Then into the dark eyes of the stranger--as when he had watched the cowboy at the Burnt Ranch--there came that look of wistful admiration and envy.
And at this, as if the man had somehow made himself known, the horseman relaxed his attitude of tense readiness.

The hand that had held the bridle rein to command instant action of his horse, and the hand that had rested so near the rider's hip, came together on the saddle horn in careless ease, while a boyish smile of amusement broke over the young man's face.
That smile brought a flash of resentment into the eyes of the other and a flush of red darkened his untanned cheeks.

A moment he stood; then with an air of haughty rebuke he deliberately turned his back, and, seating himself again, looked away over the landscape.
But the smiling cowboy did not move.

For a moment as he regarded the stranger his shoulders shook with silent, contemptuous laughter; then his face became grave, and he looked a little ashamed.

The minutes passed, and still he sat there, quietly waiting.
Presently, as if yielding to the persistent, silent presence of the horseman, and submitting reluctantly to the intrusion, the other turned, and again the two who were so like and yet so unlike faced each other.
It was the stranger now who smiled.