had missed the wonder of this part of the world.  Before their journey was over, she had begged Morgan to take her to the Grand Canyon; and for two days they remained there, drinking in the glory of perhaps the most beautiful spot on the western continent.  She could not get enough of it—­those colors that sank into her heart and consciousness and made her think she was in paradise.  To see the sun rise here—­she almost wept that morning when the lord of heaven came over the mountains that towered like huge sentinels, impervious to wind and gale and rain.

“I can’t stand such beauty, Morgan,” she said at last.  “It takes something out of me.  We’ll have to go on.”

She saw the giant cactus in full bloom, a miracle of orange, pink, and crimson; and as they sped south the mountainsides were aflame with juniper and manzanita.

At last they reached the little town of Bisbee, where Morgan was to have a conference with several engineers.  Sturgis met them—­a fair-haired fellow with a captivating smile.  He liked this country, and told Pell he wished he could always be kept here.  There was no doubt about the new vein of oil, and new ranches were being opened up rapidly.  Only a few miles away was one that promised well; and the young chap on it was in money difficulties.  A good chance to step in.  There had been rumors that a neighbor had taken up his mortgage; but maybe this was not so.  Perhaps they weren’t too late.  He had telephoned over, and the youngster had agreed that Pell and his wife could come and stay with him and his invalid uncle for awhile.  Of course he knew nothing of their intentions.  That would never do.  They would just lie low.  In fact, he, Sturgis, need not accompany them, except to the hotel.  The ranch-owner’s foreman would fetch them out in a Ford.  Not a bad trip at all—­only a few miles.  It would be better to stop down there.  They could comb the country, get acquainted, see how things were, and keep a vigilant eye on everything.

Sturgis had arranged things nicely.  “Red” Giddings came over, as planned, and Lucia liked his pleasant face at once.  He was full of enthusiasm for the country, loved the outdoor life.  “Mr. Jones has had hard luck, though,” he said, as they whirled along the road on an afternoon of unbelievable heat.

“Jones!” Lucia said.

“Yes—­Gilbert Jones,” Giddings replied.  “Ever hear of him?”

For an instant Lucia could hardly see the valley that spread around them.  But it couldn’t be possible!  It was a common name; there could easily be two Gilberts—­fifty, for that matter.  Was this the reason Morgan had asked her to come?  Had he discovered the man with whom she had once been in love, and was this to be one of his subtle punishments?  He had told her not to bring her maid, and he had been mysterious, she remembered now, as to their exact destination.  But Sturgis had made it clear, on the contrary, that he had accidentally learned of Jones’s ranch.  Maybe that was part of the trick.  But what good would come of such a scheme?  She and Jones had loved—­and parted.  Moreover, perhaps she was giving herself needless cause for worry.  This might not be the Gilbert Jones of her dreams.  And what if Morgan did know?  There was nothing to conceal.