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 Down in the broad flat valley of the Arkansas a nurseryman could plant his apple seeds and set out his evergreens in long straight rows, laying the foundation for certain prosperity. It was a pleasant thought; it took away some of the bitterness of regret and sense of loneliness that came of having a man's blood on his hands.

Bill drew rein where the land fell away in long slope into the valley, the point from which he had seen the first glint of Moore's lights last night. The sun had been down half an hour, but the shank of the day was getting long, and there was no sense in killing any more time. He would kick up a little speed, go by on a lope, and trust to luck for passing unrecognized.

He was ashamed for Zora, and her part in the inhospitable treatment he had received under her roof, or in the shadow of it, to be more exact. She had done him a good and friendly turn, and he didn't want to humiliate her by meeting her now, after their letting him walk away from there that morning like a tramp. Even though she had laughed at him with the bow-legged cowboy she was a good girl at heart, and she sure did have a pretty chin.

Somebody was coming along behind him; he'd kick up a little dust and go on. A little way along Zora Moore came tearing up at a clip a good deal faster than his own. She was riding a blaze-faced roan that carried its neck stretched and its ears back like it was out of humor, although Bill couldn't see the point of its displeasure. Zora was riding straddle, the wind pressing her hat-brim back, and she was so handsome and