Myra's Prayer and the Ranger's Warning That same afternoon, while Sibyl Andres was making music for Aaron King in the spring glade, Brian Oakley, on his way down the canyon, stopped at the old place where Myra Willard and the girl were living.

Riding into the yard that was fenced only by the wild growth, he was greeted cordially by the woman with the disfigured face, who was seated on the porch.
"Howdy, Myra," he called in return, as he swung from the saddle; and leaving the chestnut to roam at will, he went to the porch, his spurs clinking softly over the short, thick grass.
"Where's Sibyl ?" he asked, seating himself on the top step.
"I'm sure I don't know, Mr.Oakley," the woman answered, smiling.

"You really didn't expect me to, did you ?" The Ranger laughed.

"Did she take gun, basket, rod or violin?
If I know whether she's gone shooting berrying, fishing or fiddling, it may give me a clue--or did she take all four ?" The woman watched him closely.

"She took only her violin.