Impulsively the girl reached for his hand:  “No,” she murmured, remembering the words of the Texan, “no, the man was there all the time.  The real man that is you was concealed by the unreal man that is superficiality.”

“Thank you, Alice,” he said gravely.  “And for your sake—­and I say it an all sincerity—­let the best man win!”

The girl smiled up into his face:  “And in all sincerity I will say that in all your life you have never seemed so—­so marryable as you do right now.”

While Endicott cut a supply of fire-wood and tinkered about the spring, the girl made a complete circuit of the little plateau, and as the shadows began to lengthen they once more climbed to their lookout station.  For an hour the vast corrugated plane before them showed no sign of life.  Suddenly the girl’s fingers clutched Endicott’s arm and she pointed to a lone horseman who rode from the north.

“I wonder if he’s the same one we saw before—­the one who rode away so fast?”

“Not unless he has changed horses,” answered Endicott.  “The other rode a grey.”

The man swung from his horse and seemed to be minutely studying the ground.  Then he mounted and headed down the coulee at a trot.

“Look!  There is Tex!” cried Endicott, and he pointed farther down the same coulee.  A sharp bend prevented either rider from noticing the approach of the other.

“Oh, I wonder who it is, and what will happen when they see each other?” cried the girl.  “Look!  There is Bat.  Near the top of that ridge.  He’s cutting across so he’ll be right above them when they meet.”  She was leaning forward watching:  breathlessly the movements of the three horsemen.  “It is unreal.  Just like some great spectacular play.  You see the actors moving through their parts and you wonder what is going to happen next and how it is all going to work out.”

“There!  They see each other!” Endicott exclaimed.  Each horseman pulled up, hesitated a moment, and rode on.  Distance veiled from the eager onlookers the significant detail of the shifted gun arms.  But no such preclusion obstructed Bat’s vision as he lay flattened upon the rim of the coulee with the barrel of his six-gun resting upon the edge of a rock, and its sights lined low upon the stranger’s armpit.

“They’ve dismounted,” observed Alice, “I believe Tex is going to unsaddle.”

“Tightening his cinch,” ventured Endicott, and was interrupted by a cry from the lips of the girl.

“Look!  The other!  He’s going to shoot——­ Why, they’re fighting!” Fighting they certainly were, and Endicott stared in surprise as he saw the Texan knocked down and then spring to his feet and attack his assailant with a vigour that rendered impossible any further attempt to follow the progress of the combat.

“Why doesn’t Bat shoot, or go down there and help him?” cried the girl, as with clenched fists she strained her eyes in a vain effort to see who was proving the victor.