We visited outlying ranches, water-holes, old adobe houses famous in one way or another as scenes of past fights of rustlers and ranchers.
We rode to the little village of Sampson, and half-way to Sanderson, and all over the country.
There was no satisfying Miss Sampson with rides, new places, new faces, new adventures.

And every time we rode out she insisted on first riding through Linrock; and every time we rode home she insisted on going back that way.
We visited all the stores, the blacksmith, the wagon shop, the feed and grain houses--everywhere that she could find excuse for visiting.

I had to point out to her all the infamous dens in town, and all the lawless and lounging men we met.
She insisted upon being shown the inside of the Hope So, to the extreme confusion of that bewildered resort.
I pretended to be blind to this restless curiosity.

Sally understood the cause, too, and it divided her between a sweet gravity and a naughty humor.
The last, however, she never evinced in sight or hearing of Diane.
It seemed that we were indeed fated to cross the path of Vaughn Steele.
We saw him working round his adobe house; then we saw him on horseback.
Once we met him face to face in a store.
He gazed steadily into Diane Sampson's eyes and went his way without any sign of recognition.

There was red in her face when he passed and white when he had gone.
That day she rode as I had never seen her, risking her life, unmindful of her horse.
Another day we met Steele down in the valley, where, inquiry discovered to us, he had gone to the home of an old cattleman who lived alone and was ill.
Last and perhaps most significant of all these meetings was the one when we were walking tired horses home through the main street of Linrock and came upon Steele just in time to see him in action.
It happened at a corner where the usual slouchy, shirt-sleeved loungers were congregated.