In short, you rode across Texas and you saw wild life…. But nothin’, my daughter, compared to what you will see heah in New Mexico the next decade—if you stay.”

“If I stay?” she echoed, with a curious intentness.

“Yes. Because I meant it to be a matter of your own choice,” he went on, swiftly. “Rustlers—that is the western name for cattle-thieves—and a horde of hardened men of differin’ types will ride into New Mexico. There will be fightin’, Holly…. Now, for instance, suppose I happened to be shot. What ——”

“Oh, Dad!” she cried, poignantly.

“Holly, the chance is remote, but it might happen. Suppose I were shot by rustlers. What would you do?”

“Do!—I’d hang every rustler in this country,” exclaimed the girl hotly.

Britt met the piercing eyes of the rancher. Holly Ripple had answered to the subtle call of the Texan.

“All right,” went on Ripple, a little huskily. “Now, say for example that I—I didn’t get shot, but just passed—on, you know…. Died…. Holly, listen. That, too, might happen. It’s natural. I’m gettin’ on in years and I’ve led a strenuous life…. Well, suppose that happened…. Would you want to stay on heah at Don Carlos’ Rancho?”

“Yes, Dad,” she answered quietly.

“But, listen, child. You will have wealth. You—you could go to your mother’s people. I have no near relatives, but those I have would welcome my daughter…. Holly, the time has come to make your choice.”

“It was made—long ago. I hate cities. I don’t care for crowds—or relatives, either. I was cooped up in school. I am free now—free! … I was unhappy there—I love it here…. Dad, I will never, never leave.”

Britt saw the long, dusky lashes close over tear-filled eyes. Ripple bent over to kiss the lustrous dark hair. Under his tan a pallor showed and his jaw quivered. Britt turned away to gaze down the valley.