Pass,
and that two stages within ten days had been attacked, one several
miles east of Bent's Fort. This must mean that a desperate party of
raiders had succeeded in slipping past those scattered army details
scouting into the Northwest. Whether or not these warriors were in any
considerable force he could not determine--the reports of their