And her reply. "I--I don't know, Ellis."

For a few days after that she had avoided him and secretly had been a little afraid of him. But she had always gone back because there was something about him that drew her back.

Now, as she studied his profile, she knew that her answer was the only one she could have given. She hadn't known and she still didn't know.

Ellis turned suddenly and Barbara glanced quickly away.

"Race you!" he said.

"Oh, Ellis--"

"Come on!"

He touched his knees to his horse and Barbara accepted the challenge.

Side by side they thundered down the Trail, and Barbara let the reins slacken while, with an almost fierce will, she urged her horse on. She wanted to win. But she could not win. Her mount was good, but Ellis's was better. He drew ahead, widened the gap between them, and as soon as he was ten yards in the lead he stopped and turned to grin.

"I win!"

"You should, with that horse."

Ellis said, and Barbara had an easy feeling that her father would have said it in almost the same way, "He's as good as there is. It's the sort of horse a man should have. Want to ride him?"

"I'd love to!"

They changed mounts, Ellis holding hers even while he shortened the stirrups for her. Barbara felt the huge horse beneath her and knew a sudden wild thrill. She had heard of the delights of horsemanship, but until now she had never really tasted them. The horse stood still but, standing, he communicated his surging, latent power to his rider.

Barbara had a giddy feeling that, if she let him run and did not restrain him, he could run clear to the end of the world. The horse turned its head to look at her with gentle eyes, but he responded at once when she wanted him to. His gait was so soft and easy that Barbara had a strange sense of floating, and she had not ridden a hundred yards before she knew that this horse was hers completely, and that he would do whatever she wanted him to do. She turned a teasing face to Ellis.

"Let's race now!"

They were off again, Barbara little more than a feather's weight in the saddle while the horse seemed to develop an eagle's wings. It was purest joy, unmarred delight, but when Barbara thought she had left Ellis far in the rear and looked around, he was almost at her heels. She had the better horse, but he was the better rider. Barbara reined her horse to a walk.

"I win!"

"You'll win anything with King. How do you like him?"

"He's wonderful!"

"He certainly is."

Again they rode side by side, all softness gone and easy intimacy reigning.

Ellis pa.s.sed her a slip of paper. "Your dance card."

She unfolded the paper and read, "First dance, Ellis. Second dance, Ellis. Third dance, Ellis. Fourth dance--" There were twenty dances, with Ellis as her partner for every one. She looked at him in mock indignation.

"I'm supposed to fill my dance card!"

He grinned. "No harm in hinting, is there?"

"You're impossible!"

"I've always been."

They laughed again, and the horses p.r.i.c.ked their ears forward. Following their intent gaze, the pair saw a cavalry patrol come around a hill and, when they drew nearer, Sergeant Dunbar greeted them. Barbara warmed at the sight of her old friend.

"h.e.l.lo!"

"h.e.l.lo!" they called in unison.

The patrol reined in, the six privates who accompanied Dunbar gloomy and sullen because they would miss the New Year's festivities at Laramie.

For the moment, Barbara recognized no familiar face among them.

Dunbar's eyes twinkled as he glanced from Barbara to Ellis.

"Going to Laramie?" he asked.

"Um-hum," Barbara said happily. "We're going to the dance there."

Dunbar barked, "Jankoski and Gearey, stay in line!"

Barbara found herself face to face with Hugo Gearey. At sight of him her heart lurched.

He removed his hat and bowed. Then, turning to Dunbar he said, with strict military formality, "Sergeant Dunbar, may I have five minutes alone with Miss Tower? I have an important message for her."

Dunbar scowled. "Barbara, is it your wish to talk with Private Gearey for five minutes?"

Barbara was torn. She knew that Gearey was not to be trusted, yet with all these men around to protect her--and if he did have a message--

She replied primly, "Five minutes should be ample."

Gearey behind her, Barbara rode on down the path until they were out of earshot but still in full view of the others.

Then she turned to him. "Well?"

He chewed his lip. "Can't we get out of sight of those blasted--"

"Your message?" she interrupted.

He saw that she would not be swayed. He drew a deep breath. "Barbara--I never got to see you again, to apologize for the ugly way I behaved that night. I want you to know that I have the deepest regard, the deepest respect for you. I hope you'll give me an opportunity to prove this. May I see you--soon?"

His voice was deep and warm. He seemed so terribly in earnest. Could it be that she had misjudged him? She wavered, and he saw that he had gained ground.

"I won't urge you now," he said humbly. "But I'll come down to Snedeker's when this patrol is over, and--" He dropped his voice until it was little more than a vibrant whisper, "You will see me, Barbara?

Just for an hour?"

Again she hesitated, some inner devil prompting, "_You are not promised to Ellis. Why not see him--just for an hour?_" She tossed her head and said, with an effort at indifference, "Possibly. I don't promise." Then she reined her horse around and galloped back to the others.

Ellis watched her coming with burning eyes, and he glared murderously at Gearey. Hugo's face was noncommittal and entirely friendly as he took his place in line. The meeting had been, for Hugo, a great piece of luck.

Barbara saw that Ellis was on the verge of an outburst, but she felt he had no right to one, and she would not placate him. She averted her gaze to look at Dunbar. He asked, "Your family is at Snedeker's, eh?"