half-shuttered lids his opaque eyes glittered with excitement. Clearly
he was reviewing in his mind the progression of his triumph. Clay
restrained a good, healthy impulse to pick a row with him and go to the
mat with the ex-prize-fighter. But after all it was none of his
business.

The train was rolling through the cornfields of the Middle West when
the Arizonan awoke. He was up early, but not long before Kitty Mason,
who was joined at once by Durand.

"Shucks! Nothin' to it a-tall," the range-rider assured himself.
"That li'l' girl sure must have the number of this guy. She's flirtin'
with him to beat three of a kind, but I'll bet a dogie she knows right
where she's at."

Clay did not in the least believe his own argument. If he had come
from a city he would have dismissed the matter as none of his business.
But he came from the clean Southwest where every straight girl is under
the protection of every decent man. If she was in danger because of
her innocence it was up to him to look after her. There was no more
competent man in Graham County than Clay Lindsay, but he recognized
that this was a delicate affair in which he must move warily.

On his way to the diner at noon the range-rider passed her again. She
was alone for the moment and as she leaned back her soft round throat
showed a beating pulse. Her cheeks were burning and her starry eyes
were looking into the future with a happy smile.

"You pore little maverick," the man commented silently.