scorner of danger, and a bad man to fool with--that was the whole of a
record hardly won. The man's eyes hardened, his lips set firmly, as this
truth came crushing home. A pretty life story surely, one to be proud of,
and with probably no better ending than an Indian bullet, or the flash of
a revolver in some barroom fight.

The narrow valley along which he was travelling suddenly changed its
direction, compelling him to climb the rise of the ridge. Slightly below
the summit he halted. In front extended the wide expanse of the Arkansas
valley, a scene of splendor under the golden rays of the sun, with vivid
contrast of colors, the gray of rocks, the yellow of sand, the brown of
distant hills, the green of vegetation, and the silver sheen of the stream
half hidden behind the fringe of cottonwoods lining its banks. This was a
sight Keith had often looked upon, but always with appreciation, and for
the moment his eyes swept across from bluff to bluff without thought
except for its wild beauty. Then he perceived something which instantly
startled him into attention--yonder, close beside the river, just beyond
that ragged bunch of cottonwoods, slender spirals of blue smoke were
visible. That would hardly be a camp of freighters at this hour of the
day, and besides, the Santa Fe trail along here ran close in against the
bluff, coming down to the river at the ford two miles further west. No
party of plainsmen would ever venture to build a fire in so exposed a
spot, and no small company would take the chances of the trail. But surely
that appeared to be the flap of a canvas wagon top a little to the right
of the smoke, yet all was so far away he could not be certain. He stared
in that direction a long while, shading his eyes with both hands, unable
to decide. There were three or four moving black dots higher up the river,
but so far away he could not distinguish whether men or animals. Only as
outlined against the yellow sand dunes could he tell they were advancing
westward toward the ford.