"Will was what God and Nelly made him, Myra; and I--if I'm fairly decent it's because Mary took me in hand in time.

Men are mostly what you women make 'em, anyway, I reckon." "Don't forget that you and Mrs.Oakley are coming for supper to-morrow," she called after him.
"No danger of our forgetting that," he answered.

"Adios!" And the chestnut loped easily out of the yard.
Myra Willard kept her place on the porch until the sound of the horse's galloping feet died away down the canyon.

But, as she listened to the vanishing sound of the Ranger's going, her eyes were looking far away--as though his words had aroused in her heart memories of days long past.

When the last echo had lost itself in the thin mountain air, she went into the house.
Standing before the small mirror that served--in the rude, almost camp-like furnishings of the house--for both herself and Sibyl, she studied the face reflected there--turning her head slowly, as if comparing the beautiful unmarked side with the other that was so hideously disfigured.