The lights and shadows chased her in and out among the willows and fleecy cottonwoods and tall
swamp-grasses; but Travis rode in the glare on the high ditch-bank and although they passed each other daily he had never had a good look at the "pretty girl at Lark's." But one morning the white-faced heifer broke away and bolted up the ditch-bank and in a cloud of sun-smitten dust Nancy followed a figure of virginal wrath with scarlet cheeks and wind-blown hair. Reining her pony on the narrow bank she called across to Travis in a voice as clear and fresh as her colors:--