SAWTOOTH RANCH

BY

B. M. BOWER

 METHUEN & CO. LTD. 36 ESSEX STREET, W. C. LONDON

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

 JEAN OF THE LAZY A GOOD INDIAN THE UPHILL CLIMB THE GRINGOS THE FLYING U'S LAST STAND THE PHANTOM HERD THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX SKYRIDER

This Book was First Published in Great Britain . . . March 10th, 1921

First Issued in this Cheap Form . . . 1922

CONTENTS

CHAP. 

 I. LITTLE FISH II. THE ENCHANTMENT OF LONG DISTANCE III. REALITY IS WEIGHED AND FOUND WANTING IV. "SHE'S A GOOD GIRL WHEN SHE AIN'T CRAZY" V. A DEATH "BY ACCIDENT" VI. LONE ADVISES SILENCE VII. THE MAN AT WHISPER VIII. "IT TAKES NERVE JUST TO HANG ON" IX. THE EVIL EYE OF THE SAWTOOTH X. ANOTHER SAWTOOTH "ACCIDENT" XI. SWAN TALKS WITH HIS THOUGHTS XII. THE QUIRT PARRIES THE FIRST BLOW XIII. LONE TAKES HIS STAND XIV. "FRANK'S DEAD" XV. SWAN TRAILS A COYOTE XVI. THE SAWTOOTH SHOWS ITS HAND XVII. YACK DON'T LIE XVIII. "I THINK AL WOODRUFF'S GOT HER" XIX. SWAN CALLS FOR HELP XX. KIDNAPPED XXI. "OH, I COULD KILL YOU!" XXII. "YACK, I LICK YOU GOOD IF YOU BARK" XXIII. "I COULDA LOVED THIS LITTLE GIRL" XXIV. ANOTHER STORY BEGINS

SAWTOOTH RANCH

CHAPTER I

LITTLE FISH

Quirt Creek flowed sluggishly between willows which sagged none toogracefully across its deeper pools, or languished beside the rockystretches that were bone dry from July to October, with a narrowchannel in the centre where what water there was hurried along to thepools below. For a mile or more, where the land lay fairly level in aplatter-like valley set in the lower hills, the mud that rimmed thepools was scored deep with the tracks of the "TJ up-and-down" cattle, as the double monogram of Hunter and Johnson was called. 

A hard brand to work, a cattleman would tell you. Yet the TJup-and-down herd never seemed to increase beyond a niggardly threehundred or so, though the Quirt ranch was older than its lordlyneighbours, the Sawtooth Cattle Company, who numbered their cattle bytens of thousands and whose riders must have strings of fifteen horsesapiece to keep them going; older too than many a modest ranch that hadflourished awhile and had finished as line-camps of the Sawtooth whenthe Sawtooth bought ranch and brand for a lump sum that looked big tothe rancher, who immediately departed to make himself a new homeelsewhere: older than others which had somehow gone to pieces when therancher died or went to the penitentiary under the stigma of a longsentence as a cattle thief. There were many such, for the Sawtooth, powerful and stern against outlawry, tolerated no pilfering from theirthousands. 

The less you have, the more careful you are of your possessions. Hunter and Johnson owned exactly a section and a half of land, and fora mile and a half Quirt Creek was fenced upon either side. They hiredtwo men, cut what hay they could from a field which they irrigated, fedtheir cattle through the cold weather, watched them zealously throughthe summer, and managed to ship enough beef each fall to pay theirgrocery bill and their men's wages and have a balance sufficient to buywhat clothes they needed, and perhaps pay a doctor if one of them fellill. Which frequently happened, since Brit was becoming a prey torheumatism that sometimes kept him in bed, and Frank occasionallyindulged himself in a gallon or so of bad whisky and sufferedafterwards from a badly deranged digestion. 

Their house was a two-room log cabin, built when logs were easier toget than lumber. That the cabin contained two rooms was the result ofcircumstances rather than design. Brit had hauled from themountain-side logs long and logs short, and it had seemed a shame tocut the long ones any shorter. Later, when the outside world had crepta little closer to their wilderness--as, go where you will, the outsideworld has a way of doing--he had built a lean-to shed against the cabinfrom what lumber there was left after building a cowshed against thelog-barn. 

In the early days, Brit had had a wife and two children, but the wifecould not endure the loneliness of the ranch nor the inconvenience ofliving in a two-room log cabin. She was continually worrying overrattlesnakes and diphtheria and pneumonia, and begging Brit to sell outand live in town. She had married him because he was a cowboy, andbecause he was a nimble dancer and rode gallantly with silver-shankedspurs ajingle on his heels and a snake-skin band around his hat, andbecause a ranch away out on Quirt Creek had sounded exactly like astory in a book. 

Adventures, picturesqueness, even romance, are recognised andappreciated only at a distance. Mrs Hunter lost the perspective ofromance and adventure, and shed tears because there was sufficientmineral in the water to yellow her week's washing, and for variousother causes which she had never foreseen and to which she refused toresign herself. 

Came a time when she delivered a shrill-voiced, tear-blurred ultimatumto Brit. Either he must sell out and move to town, or she would takethe children and leave him. Of towns Brit knew nothing except thepost-office, saloon, cheap restaurant side, --and a barber shop where afellow could get a shave and hair-cut before he went to see his girl. Brit could not imagine himself actually _living_, day after day, in atown. Three or four days had always been his limit. It was in arestaurant that he had first met his wife. He had stayed three dayswhen he had meant to finish his business in one, because there was anawfully nice girl waiting on table in the Palace, and because there wasgoing to be a dance on Saturday night, and he wanted his acquaintancewith her to develop to the point where he might ask her to go with him, and be reasonably certain of a favourable answer. 

Brit would not sell his ranch. In this Frank Johnson, old-time friendand neighbour, who had taken all the land the government would allowone man to hold, and whose lines joined Brit's, profanely upheld him. They had planned to run cattle together, had their brand alreadyrecorded, and had scraped together enough money to buy a dozen youngcows. Luckily, Brit had "proven up" on his homestead, so that when theirate Mrs Hunter deserted him she did not jeopardise his right to theland. 

Brit was philosophical, thinking that a year or so of town life wouldbe a cure. If he missed the children, he was free from tears andnagging complaints, so that his content balanced his loneliness. Frankproved up and came down to live with him, and the partnership began towear into permanency. Share and share alike, they lived and worked andwrangled together like brothers. 

For months Brit's wife was too angry and spiteful to write. Then shewrote acrimoniously, reminding Brit of his duty to his children. Royalwas old enough for school and needed clothes. She was slaving for themas she had never thought to slave when Brit promised to honour andprotect her, but the fact remained that he was their father even if hedid not act like one. She needed at least ten dollars. 

Brit showed the letter to Frank, and the two talked it over solemnlywhile they sat on inverted feed buckets beside the stable, facing theunearthly beauty of a cloud-piled Idaho sunset. They did not feel thatthey could afford to sell a cow, and two-year-old steers were out ofthe question. They decided to sell an unbroken colt that a cow-puncherfancied. In a week Brit wrote a brief, matter-of-fact letter to Minnieand enclosed a much-worn ten-dollar bank-note. With the two dollarsand a half which remained of his share of the sale, Brit sent to amail-order house for a mackinaw coat, and felt cheated afterwardsbecause the coat was not "wind and waterproof" as advertised in thecatalogue. 

More months passed, and Brit received, by registered mail, a noticethat he was being sued for divorce on the ground of non-support. Hefelt hurt, because, as he pointed out to Frank, he was perfectlywilling to support Minnie and the kids if they came back where he couldhave a chance. He wrote this painstakingly to the lawyer and receivedno reply. Later he learned from Minnie that she had freed herself fromhim, and that she was keeping boarders and asking no odds of him. 

To come at once to the end of Brit's matrimonial affairs, he heard fromthe children once in a year, perhaps, after they were old enough towrite. He did not send them money, because he seemed never to have anymoney to send, and because they did not ask for any. Dumbly he sensed, as their handwriting and their spelling improved, that his childrenwere growing up. But when he thought of them they seemed remote, prattling youngsters whom Minnie was for ever worrying over and whoseemed to have been always under the heels of his horse, or under thewheels of his wagon, or playing with the pitchfork, or wandering offinto the sage while he and their distracted mother searched for them. For a long while--how many years Brit could not remember--they had beenliving in Los Angeles. Prospering, too, Brit understood. The girl, Lorraine--Minnie had wanted fancy names for the kids, and Britapologised whenever he spoke of them, which was seldom--Lorraine hadwritten that "Mamma has an apartment house. " That had soundedprosperous, even at the beginning. And as the years passed and theiraddress remained the same, Brit became fixed in the belief that CasaGrande was all that its name implied, and perhaps more. Minnie must begetting rich. She had a picture of the place on the stationery whichLorraine used when she wrote him. There were two palm trees in front, with bay windows behind them, and pillars. Brit used to study thesemagnificences and thank God that Minnie was doing so well. He nevercould have given her a home like that. Brit sometimes added that hehad never been cut out for a married man, anyway. 

Old-timers forgot that Brit had ever been married, and late comersnever heard of it. To all intents the owners of the Quirt outfit wereold bachelors who kept pretty much to themselves, went to town onlywhen they needed supplies, rode old, narrow-fork saddles and grinnedscornfully at "swell-forks" and "buckin'-rolls, " and listened to allthe range gossip without adding so much as an opinion. They nevertalked politics nor told which candidates received their two votes. They kept the same two men season after season, --leathery old rangehands with eyes that saw whatever came within their field of vision, and with the gift of silence, which is rare. 

If you know anything at all about cattlemen, you will know that theQuirt was a poor man's ranch, when I tell you that Hunter and Johnsonmilked three cows and made butter, fed a few pigs on the skim milk andthe alfalfa stalks which the saddle horses and the cows disdained toeat, kept a flock of chickens, and sold what butter, eggs and pork theydid not need for themselves. Cattlemen seldom do that. More oftenthey buy milk in small tin cans, butter in "squares, " and do withouteggs. 

Four of a kind were the men of the TJ up-and-down, and even BillWarfield--president and general manager of the Sawtooth Cattle Company, and of the Federal Reclamation Company and several other companies, State senator and general benefactor of the Sawtooth country--even thegreat Bill Warfield lifted his hat to the owners of the Quirt when hemet them, and spoke of them as "the finest specimens of our old, fast-vanishing type of range men. " Senator Warfield himselfrepresented the modern type of range man and was proud of hisprogressiveness. Never a scheme for the country's development washatched but you would find Senator Warfield closely allied with it, hisvoice the deciding one when policies and progress were being discussed. 

As to the Sawtooth, forty thousand acres comprised their holdings underpatents, deeds and long-time leases from the government. Anothertwenty thousand acres they had access to through the grace of theowners, and there was forest-reserve grazing besides, which theSawtooth could have if it chose to pay the nominal rental sum. TheQuirt ranch, was almost surrounded by Sawtooth land of one sort oranother, though there was scant grazing in the early spring on thesagebrush wilderness to the south. This needed Quirt Creek foraccessible water, and Quirt Creek, save where it ran through cut-bankhills, was fenced within the section and a half of the TJ up-and-down. 

So there they were, small fish making shift to live precariously withother small fish in a pool where big fish swam lazily. If one smallfish now and then disappeared with mysterious abruptness, the othersmall fish would perhaps scurry here and there for a time, but fewwould leave the pool for the safe shallows beyond. 

This is a tale of the little fishes. 

CHAPTER II

THE ENCHANTMENT OF LONG DISTANCE

Lorraine Hunter always maintained that she was a Western girl. If shereached the point of furnishing details she would tell you that she hadridden horses from the time that she could walk, and that her fatherwas a cattle-king of Idaho, whose cattle fed upon a thousand hills. When she was twelve she told her playmates exciting tales aboutrattlesnakes. When she was fifteen she sat breathless in the moviesand watched picturesque horsemen careering up and down and around thethousand hills, and believed in her heart that half the Westernpictures were taken on or near her father's ranch. She seemed toremember certain landmarks, and would point them out to her companionsand whisper a desultory lecture on the cattle industry as illustratedby the picture. She was much inclined to criticism of the costumingand the acting. 

At eighteen she knew definitely that she hated the very name CasaGrande. She hated the narrow, half-lighted hallway with its "tree"where no one ever hung a hat, and the seat beneath where no one eversat down. She hated the row of key-and-mail boxes on the wall, withthe bell buttons above each apartment number. She hated the janglingof the hall telephone, the scurrying to answer, the prodding ofwhichever bell button would summon the tenant asked for by the caller. She hated the meek little Filipino boy who swept that ugly hall everymorning. She hated the scrubby palms in front. She hated the pillarswhere the paint was peeling badly. She hated the conflicting odoursthat seeped into the atmosphere at certain hours of the day. She hatedthe three old maids on the third floor and the frowsy woman on thefirst, who sat on the front steps in her soiled breakfast cap andbungalow apron. She hated the nervous tenant who occupied theapartment just over her mother's three-room-and-bath, and pounded witha broom handle on the floor when Lorraine practised overtime onchromatic scales. 

At eighteen Lorraine managed somehow to obtain work in a Westernpicture, and being unusually pretty she so far distinguished herselfthat she was given a small part in the next production. Her gloriousduty it was to ride madly through the little cow-town "set" to thepost-office where the sheriff's posse lounged conspicuously, and therepull her horse to an abrupt stand and point quite excitedly to thedistant hills. Also she danced quite close to the camera in the"Typical Cowboy Dance" which was a feature of this particularproduction. 

Lorraine thereby earned enough money to buy her fall suit and coat andcheap furs, and learned to ride a horse at a gallop and to dance whatpassed in pictures as a "square dance. "

At nineteen years of age Lorraine Hunter, daughter of old Brit Hunterof the TJ up-and-down, became a real "range-bred girl" with a realStetson hat of her own, a green corduroy riding skirt, gray flannelshirt, brilliant neckerchief, boots and spurs. A third picture gaveher further practice in riding a real horse, --albeit an extremelydocile animal called Mouse with good reason. She became known on thelot as a real cattle-king's daughter, though she did not know the nameof her father's brand and in all her life had seen no herd larger thanthe thirty head of tame cattle which were chased past the camera againand again to make them look like ten thousand, and which were sothoroughly "camera broke" that they stopped when they were out of thescene, turned and were ready to repeat the performance _ad lib_. 

Had she lived her life on the Quirt ranch she would have known a greatdeal more about horseback riding and cattle and range dances. Shewould have known a great deal less about the romance of the West, however, and she would probably never have seen a sheriff's posseriding twenty strong and bunched like bird-shot when it leaves themuzzle of the gun. Indeed, I am very sure she would not. Killingssuch as her father heard of with his lips drawn tight and the cordsstanding out on the sides of his skinny neck she would have consideredthe grim tragedies they were, without once thinking of the "picturevalue" of the crime. 

As it was, her West was filled with men who died suddenly in gobs ofred paint and girls who rode loose-haired and panting with hand heldover the heart, hurrying for doctors, and cowboys and parsons and such. She had seen many a man whip pistol from holster and dare a mob withlips drawn back in a wolfish grin over his white, even teeth, andkidnappings were the inevitable accompaniment of youth and beauty. 

Lorraine learned rapidly. In three years she thrilled to moreblood-curdling adventure than all the Bad Men in all the West couldhave furnished had they lived to be old and worked hard at being badall their lives. For in that third year she worked her wayenthusiastically through a sixteen-episode movie serial called "TheTerror of the Range. " She was past mistress of romance by that time. She knew her West. 

It was just after the "Terror of the Range" was finished that a greatrevulsion in the management of this particular company stoppedproduction with a stunning completeness that left actors and actressesfeeling very much as if the studio roof had fallen upon them. Lorraine's West vanished. The little cow-town "set" was being torndown to make room for something else quite different. The cowboysappeared in tailored suits and drifted away. Lorraine went home to theCasa Grande, hating it more than ever she had hated it in her life. 

Some one up-stairs was frying liver and onions, which was in flagrantdefiance of the Rule Four which mentioned cabbage, onions and friedfish as undesirable foodstuffs. Outside, the palm leaves were drippingin the night fog that had swept soggily in from the ocean. Her motherwas trying to collect a gas bill from the dressmaker down the hall, whoprotested shrilly that she distinctly remembered having paid that gasbill once and had no intention of paying it twice. 

Lorraine opened the door marked LANDLADY, and closed it with a slamintended to remind her mother that bickerings in the hall were lessdesirable than the odour of fried onions. She had often spoken to hermother about the vulgarity of arguing in public with the tenants, buther mother never seemed to see things as Lorraine saw them. 

In the apartment sat a man who had been too frequent a visitor, asLorraine judged him. He was an oldish man with the lines of failure inhis face and on his lean form the sprightly clothing of youth. He hadbeen a reporter, --was still, he maintained. But Lorraine suspectedshrewdly that he scarcely made a living for himself, and that he washome-hunting in more ways than one when he came to visit her mother. 

The affair had progressed appreciably in her absence, it would appear. He greeted her with a fatherly "Hello, kiddie, " and would have kissedher had Lorraine not evaded him skilfully. 

Her mother came in then and complained intimately to the man, anddeclared that the dressmaker would have to pay that bill or have hergas turned off. He offered sympathy, assistance in the turning off ofthe gas, and a kiss which was perfectly audible to Lorraine in the nextroom. The affair had indeed progressed!

"L'raine, d'you know you've got a new papa?" her mother called out inthe peculiar, chirpy tone she used when she was exuberantly happy. "Iknew you'd be surprised!"

"I am, " Lorraine agreed, pulling aside the cheap green portières andlooked in upon the two. Her tone was unenthusiastic. "A superfluousgift of doubtful value. I do not feel the need of a papa, thank you. If you want him for a husband, mother, that is entirely your ownaffair. I hope you'll be very happy. "

"The kid don't want a papa; husbands are what means the most in heryoung life, " chuckled the groom, restraining his bride when she wouldhave risen from his knee. 

"I hope you'll both be very happy indeed, " said Lorraine gravely. "Nowyou won't mind, mother, when I tell you that I am going to dad's ranchin Idaho. I really meant it for a vacation, but since you won't bealone, I may stay with dad permanently. I'm leaving to-morrow or thenext day--just as soon as I can pack my trunk and get a Pullman berth. "

She did not wait to see the relief in her mother's face contradictingthe expostulations on her lips. She went out to the telephone in thehall, remembered suddenly that her business would be overheard by halfthe tenants, and decided to use the public telephone in a hotel fartherdown the street. Her decision to go to her dad had been born with thewords on her lips. But it was a lusty, full-voiced young decision, andit was growing at an amazing rate. 

Of course she would go to her dad in Idaho! She was astonished thatthe idea had never before crystallised into action. Why should shefeed her imagination upon a mimic West, when the great, glorious realWest was there? What if her dad had not written a word for more than ayear? He must be alive; they would surely have heard of his death, forshe and Royal were his sole heirs, and his partner would have theiraddress. 

She walked fast and arrived at the telephone booth so breathless thatshe was compelled to wait a few minutes before she could call hernumber. She inquired about trains and rates to Echo, Idaho!

Echo, Idaho! While she waited for the information clerk to look it upthe very words conjured visions of wide horizons and clean winds andhigh adventure. If she pictured Echo, Idaho, as being a replica of the"set" used in the movie serial, can you wonder? If she saw herself, the beloved queen of her father's cowboys, dashing into Echo, Idaho, ona crimply-maned broncho that pirouetted gaily before the post-officewhile handsome young men in chaps and spurs and "big four" Stetsonswatched her yearningly, she was merely living mentally the only Westthat she knew. 

From that beatific vision Lorraine floated into others more entrancing. All the hairbreadth escapes of the heroine of the movie serial werehers, adapted by her native logic to fit within the bounds ofpossibility, --though I must admit they bulged here and there andthreatened to overlap and to encroach upon the impossible. Over thehills where her father's vast herds grazed, sleek and wild andlong-horned and prone to stampede, galloped the Lorraine of Lorraine'sdreams, on horses sure-footed and swift. With her galloped strong menwhose faces limned the features of her favourite Western "lead. "

That for all her three years of intermittent intimacy with adisillusioning world of mimicry, her dreams were pure romance, provedthat Lorraine had still the unclouded innocence of her girlhoodunspoiled. 

CHAPTER III

REALITY IS WEIGHED AND FOUND WANTING

Still dreaming her dreams, still featuring herself as the star of manyadventures, Lorraine followed the brakeman out of the dusty day coachand down the car steps to the platform of the place called Echo, Idaho. I can only guess at what she expected to find there in the person of acattle-king father, but whatever it was she did not find it. Nofather, of any type whatever, came forward to claim her. In spite ofher "Western" experience she looked about her for a taxi, or at least astreetcar. Even in the wilds of Western melodrama one could hear theclang of street-car gongs warning careless autoists off the track. 

After the train had hooted and gone on around an absolutelyuninteresting low hill of yellow barrenness dotted with stunted sage, it was the silence that first impressed Lorraine disagreeably. Echo, Idaho, was a very poor imitation of all the Western sets she had everseen. True, it had the straggling row of square-fronted, one-storybuildings, with hitch rails, but the signs painted across the frontswere absolutely common. Any director she had ever obeyed would havesent for his assistant director and would have used language which alady must not listen to. Behind the store and the post-office and theblacksmith shop, on the brow of the low hill around whose point thetrain had disappeared, were houses with bay windows and porchesabsolutely out of keeping with the West. So far as Lorraine could see, there was not a log cabin in the whole place. 

The hitch rails were empty, and there was not a cowboy in sight. Before the post-office a terribly grimy touring car stood with itsrunning-boards loaded with canvas-covered suitcases. Three goggled, sunburned women in ugly khaki suits were disconsolately drinking sodawater from bottles without straws, and a goggled, red-faced, angry-looking man was jerking impatiently at the hood of the machine. Lorraine and her suitcase apparently excited no interest whatever inEcho, Idaho. 

The station agent was carrying two boxes of oranges and a crate ofCalifornia cabbages in out of the sun, and a limp individual in bluegingham shirt and dirty overalls had shouldered the mail sack and wasmaking his way across the dusty, rut-scored street to the post-office. 

Two questions and two brief answers convinced her that the stationagent did not know Britton Hunter, --which was strange, unless thishappened to be a very new agent. Lorraine left him to his cabbages andfollowed the man with the mail sack. 

At the post-office the anaemic clerk came forward, eyeing her withadmiring curiosity. Lorraine had seen anaemic young men all her life, and the last three years had made her perfectly familiar with that lookin a young man's eyes. She met it with impatient disfavour foundedchiefly upon the young man's need of a decent hair-cut, a less flowerytie and a tailored suit. When he confessed that he did not know MrBritton Hunter by sight he ceased to exist so far as Lorraine wasconcerned. She decided that he also was new to the place and thereforeperfectly useless to her. 

The postmaster himself--Lorraine was cheered by his spectacles, hisshirt sleeves, and his chin whiskers, which made him look the part--wasbetter informed. He, too, eyed her curiously when she said "My father, Mr Britton Hunter, " but he made no comment on the relationship. Hegave her a telegram and a letter from the General Delivery. Thetelegram, she suspected, was the one she had sent to her dad announcingthe date of her arrival. The postmaster advised her to get a "liveryrig" and drive out to the ranch, since it might be a week or two beforeany one came in from the Quirt. Lorraine thanked him graciously anddeparted for the livery stable. 

The man in charge there chewed tobacco meditatively and told her thathis teams were all out. If she was a mind to wait over a day or two, he said, he might maybe be able to make the trip. Lorraine took a longlook at the structure which he indicated as the hotel. 

"I think I'll walk, " she said calmly. 

"_Walk?_" The stableman stopped chewing and stared at her. "It's someconsider'ble of a walk. It's all of eighteen mile--I dunno but twenty, time y'get to the house. "

"I have frequently walked twenty-five or thirty miles. I am a memberof the Sierra Club in Los Angeles. We seldom take hikes of less thantwenty miles. If you will kindly tell me which road I must take----"

"There she is, " the man stated flatly, and pointed across the railroadtrack to where a sandy road drew a yellowish line through the sage, evidently making for the hills showing hazily violet in the distance. Those hills formed the only break in the monotonous gray landscape, andLorraine was glad that her journey would take her close to them. 

"Thank you so much, " she said coldly and returned to the station. Inthe small lavatory of the depot waiting room she exchanged her slippersfor a pair of moderately low-heeled shoes which she had at the lastminute of packing tucked into her suitcase, put a few extra articlesinto her rather smart travelling bag, left the suitcase in thetelegraph office and started. Not another question would she ask ofEcho, Idaho, which was flatter and more insipid than the drinking waterin the tin "cooler" in the waiting room. The station agent stood withhis hands on his hips and watched her cross the track and start downthe road, pardonably astonished to see a young woman walk down a roadthat led only to the hills twenty miles away, carrying her luggageexactly as if her trip was a matter of a block or two at most. 

The bag was rather heavy and as she went on it became heavier. Shemeant to carry it slung across her shoulder on a stick as soon as shewas well away from the prying eyes of Echo's inhabitants. Later, ifshe felt tired, she could easily hide it behind a bush along the roadand send one of her father's cowboys after it. The road was very dustyand carried the wind-blown traces of automobile tires. Some one wouldsurely overtake her and give her a ride before she walked very far. 

For the first half hour she believed that she was walking on levelground, but when she looked back there was no sign of any town behindher. Echo had disappeared as completely as if it had been swallowed. Even the unseemly bay-windowed houses on the hill had gone under. Shewalked for another half hour and saw only the gray sage stretching allaround her. The hills looked farther away than when she started. Still, that beaten road must lead somewhere. Two hours later she beganto wonder why this particular road should be so unending and so empty. Never in her life before had she walked for two hours without seemingto get anywhere, or without seeing any living human. 

Both shoulders were sore from the weight of the bag on the stick, butthe sagebushes looked so exactly alike that she feared she could notdescribe the particular spot where the cowboys would find her bag, wherefore she carried it still. She was beginning to change hands veryoften when the wind came. 

Just where or how that wind sprang up she did not know. Suddenly itwas whooping across the sage and flinging up clouds of dust from theroad. To Lorraine, softened by years of southern California weather, it seemed to blow straight off an ice field, it was so cold. 

After an interminable time which measured three hours on her watch, shecame to an abrupt descent into a creek bed, down the middle of whichthe creek itself was flowing swiftly. Here the road forked, a rough, little-used trail keeping on up the creek, the better travelled roadcrossing and climbing the farther bank. Lorraine scarcely hesitatedbefore she chose the main trail which crossed the creek. 

From the creek the trail she followed kept climbing until Lorrainewondered if there would ever be a top. The wind whipped her narrowskirts and impeded her, tugged at her hat, tingled her nose and wateredher eyes. But she kept on doggedly, disgustedly, the West, which shehad seen through the glamour of swift-blooded Romance, sinking lowerand lower in her estimation. Nothing but jack rabbits and little, twittery birds moved through the sage, though she watched hungrily forhorsemen. 

Quite suddenly the gray landscape glowed with a palpitating radiance, unreal, beautiful beyond expression. She stopped, turned to face thewest and stared awestruck at one of those flaming sunsets which makesthe desert land seem but a gateway into the ineffable glory beyond theearth. That the high-piled, gorgeous cloud-bank presaged athunderstorm she never guessed; and that a thunderstorm may be adeadly, terrifying peril she never had quite believed. Her mother hadtold of people being struck by lightning, but Lorraine could notassociate lightning with death, especially in the West, where menusually died by shooting, lynching, or by pitching over a cliff. 

The wind hushed as suddenly as it had whooped. Warned by the twinklinglights far behind her--lights which must be the small part at lastvisible of Echo, Idaho--Lorraine went on. She had been walkingsteadily for four hours, and she must surely have come nearly twentymiles. If she ever reached the top of the hill, she believed that shewould see her father's ranch just beyond. 

The afterglow had deepened to dusk when she came at last to the highestpoint of that long grade. Far ahead loomed a cluster of square, blackobjects which must be the ranch buildings of the Quirt, and Lorraine'sspirits lightened a little. What a surprise her father and all hiscowboys would have when she walked in upon them! It was almost worththe walk, she told herself hearteningly. She hoped that dad had a goodcook. He would wear a flour-sack apron, naturally, and would be talland lean, or else very fat. He would be a comedy character, but shehoped he would not be the grouchy kind, which, though very funny whenhe rampages around on the screen, might be rather uncomfortable to meetwhen one is tired and hungry and out of sorts. But of course thecrankiest of comedy cooks would be decently civil to _her_. Men alwayswere, except directors who are paid for their incivility. 

A hollow into which she walked in complete darkness and in silence, save the gurgling of another stream, hid from sight the shadowysemblance of houses and barns and sheds. Their disappearance slumpedher spirits again, for without them she was no more than a solitaryspeck in the vast loneliness. Their actual nearness could not comforther. She was seized with a reasonless, panicky fear that by the timeshe crossed the stream and climbed the hill beyond they would no longerbe there where she had seen them. She was lifting her skirts to wadethe creek when the click of hoofs striking against rocks sent herscurrying to cover in a senseless fear. 

"I learned this act from the jack rabbits, " she rallied herselfshakily, when she was safely hidden behind a sagebush whose pungencymade her horribly afraid that she might sneeze, which would be tooridiculous. 

"Some of dad's cowboys, probably, but still they _may_ be bandits. "

If they were bandits they could scarcely be out banditting, for the twohorsemen were talking in ordinary, conversational tones as they rodeleisurely down to the ford. When they passed Lorraine, the horsenearest her shied against the other and was sworn at parentheticallyfor a fool. Against the skyline Lorraine saw the rider's form bulksquatty and ungraceful, reminding her of an actor whom she knew and didnot like. It was that resemblance perhaps which held her quiet insteadof following her first impulse to speak to them and ask them to carryher to the house. 

The horses stopped with their forefeet in the water and drooped headsto drink thirstily. The riders continued their conversation. 

"--and as I says time and again, they ain't big enough to fight theoutfit, and the quicker they git out the less lead they'll carry undertheir hides when they do go. What they want to try an' hang on for, beats me. Why, it's like setting into a poker game with a five-centpiece! They ain't got my sympathy. I ain't got any use for a damnfool, no way yuh look at it. "

"Well, there's the TJ--they been here a long while, and they ain'tpackin' any lead, and they ain't getting out. "

"Well, say, lemme tell yuh something. The TJ'll git theirs and git itright. Drink all night, would yuh?" He swore long and fluently at hishorse, spurred him through the shallows, and the two rode on up thehill, their voices still mingled in desultory argument, with now andthen an oath rising clearly above the jumble of words. 

They may have been law-abiding citizens riding home, to families thatwere waiting supper for them, but Lorraine crept out from behind hersagebush, sneezing and thanking her imitation of the jack rabbits. Whoever they were, she was not sorry she had let them ride on. Theymight be her father's men, and they might have been very polite andchivalrous to her. But their voices and their manner of speaking hadbeen rough; and it is one thing, Lorraine reflected, to mingle withmade-up villains--even to be waylaid and kidnapped and tied to treesand threatened with death--but it is quite different to accostrough-speaking men in the dark when you know they are not being roughto suit the director of the scene. 

She was so absorbed in trying to construct a range of war or somethingequally thrilling from the scrap of conversation she had heard that shereached the hilltop in what seemed a very few minutes of climbing. Thesky was becoming overcast. Already the stars to the west were blottedout, and the absolute stillness of the atmosphere frightened her morethan the big, dark wilderness itself. It seemed to her exactly asthough the earth was holding its breath and waiting for somethingterrible to happen. The vague bulk of buildings was still somedistance ahead, and when a rumble like the deepest notes of a pipeorgan began to fill all the air, Lorraine thrust her grip under a bushand began to run, her soggy shoes squashing unpleasantly on the roughplaces in the road. 

Lorraine had seen many stage storms and had thrilled ecstatically tothe mimic lightning, knowing just how it was made. But when that hugeblackness behind and to the left of her began to open and show aterrible brilliance within, and to close abruptly, leaving the worldink black, she was terrified. She wanted to hide as she had hiddenfrom those two men; but from that stupendous monster, a realthunderstorm, sagebrush formed no protection whatever. She must reachthe substantial shelter of buildings, the comforting presence of menand women. 

She ran, and as she ran she wept aloud like a child and called for herfather. The deep rumble grew louder, nearer. The revealed brilliancebecame swift sword-thrusts of blinding light that seemed to stab deepthe earth. Lorraine ran awkwardly, her hands over her ears, crying outat each lightning flash, her voice drowned in the thunder that followedit close. Then, as she neared the sombre group of buildings, theclouds above them split with a terrific, rending crash, and the wholeplace stood pitilessly revealed to her, as if a spotlight had beenturned on. Lorraine stood aghast. The buildings were not buildings atall. They were rocks, great, black, forbidding boulders standing thereon a narrow ridge, having a diabolic likeness to houses. 

The human mind is wonderfully resilient, but readjustment comes slowlyafter a shock. Dumbly, refusing to admit the significance of what shehad seen, Lorraine went forward. Not until she had reached and hadtouched the first grotesque caricature of habitation did she whollygrasp the fact that she was lost, and that shelter might be miles away. She stood and looked at the orderly group of boulders as the lightningintermittently revealed them. She saw where the road ran on, betweentwo square-faced rocks. She would have to follow the road, for afterall it must lead _somewhere_, --to her father's ranch, probably. Shewondered irrelevantly why her mother had never mentioned these queerrocks, and she wondered vaguely if any of them had caves or ledgeswhere she could be safe from the lightning. 

She was on the point of stepping out into the road again when ahorseman rode into sight between the two rocks. In the same instant ofhis appearance she heard the unmistakable crack of a gun, saw the riderjerk backward in the saddle, throw up one hand--and then the darknessdropped between them. 

Lorraine crouched behind a juniper bush close against the rock andwaited. The next flash came within a half-minute. It showed a man atthe horse's head, holding it by the bridle. The horse was rearing. Lorraine tried to scream that the man on the ground would be trampled, but something went wrong with her voice, so that she could only whisper. 

When the light came again the man who had been shot was not altogetheron the ground. The other, working swiftly, had thrust the injuredman's foot through the stirrup. Lorraine saw him stand back and lifthis quirt to slash the horse across the rump. Even through the crashof thunder Lorraine heard the horse go past her down the hill, galloping furiously. When she could see again she glimpsed himrunning, while something bounced along on the ground beside him. 

She saw the other man, with a dry branch in his hand, dragging itacross the road where it ran between the two rocks. Then LorraineHunter, hardened to the sight of crimes committed for picture valuesonly, realised sickeningly that she had just looked upon a realmurder, --the cold-blooded killing of a man. She felt very sick. Queerlittle red sparks squirmed and danced before her eyes. She crumpleddown quietly behind the jumper bush and did not know when the raincame, though it drenched her in the first two or three minutes ofdownpour. 

CHAPTER IV

"SHE'S A GOOD GIRL WHEN SHE AIN'T CRAZY"

When the sun has been up just long enough to take the before-dawn chillfrom the air without having swallowed all the diamonds that spanglebush and twig and grass-blade after a night's soaking rain, it is goodto ride over the hills of Idaho and feel oneself a king, --and nevermind the crown and the sceptre. Lone Morgan, riding early to theSawtooth to see the foreman about getting a man for a few days to helpreplace a bridge carried fifty yards downstream by a local cloudburst, would not have changed places with a millionaire. The horse he rodewas the horse he loved, the horse he talked to like a pal when theywere by themselves. The ridge gave him a wide outlook to the fourcorners of the earth. Far to the north the Sawtooth range showed blue, the nearer mountains pansy purple where the pine trees stood, thefoothills shaded delicately where canyons swept down to the gray plain. To the south was the sagebrush, a soft, gray-green carpet under thesun. The sky was blue, the clouds were handfuls of clean cottonfloating lazily. Of the night's storm remained no trace save slipperymud when his horse struck a patch of clay, which was not often, and thepacked sand still wet and soggy from the beating rain. 

Rock City showed black and inhospitable even in the sunlight. The rockwalls rose sheer, the roofs slanted rakishly, the signs scratched onthe rock by facetious riders were pointless and inane. Lone picked hisway through the crooked defile that was marked MAIN STREET on thecorner of the first huge boulder and came abruptly into the road. Herehe turned north and shook his horse into a trot. 

A hundred yards or so down the slope beyond Rock City he pulled upshort with a "What the hell!" that did not sound profane, but merelyamazed. In the sodden road were the unmistakable footprints of awoman. Lone did not hesitate in naming the sex, for the wet sand heldthe imprint cleanly, daintily. Too shapely for a boy, too small forany one but a child or a woman with little feet, and with the point atthe toes proclaiming the fashion of the towns, Lone guessed at oncethat she was a town girl, a stranger, probably, --and that she hadpassed since the rain; which meant since daylight. 

He swung his horse and rode back, wondering where she could have spentthe night. Halfway through Rock City the footprints ended abruptly, and Lone turned back, riding down the trail at a lope. She couldn'thave gone far, he reasoned, and if she had been out all night in therain, with no better shelter than Rock City afforded, she would needhelp, --"and lots of it, and pretty darn quick, " he added to John Doe, which was the ambiguous name of his horse. 

Half a mile farther on he overtook her. Rather, he sighted her in thetrail, saw her duck in amongst the rocks and scattered brush of a smallravine, and spurred after her. It was precarious footing for his horsewhen he left the road, but John Doe was accustomed to that. He jumpedboulders, shied around buckthorn, crashed through sagebrush and sobrought the girl to bay against a wet bank, where she stood shivering. The terror in her face and her wide eyes would have made her famous inthe movies. It made Lone afraid she was crazy. 

Lone swung off and went up to her guardedly, not knowing just what aninsane woman might do when cornered. "There, now, I'm not going tohurt yuh at all, " he soothed. "I guess maybe you're lost. What madeyou run away from me when you saw me coming?"

Lorraine continued to stare at him. 

"I'm going to the ranch, and if you'd like a ride, I'll lend you myhorse. He'll be gentle if I lead him. It's a right smart walk fromhere. " Lone smiled, meaning to reassure her. 

"Are you the man I saw shoot that man and then fasten him to thestirrup of the saddle so the horse dragged him down the road? If youare, I--I----"

"No--oh, no, I'm not the man, " Lone said gently. "I just now came fromhome. Better let me take you in to the ranch. "

"I was going to the ranch--did you see him shoot that man and make thehorse drag him--_make_ the horse--he _slashed_ that horse with thequirt--and he went tearing down the road dragging--it--itwas--_horrible_!"

"Yes--yes, don't worry about it. We'll fix him. You come and get onJohn Doe and let me take you to the ranch. Come on--you're wet as aducked pup. "

"That man was just riding along--I saw him when it lightened. And heshot him--oh, can't you _do_ something?"

"Yes, yes, they're after him right now. Here. Just put your foot inthe stirrup--I'll help you up. Why, you're soaked!" PerseveringlyLone urged her to the horse. "You're soaking wet!" he exclaimed again. 

"It rained, " she muttered confusedly. "I thought it was the ranch--butthey were rocks. Just rocks. Did you _see_ him shoot that man?Why--why it shouldn't be allowed! He ought to be arrested rightaway--I'd have called a policeman but--isn't thunder and lightning justperfectly _awful_? And that horse--going down the road dragging----"

"You'd better get some one to double for me in this scene, " she saidirrelevantly. "I--I don't know this horse, and if he starts runningthe boys might not catch him in time. It isn't safe, is it?"

"It's safe, " said Lone pityingly. "You won't be dragged. You just geton and ride. I'll lead him. John Doe's gentle as a dog. "

"Just straight riding?" Lorraine considered the matter gravely. "Wel-ll--but I saw a man dragged, once. He'd been shot first. It--itwas awful!"

"I'll bet it was. How'd you come to be walking so far?"

Lorraine looked at him suspiciously. Lone thought her eyes were themost wonderful eyes--and the most terrible--that he had ever seen. Almond-shaped they were, the irises a clear, dark gray, the eyeballsblue-white like a healthy baby's. That was the wonder of them. Buttheir glassy shine made them terrible. Her lids lifted in a suddenstare. 

"You're not the man, are you? I--I think he was taller than you. Andhis hat was brown. He's a brute--a _beast_! To shoot a man justriding along---- It rained, " she added plaintively. "My bag is backthere somewhere under a bush. I think I could find the bush--it waswhere a rabbit was sitting--but he's probably gone by this time. Arabbit, " she told him impressively, "wouldn't sit out in the rain allnight, would he? He'd get wet. And a rabbit would feel horrid when hewas wet--such thick fur he never _would_ get dried out. Where do theygo when it rains? They have holes in the ground, don't they?"

"Yes. Sure, they do. I'll show you one, down the road here a littlepiece. Come on--it ain't far. "

To see a rabbit hole in the ground, Lorraine consented to mount andride while Lone walked beside her, agreeing with everything she saidthat needed agreement. When she had gone a few rods, however, shebegan to call him Charlie and to criticise the direction of thepicture. They should not, she declared, mix murders and thunderstormsin the same scene. While the storm effect was perfectly _wonderful_, she thought it rather detracted from the killing. She did not believein lumping big stuff together like that. Why not have the killing doneby moonlight, and use the storm when the murderer was getting away, orsomething like that? And as for taking them out on location and makingall those storm scenes without telling them in advance so that theycould have dry clothes afterwards, she thought it a perfect outrage!If it were not for spoiling the picture, she would quit, she assertedindignantly. She thought the director had better go back to driving alaundry wagon, which was probably where he came from. 

Lone agreed with her, even though he did not know what she was talkingabout. He walked as fast as he could, but even so he could not travelthe six miles to the ranch very quickly. He could see that the girlwas burning up with fever, and he could hear her voice growinghusky, --could hear, too, the painful labouring of her breath. When shewas not mumbling incoherent nonsense she was laughing hoarsely at theplight she was in, and after that she would hold both hands to herchest and moan in a way that made Lone grind his teeth. 

When he lifted her off his horse at the foreman's cottage she waswhispering things no one could understand. Three cowpunchers camerunning and hindered him a good deal in carrying her into the house, and the foreman's wife ran excitedly from one room to the other, askingquestions and demanding that some one do something "for pity's sake, she may be dying for all you know, while you stand there gawping likefool-hens. "

"She was out all night in the rain--got lost, somehow. She said shewas coming here, so I brought her on. She's down with a cold, MrsHawkins. Better take off them wet clothes and put hot blankets aroundher. And a poultice or something on her chest, I reckon. " Lone turnedto the door, stopped to roll a cigarette, and watched Mrs Hawkinshurrying to Lorraine with a whisky toddy the cook had mixed for her. 

"A sweat's awful good for a cold like she's got, " he volunteeredpractically. "She's out of her head--or she was when I found her. ButI reckon that's mostly scare, from being lost all night. Give her agood sweat, why don't you?" He reached the doorstep and then turnedback to add, "She left a grip back somewhere along the road. I'll gohunt it up, I reckon. "

He mounted John Doe and rode down to the corral, where two or threeriders were killing time on various pretexts while they waited fordetails of Lone's adventure. Delirious young women of the silkstocking class did not arrive at the Sawtooth every morning, and it wasrumoured already amongst the men that she was some looker, whichnaturally whetted their interest in her. 

"I'll bet it's one of Bob's girls, come trailin' him up. Mebby anotherof them heart-ballum cases of Bob's, " hazarded Pop Bridgers, who readnothing unless it was printed on pink paper, and who refused to believethat any good could come out of a city. "Ain't that right, Loney?Hain't she a heart-ballum girl of Bob's?"

From the saddle Lone stared down impassively at Pop and Pop'scompanions. "I don't know a thing about her, " he stated emphatically. "She said she was coming to the ranch, and she was scared of thethunder and lightning. That's every word of sense I could get outaher. She ain't altogether ignorant--she knows how to climb on a horse, anyway, and she kicked about having to ride sideways on account of herskirts. She was plumb out of her head, and talked wild, but shehandled her reins like a rider. And she never mentioned Bob, noranybody else excepting some fellow she called Charlie. She thought Iwas him, but she only talked to me friendly. She didn't pull any lovetalk at all. "

"Charlie?" Pop ruminated over a fresh quid of tobacco. "Charlie!Mebby Bob, he stakes himself to a different name now and then. Thereain't any Charlie, except Charlie Werner; she wouldn't mean him, do yuhs'pose?"

"Charlie Werner? Hunh! Say, Pop, she ain't no squaw--is she, Loney?"Sid Sterling remonstrated. 

"If I can read brands, " Lone testified, "she's no girl of Bob's. She'sa good, honest girl when she ain't crazy. "

"And no good, honest girl who is not crazy could possibly be a girl ofmine! Is that the idea, Lone?"

Lone turned unhurriedly and looked at young Bob Warfield standing inthe stable door with his hands in his trousers pockets and his pipe inhis mouth. 

"That ain't the argument. Pop, here, was wondering if she was anotherheart-ballum girl of yours, " Lone grinned unabashed. "I don't knowsuch a hell of a lot about heart-balm ladies, Bob. I ain't amillionaire. I'm just making a guess at their brand--and it ain't thebrand this little lady carries. "

Bob removed one hand from his pocket and cuddled the bowl of his pipe. "If she's a woman, she's a heart-balmer if she gets the chance. Theyall are, down deep in their tricky hearts. There isn't a woman onearth that won't sell a man's soul out of his body if she happens tothink it's worth her while--and she can get away with it. But don'tfor any sake call her _my_ heart-balmer. "

"That was Pop, " drawled Lone. "It don't strike me as being any subjectfor you fellows to make remarks about, anyway, " he advised Pop firmly. "She's a right nice little girl, and she's pretty darn sick. " Hetouched John Doe with the spurs and rode away, stopping at theforeman's gate to finish his business with Hawkins. He was aconscientious young man, and since he had charge of Elk Spring camp, heset its interests above his own, which was more than some of theSawtooth men would have done in his place. 

Having reported the damage to the bridge and made his suggestions aboutthe repairs, he touched up John Doe again and loped away on a purelypersonal matter, which had to do with finding the bag which the girlhad told him was under a bush where a rabbit had been sitting. 

If she had not been so very sick, Lone would have laughed at her naïvemethod of identifying the spot. But he was too sorry for her to beamused at the vagaries of her sick brain. He did not believe anythingshe had said, except that she had been coming to the ranch and had lefther bag under a bush beside the road. It should not be difficult tofind it, if he followed the road and watched closely the bushes oneither side. 

Until he reached the place where he had first sighted her, Lone rodeswiftly, anxious to be through with the business and go his way. Butwhen he came upon her footprints again, he pulled up and held John Doeto a walk, scanning each bush and boulder as he passed. 

It seemed probable that she had left the grip at Rock City where shemust have spent the night. She had spoken of being deceived intothinking the place was the Sawtooth ranch until she had come into itand found it "just rocks. " Then, he reasoned, the storm had broken, and her fright had held her there. When daylight came she had eitherforgotten the bag or had left it deliberately. 

At Rock City, then, Lone stopped to examine the base of every rock, even riding around those nearest the road. The girl, he guessedshrewdly, had not wandered off the main highway, else she would nothave been able to find it again. Rock City was confusing unless onewas perfectly familiar with its curious, winding lanes. 

It was when he was riding slowly around the boulder marked "PalaceHotel, Rates Reasnible, " that he came upon the place where a horse hadstood, on the side best sheltered from the storm. Deep hoof marksclosely overlapping, an overturned stone here and there gave proofenough, and the rain-beaten soil that blurred the hoofprints farthestfrom the rock told him more. Lone backed away, dismounted, and, stepping carefully, went close. He could see no reason why a horseshould have stood there with his head toward the road ten feet away, unless his rider was waiting for something--or some one. There wereother boulders near which offered more shelter from rain. 

Next the rock he discovered a boot track, evidently made when the riderdismounted. He thought of the wild statement of the girl about seeingsome one shoot a man and wondered briefly if there could be a basis oftruth in what she said. But the road showed no sign of a struggle, though there were, here and there, hoofprints half washed out with therain. 

Lone went back to his horse and rode on, still looking for the bag. His search was thorough and, being a keen-eyed young man, he discoveredthe place where Lorraine had crouched down by a rock. She must havestayed there all night, for the scuffed soil was dry where her body hadrested, and her purse, caught in the juniper bush close by, was soddenwith rain. 

"The poor little kid!" he muttered, and with a sudden impulse he turnedand looked toward the rock behind which the horse had stood. Help hadbeen that close, and she had not known it, unless----

"If anything happened there last night, she could have seen it fromhere, " he decided, and immediately put the thought away from him. 

"But nothing happened, " he added, "unless maybe she saw him ride outand go on down the road. She was out of her head and just imaginedthings. "

He slipped the soaked purse into his coat pocket, remounted and rode onslowly, looking for the grip and half-believing she had not beencarrying one, but had dreamed it just as she had dreamed that a man hadbeen shot. 

He rode past the bag without seeing it, for Lorraine had thrust it farback under a stocky bush whose scraggly branches nearly touched theground. So he came at last to the creek, swollen with the night'sstorm so that it was swift and dangerous. Lone was turning back whenJohn Doe threw up his head, stared up the creek for a moment andwhinnied shrilly. Lone stood in the stirrups and looked. 

A blaze-faced horse was standing a short rifle-shot away, bridled andwith an empty saddle. Whether he was tied or not Lone, could not tellat that distance, but he knew the horse by its banged forelock and itswhite face and sorrel ears, and he knew the owner of the horse. Herode toward it slowly. 

"Whoa, you rattle-headed fool, " he admonished, when the horse snortedand backed a step or two as he approached. He saw the bridle-reinsdangling, broken, where the horse had stepped on them in running. "Broke loose and run off again, " he said, as he took down his rope andwidened the loop. "I'll bet Thurman would sell you for a bent nickel, this morning. "

The horse squatted and jumped when he cast the loop, and then stoodquivering and snorting while Lone dismounted and started toward him. Ten steps from the horse Lone stopped short, staring. For down in thebushes on the farther side half lay, half hung the limp form of a man. 

CHAPTER V

A DEATH "BY ACCIDENT"

Lone Morgan was a Virginian by birth, though few of his acquaintancesknew it. 

Lone never talked of himself except as his personal history touched acommon interest with his fellows. But until he was seventeen he hadlived very close to the centre of one of the deadliest feuds of theBlue Ridge. That he had been neutral was merely an accident of birth, perhaps. And that he had not become involved in the quarrel that ragedamong his neighbours was the direct result of a genius for holding histongue. He had attended the funerals of men shot down in their owndooryards, he had witnessed the trials of the killers. He had grown upwith the settled conviction that other men's quarrels did not concernhim so long as he was not directly involved, and that what did notconcern him he had no right to discuss. If he stood aside and letviolence stalk by unhindered, he was merely doing what he had beentaught to do from the time he could walk. "Mind your own business andlet other folks do the same, " had been the family slogan in Lone'shome. There had been nothing in Lone's later life to convince him thatminding his own business was not a very good habit. It had grown to besecond nature, --and it had made him a good man for the Sawtooth CattleCompany to have on its pay roll. 

Just now Lone was stirred beyond his usual depth of emotion, and it wasnot altogether the sight of Fred Thurman's battered body that unnervedhim. He wanted to believe that Thurman's death was purely anaccident, --the accident it appeared. But Lorraine and the telltalehoofprints by the rock compelled him to believe that it was not anaccident. He knew that if he examined carefully enough Fred Thurman'sbody he would find the mark of a bullet. He was tempted to look, andyet he did not want to know. It was no business of his; it would befoolish to let it become his business. 

"He's too dead to care now how it happened--and it would only stir uptrouble, " he finally decided and turned his eyes away. 

He pulled the twisted foot from the stirrup, left the body where itlay, and led the blaze-faced horse to a tree and tied it securely. Hetook off his coat and spread it over the head and shoulders of the deadman, weighted the edges with rocks and rode away. 

Halfway up the hill he left the road and took a narrow trail throughthe sage, a short-cut that would save him a couple of miles. 

The trail crossed the ridge half a mile beyond Rock City, dipping intothe lower end of the small gulch where he had overtaken the girl. Theplace recalled with fresh vividness her first words to him: "Are _you_the man I saw shoot that other man and fasten his foot in the stirrup?"Lone shivered and threw away the cigarette he had just lighted. 

"My God, that girl mustn't tell that to any one else!" he exclaimedapprehensively. "No matter who she is or what she is, she mustn't tellthat!"

"Hello! Who you talking to? I heard somebody talking----" The bushesparted above a low, rocky ledge and a face peered out, smilinggood-humouredly. Lone started a little and pulled up. 

"Oh, hello, Swan. I was just telling this horse of mine all I wasgoing to do to him. Say, you're a chancey bird, Swan, yelling from thebrush like that. Some folks woulda taken a shot at you. "

"Then they'd hit me, sure, " Swan observed, letting himself down intothe trail. He, too, was wet from his hat crown to his shoes, thatsquelched when he landed lightly on his toes. "Anybody would beashamed to shoot at a mark so large as I am. I'd say they're poorshooters. " And he added irrelevantly, as he held up a grayish pelt, "Igot that coyote I been chasing for two weeks. He was sure smart. Hehad me guessing. But I made him guess some, maybe. He guessed wrongthis time. "

Lone's eyes narrowed while he looked Swan over. "You must have beenout all night, " he said. "You're crazier about hunting than I am. "

"Wet bushes, " Swan corrected carelessly. "I been tramping sincedaylight. It's my work to hunt, like it's your work to ride. " He hadswung into the trail ahead of John Doe and was walking with longstrides, --the tallest, straightest, limberest young Swede in all thecountry. He had the bluest eyes, the readiest smile, the healthiestcolour, the sunniest hair and disposition the Sawtooth country had seenfor many a day. He had homesteaded an eighty-acre claim on the southside of Bear Top and had by that means gained possession of two livingsprings and the only accessible portion of Wilder Creek where itcrossed the meadow called Skyline before it plunged into a gulch toonarrow for cattle to water with any safety. 

The Sawtooth Cattle Company had for years "covered" that eighty-acrepatch of government land, never dreaming that any one would ever fileon it. Swan Vjolmar was there and had his log cabin roofed and readyfor the door and windows before the Sawtooth discovered his presence. Now, nearly a year afterwards, he was accepted in a tolerant, half-friendly spirit. He had not objected to the Sawtooth cattle whichstill watered at Skyline Meadow. He was a "Government hunter" and hehad killed many coyotes and lynx and even a mountain lion or two. Lonewondered sometimes what the Sawtooth meant to do about the Swede, butso far the Sawtooth seemed inclined to do nothing at all, evidentlythinking his war on animal pests more than atoned for his effrontery intaking Skyline as a homestead. When he had proven up on his claim theywould probably buy him out and have the water still. 

"Well, what do you know?" Swan turned his head to inquire abruptly. "You're pretty quiet. "

Lone roused himself. "Fred Thurman's been dragged to death by thatdamned flighty horse of his, " he said. "I found him in the brush thisside of Granite Creek. Had his foot caught in the stirrup. I thoughtI'd best leave him there till the coroner can view him. "

Swan stopped short in the trail and turned facing Lone. "Last night mydog Yack whines to go out. He went and sat in a place where he looksdown on the walley, and he howled for half an hour. I said then thatsomebody in the walley has died. That dog is something queer about it. He knows things. "

"I'm going to the Sawtooth, " Lone told him. "I can telephone to thecoroner from there. Anybody at Thurman's place, do you know?"

Swan shook his head and started again down the winding, steep trail. "I don't hunt over that way for maybe a week. That's too bad he'skilled. I like Fred Thurman. He's a fine man, you bet. "

"He was, " said Lone soberly. "It's a damn shame he had to go--likethat. "

Swan glanced back at him, studied Lone's face for an instant and turnedinto a tributary gully where a stream trickled down over the water-wornrocks. "Here I leave you, " he volunteered, as Lone came abreast ofhim. "A coyote's crossed up there, and I maybe find his tracks. Icould go do chores for Fred Thurman if nobody's there. Should I dothat? What you say, Lone?"

"You might drift around by there if it ain't too much out of your way, and see if he's got a man on the ranch, " Lone suggested. "But youbetter not touch anything in the house, Swan. The coroner'll likelyappoint somebody to look around and see if he's got any folks to sendhis stuff to. Just feed any stock that's kept up, if nobody's there. "

"All right, " Swan agreed readily. "I'll do that, Lone. Good-bye. "

Lone nodded and watched him climb the steep slope of the gulch on theside toward Thurman's ranch. Swan climbed swiftly, seeming to take nothought of where he put his feet, yet never once slipping or slowing. In two minutes he was out of sight, and Lone rode on moodily, tryingnot to think of Fred Thurman, trying to shut from his mind the thingsthat wild-eyed, hoarse-voiced girl had told him. 

"Lone, you mind your own business, " he advised himself once. "Youdon't know anything that's going to do any one any good, and what youdon't know there's no good guessing. But that girl--she mustn't talklike that!"

Of Swan he scarcely gave a thought after the Swede had disappeared, yetSwan was worth a thought or two, even from a man who was bent onminding his own business. Swan had no sooner climbed the gulch towardThurman's claim than he proceeded to descend rather carefully to thebottom again, walk along on the rocks for some distance and climb tothe ridge whose farther slope led down to Granite Creek. He did notfollow the trail, but struck straight across an outcropping ledge, descended to Granite Creek and strode along next the hill where thesoil was gravelly and barren. When he had gone some distance, he satdown and took from under his coat two huge, crudely made moccasins ofcoyote skin. These he pulled on over his shoes, tied them around hisankles and went on, still keeping close under the hill. 

He reached the place where Fred Thurman lay, stood well away from thebody and studied every detail closely. Then, stepping carefully ontrampled brush and rocks, he approached and cautiously lifted Lone'scoat. It was not a pretty sight, but Swan's interest held him therefor perhaps ten minutes, his eyes leaving the body only when theblaze-faced horse moved. Then Swan would look up quickly at the horse, seem reassured when he saw that the animal was not watching anything ata distance, and return, to his curious task. Finally he drew the coatback over the head and shoulders, placed each stone exactly as he hadfound it and went up to the horse, examining the saddle rather closely. After that he retreated as carefully as he had approached. When he hadgone half a mile or so upstream he found a place where he could washhis hands without wetting his moccasins, returned to the rocky hillsideand took off the clumsy footgear and stowed them away under his coat. Then with long strides that covered the ground as fast as a horse coulddo without loping, Swan headed as straight as might be for the Thurmanranch. 

About noon Swan approached the crowd of men and a few women who stoodat a little distance and whispered together, with their faces avertedfrom the body around which the men stood grouped. The news had spreadas such news will, even in a country so sparsely settled as theSawtooth. Swan counted forty men, --he did not bother with the women. Fred Thurman had been known to every one of them. Some one had spreada piece of canvas over the corpse, and Swan did not go very near. Theblaze-faced horse had been led farther away and tied to a cottonwood, where some one had thrown down a bundle of hay. The Sawtooth countrywas rather punctilious in its duty toward the law, and it was generallybelieved that the coroner would want to see the horse that had causedthe tragedy. 

Half an hour after Swan arrived, the coroner came in a machine, andwith him came the sheriff. The coroner, an important little man, examined the body, the horse and the saddle, and there was the usualformula of swearing in a jury. The inquest was rather short, sincethere was only one witness to testify, and Lone merely told how he haddiscovered the horse there by the creek, and that the body had not beenmoved from where he found it. 

Swan went over to where Lone, anxious to get away from the place, wasuntying his horse after the jury had officially named the death anaccident. 

"I guess those horses could be turned loose, " he began without prelude. "What you think, Lone? I been to Thurman's ranch, and I don't findanybody. Some horses in a corral, and pigs in a pen, and chickens. Iguess Thurman was living alone. Should I tell the coroner that?"

"I dunno, " Lone replied shortly. "You might speak to the sheriff. Ireckon he's the man to take charge of things. "

"It's bad business, getting killed, " Swan said vaguely. "It makes mefeel damn sorry when I go to that ranch. There's the horses waitingfor breakfast--and Thurman, he's dead over here and can't feed his pigsand his chickens. It's a white cat over there that comes to meet meand rubs my leg and purrs like it's lonesome. That's a nice ranch he'sgot, too. Now what becomes of that ranch? What you think, Lone?"

"Hell, how should I know?" Lone scowled at him from the saddle androde away, leaving Swan standing there staring after him. He turnedaway to find the sheriff and almost collided with Brit Hunter, who wasglancing speculatively from him to Lone Morgan. Swan stopped and putout his hand to shake. 

"Lone says I should tell the sheriff I could look after Fred Thurman'sranch. What you think, Mr Hunter?"

"Good idea, I guess. Somebody'll have to. They can't----" He checkedhimself. "You got a horse? I'll ride over with yuh, maybe. "

"I got legs, " Swan returned laconically. "They don't get scared, MrHunter, and maybe kill me sometime. You could tell the sheriff I'mgovernment hunter and honest man, and I take good care of things. Youcould do that, please?"

"Sure, " said Brit and rode over to where the sheriff was standing. 

The sheriff listened, nodded, beckoned to Swan. "The court'll have tosettle up the estate and find his heirs, if he's got any. But you lookafter things--what's your name? Vjolmar--how yuh spell it? I'll swearyou in as a deputy. Good Lord, you're a husky son-of-a-gun!" Thesheriff's eyes went up to Swan's hat crown, descended to his shouldersand lingered there admiringly for a moment, travelled down his flat, hard-muscled body and his straight legs. "I'll bet you could put upsome fight, if you had to, " he commented. 

Swan grinned good-humouredly, glanced conscience-stricken at thecovered figure on the ground and straightened his face decorously. 

"I could lick you good, " he admitted in a stage whisper. "I'm ason-off-a-gun all right--only I don't never get mad at somebody. "

Brit Hunter smiled at that, it was so like Swan Vjolmar. But when theywere halfway to Thurman's ranch--Brit on horseback and Swan stridingeasily along beside him, leading the blaze-faced horse, he glanced downat Swan's face and wondered if Swan had not lied a little. 

"What's on your mind, Swan?" he asked abruptly. 

Swan started and looked up at him, glanced at the empty hills on eitherside, and stopped still in the trail. 

"Mr Hunter, you been longer in the country than I have been. You seensome good riding, I bet. Maybe you see some men ride backwards on ahorse?"

Brit looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Backwards?"

Swan led up the blaze-faced horse and pointed to the right stirrup. "Spurs would scratch like that if you jerk your foot, maybe. You're agood rider, Mr Hunter, you can tell. That's a right stirrup, ain't it?Fred Thurman, he's got his left foot twist around, all broke fromjerking in his stirrup. Left foot in right stirrup----" He pushedback his hat and rumpled his yellow hair, looking up into Brit's faceinquiringly. "Left foot in right stirrup is riding backwards. That'sa damn good rider to ride like that--what you think, Mr Hunter?"

CHAPTER VI

LONE ADVISES SILENCE

Twice in the next week Lone found an excuse for riding over to theSawtooth. During his first visit, the foreman's wife told him that theyoung lady was still too sick to talk much. The second time he went, Pop Bridgers spied him first and cackled over his coming to see thegirl. Lone grinned and dissembled as best he could, knowing that PopBridgers fed his imagination upon denials and argument and remonstranceand was likely to build gossip that might spread beyond the Sawtooth. Wherefore he did not go near the foreman's house that day, butcontented himself with gathering from Pop's talk that the girl wasstill there. 

After that he rode here and there, wherever he would be likely to meeta Sawtooth rider, and so at last he came upon Al Woodruff loping alongthe crest of Juniper Ridge. Al at first displayed no intention ofstopping, but pulled up when he saw John Doe slowing downsignificantly. Lone would have preferred a chat with some one else, for this was a sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued man; but Al Woodruff stayed atthe ranch and would know all the news, and even though he might give itan ill-natured twist, Lone would at least know what was going on. Alhailed him with a laughing epithet. 

"Say, you sure enough played hell all around, bringin' Brit Hunter'sgirl to the Sawtooth!" he began, chuckling as if he had some secretjoke. "Where'd you pick her up, Lone? She claims you found her atRock City. That right?"

"No, it ain't right, " Lone denied promptly, his dark eyes meeting Al'sglance steadily. "I found her in that gulch away this side. She wasin amongst the rocks where she was trying to keep outa the rain. BritHunter's girl, is she? She told me she was going to the Sawtooth. She'd have made it, too, if it hadn't been for the storm. She got asfar as the gulch, and the lightning scared her from going any farther. "He offered Al his tobacco sack and fumbled for a match. "I never knewBrit Hunter had a girl. "

"Nor me, " Al said and sifted tobacco into a cigarette paper. "Bob, hedrove her over there yesterday. Took him close to all day to make thetrip--and Bob, he claims to hate women!"

"So would I, if I'd got stung for fifty thousand. She ain't that kind. She's a nice girl, far as I could tell. She got well, all right, didshe?"

"Yeah--only she was still coughing some when she left the ranch. Shelike to of had pneumonia, I guess. Queer how she claimed she spent thenight in Rock City, ain't it?"

"No, " Lone answered judicially, "I don't know as it's so queer. Shenever realised how far she'd walked, I reckon. She was plumb crazywhen I found her. You couldn't take any stock in what she said. Say, you didn't see that bay I was halter-breaking, did yuh, Al? He jumpedthe fence and got away on me, day before yesterday. I'd like to catchhim up again. He'll make a good horse. "

Al had not seen the bay, and the talk tapered off desultorily to afinal "So-long, see yuh later. " Lone rode on, careful not to lookback. So she was Brit Hunter's girl! Lone whistled softly to himselfwhile he studied this new angle of the problem, --for a problem he wasbeginning to consider it. She was Brit Hunter's girl, and she had toldthem at the Sawtooth that she had spent the night at Rock City. Hewondered how much else she had told; how much she remembered of whatshe had told him. 

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a round leather pursewith a chain handle. It was soiled and shrunken with its wetting, andthe clasp had flecks of rust upon it. What it contained Lone did notknow. Virginia had taught him that a man must not be curious about thepersonal belongings of a woman. Now he turned the purse over, tried torub out the stiffness of the leather, and smiled a little as he droppedit back into his pocket. 

"I've got my calling card, " he said softly to John Doe. "I reckon Ihad the right hunch when I didn't turn it over to Mrs Hawkins. I'llask her again about that grip she said she hid under a bush. I neverheard about any of the boys finding it. "

His thoughts returned to Al Woodruff and stopped there. Determinedstill to attend strictly to his own affairs, his thoughts persisted inplaying truant and in straying to a subject he much preferred not tothink of at all. Why should Al Woodruff be interested in the exactspot where Brit Hunter's daughter had spent the night of the storm?Why should Lone instinctively discount her statement and liewhole-heartedly about it?

"Now if Al catches me up in that, he'll think I know a lot I don'tknow, or else----" He halted his thoughts there, for that, too, was aforbidden subject. 

Forbidden subjects are like other forbidden things: they have a way ofmaking themselves very conspicuous. Lone was heading for the Quirtranch by the most direct route, fearing, perhaps, that if he waited hewould lose his nerve and would not go at all. Yet it was importantthat he should go; he must return the girl's purse!

The most direct route to the Quirt took him down Juniper Ridge andacross Granite Creek near the Thurman ranch. Indeed, if he followedthe trail up Granite Creek and across the hilly country to Quirt Creek, he must pass within fifty yards of the Thurman cabin. Lone's time waslimited, yet he took the direct route rather reluctantly. He did notwant to be reminded too sharply of Fred Thurman as a man who had livedhis life in his own way and had died so horribly. 

"Well, he didn't have it coming to him--but it's done and over withnow, so it's no use thinking about it, " he reflected, when the roofs ofthe Thurman ranch buildings began to show now and then through the thinranks of the cottonwoods along the creek. 

But his face sobered as he rode along. It seemed to him that thesleepy little meadows, the quiet murmuring of the creek, even the softrustling of the cottonwood leaves breathed a new loneliness, anemptiness where the man who had called this place home, who had clungto it in the face of opposition that was growing into open warfare, hadlived and left life suddenly--unwarrantably, Lone knew in his heart. It might be of no use to think about it, but the vivid memory of FredThurman was with him when he rode up the trail to the stable and thesmall corrals. He had to think, whether he would or no. 

At the corral he came unexpectedly in sight of the Swede, who grinned aguileless welcome and came toward him, so that Lone could not ride onunless he would advertise his dislike of the place. John Doe, plainlyglad to find an excuse to stop, slowed and came to where Swan waited bythe gate. 

"By golly, this is lonesome here, " Swan complained, heaving a greatsigh. "That judge don't get busy pretty quick, I'm maybe jumping myjob. Lone, what you think? You believe in ghosts?"

"Naw. What's on your chest, Swan?" Lone slipped sidewise in thesaddle, resting his muscles. "You been seeing things?"

"No--I don't be seeing things, Lone. But sometimes I been--like I_feel_ something. " He stared at Lone questioningly. "What you think, Lone, if you be sitting down eating your supper, maybe, and you feelsomething say words in your brain? Like you know something talks toyou and then quits. "

Lone gave Swan a long, measuring look, and Swan laughed uneasily. 

"That sounds crazy. But it's true, what something tells me in mybrain. I go and look, and by golly, it's there just like the wordstell me. "

Lone straightened in the saddle. "You better come clean, Swan, andtell the whole thing. What was it? Don't talk in circles. What wordsdid you feel--in your brain?" In spite of himself, Lone felt as he hadwhen the girl had talked to him and called him Charlie. 

Swan closed the gate behind him with steady hands. His lips werepressed firmly together, as if he had definitely made up his mind tosomething. Lone was impressed somehow with Swan's perfect control ofhis speech, his thoughts, his actions. But he was puzzled rather thananything else, and when Swan turned, facing him, Lone's bewildermentdid not lessen. 

"I'll tell you. It's when I'm sitting down to eat my supper. I'm justreaching out my hand like this, to get my coffee. And something saysin my head, 'It's a lie. I don't ride backwards. Go look at mysaddle. There's blood----' And that's all. It's like the words gofar away so I can't hear any more. So I eat my supper, and then I getthe lantern and I go look. You come with me, Lone. I'll show you. "

Without a word Lone dismounted and followed Swan into a small shedbeside the stable, where a worn stock saddle hung suspended from across-piece, a rawhide string looped over the horn. Lone did not askwhose saddle it was, nor did Swan name the owner. There was no need. 

Swan took the saddle and swung it around so that the right side wastoward them. It was what is called a full-stamped saddle, with thepopular wild-rose design on skirts and cantle. Much hard use andoccasional oilings had darkened the leather to a rich, red brown, marred with old scars and scratches and the stains of many storms. 

"Blood is hard to find when it's raining all night, " Swan observed, speaking low as one does in the presence of death. "But if somebody isbleeding and falls off a horse slow, and catches hold of things andtries like hell to hang on----" He lifted the small flap that coveredthe cinch ring and revealed a reddish, flaked stain. Phlegmatically hewetted his finger tip on his tongue, rubbed the stain and held up hisfinger for Lone to see. "That's a damn funny place for blood, when aman is dragging on the ground, " he commented dryly. "And somethingelse is damn funny, Lone. "

He lifted the wooden stirrup and touched with his finger the rowelmarks. "That is on the front part, " he said. "I could swear in courtthat Fred's left foot was twisted--that's damn funny, Lone. I don'tsee men ride backwards, much. "

Lone turned on him and struck the stirrup from his hand. "I think youbetter forget it, " he said fiercely. "He's dead--it can't help him anyto----" He stopped and pulled himself together. "Swan, you take afool's advice and don't tell anybody else about feeling words talk inyour head. They'll have you in the bug-house at Black-foot, sure asyou live. " He looked at the saddle, hesitated, looked again at Swan, who was watching him. "That blood most likely got there when Fred waspacking a deer in from the hills. And marks on them old oxbow stirrupsdon't mean a damn thing but the need of a new pair, maybe. " He forceda laugh and stepped outside the shed. "Just shows you, Swan, thatimagination and being alone all the time can raise Cain with a fellow. You want to watch yourself. "

Swan followed him out, closing the door carefully behind him. "Bygolly, I'm watching out now, " he assented thoughtfully. "You don'ttell anybody, Lone. "

"No, I won't tell anybody--and I'd advise you not to, " Lone repeatedgrimly. "Just keep those thoughts outa your head, Swan. They're badmedicine. "

He mounted John Doe and rode away, his eyes downcast, his quirtslapping absently the weeds along the trail. It was not his business, and yet---- Lone shook himself together and put John Doe into a lope. He had warned Swan, and he could do no more. 

Halfway to the Quirt he met Lorraine riding along the trail. She wouldhave passed him with no sign of recognition, but Lone lifted his hatand stopped. Lorraine looked at him, rode on a few steps and turned. "Did you wish to speak about something?" she asked impersonally. 

Lone felt the flush in his cheeks, which angered him to the point ofspeaking curtly. "Yes. I found your purse where you dropped it thatnight you were lost. I was bringing it over to you. My name's Morgan. I'm the man that found you and took you in to the ranch. "

"Oh. " Lorraine looked at him steadily. "You're the one they callLoney?"

"When they're feeling good toward me. I'm Lone Morgan. I went back tofind your grip--you said you left it under a bush, but the world'splumb full of bushes. I found your purse, though. "

"Thank you so much. I must have been an awful nuisance, but I was soscared--and things were terribly mixed in my mind. I didn't even havesense enough to tell you what ranch I was trying to find, did I? Soyou took me to the wrong one, and I was a week there before I found itout. And then they were perfectly lovely about it and broughtme--home. " She turned the purse over and over in her hands, looking atit without much interest. She seemed in no hurry to ride on, whichgave Lone courage. 

"There's something I'd like to say, " he began, groping for words thatwould make his meaning plain without telling too much. "I hope youwon't mind my telling you. You were kinda out of your head when Ifound you, and you said something about seeing a man shot and----"

"Oh!" Lorraine looked up at him, looked through him, he thought, withthose brilliant eyes of hers. "Then I did tell----"

"I just wanted to say, " Lone interrupted her, "that I knew all the timeit was just a nightmare. I never mentioned it to anybody, and you'llforget all about it, I hope. You didn't tell any one else, did you?"

He looked up at her again and found her studying him curiously. "You're not the man I saw, " she said, as if sue were satisfying herselfon that point. "I've wondered since--but I was sure, too, that I hadseen it. Why mustn't I tell any one?"

Lone did not reply at once. The girl's eyes were disconcertinglydirect, her voice and her manner disturbed him with their judicialcalmness, so at variance with the wildness he remembered. 

"Well, it's hard to explain, " he said at last. "You're strange to thiscountry, and you don't know all the ins and outs of--things. Itwouldn't do any good to you or anybody else, and it might do a lot ofharm. " His eyes flicked her face with a wistful glance. "You don'tknow me--I really haven't got any right to ask or expect you to trustme. But I wish you would, to the extent of forgetting that you saw--orthought you saw--anything that night in Rock City. "

Lorraine shivered and covered her eyes swiftly with one hand. Hiswords had brought back too sharply that scene. But she shook off theemotion and faced him again. 

"I saw a man murdered, " she cried. "I wasn't sure afterwards;sometimes I thought I had dreamed it. But I was sure I saw it. I sawthe horse go by, running--and you want me to keep still about that?What harm could it do to tell? Perhaps it's true--perhaps I did see itall. I might think you were trying to cover up something--only, you'renot the man I saw--or thought I saw. "

"No, of course I'm not. You dreamed the whole thing, and the way youtalked to me was so wild, folks would say you're crazy if they heardyou tell it. You're a stranger here, Miss Hunter, and--your father isnot as popular in this country as he might be. He's got enemies thatwould be glad of the chance to stir up trouble for him. You--justdreamed all that. I'm asking you to forget a bad dream, that's all, and not go telling it to other folks. "

For some time Lorraine did not answer. The horses conversed withsundry nose-rubbings, nibbled idly at convenient brush tips, andwondered no doubt why their riders were so silent. Lone tried to thinkof some stronger argument, some appeal that would reach the girlwithout frightening her or causing her to distrust him. But he did notknow what more he could say without telling her what must not be told. 

"Just how would it make trouble for my father?" Lorraine asked at last. "I can't believe you'd ask me to help cover up a crime, but it seemshard to believe that a nightmare would cause any great commotion. Andwhy is my father unpopular?"

"Well, you don't know this country, " Lone parried inexpertly. "It'sall right in some ways, and in some ways it could be a lot improved. Folks haven't got much to talk about. They go around gabbling theirheads off about every little thing, and adding onto it until you can'trecognise your own remarks after they've peddled for a week. You'vemaybe seen places like that. "

"Oh, yes. " Lorraine's eyes lighted with a smile. "Take a moviestudio, for instance. "

"Yes. Well, you being a stranger, you would get all the worst of it. I just thought I'd tell you; I'd hate to see you misunderstood by folksaround here. I--I feel kinda responsible for you; I'm the one thatfound you. "

Lorraine's eyes twinkled. "Well, I'm glad to know one person in thecountry who doesn't gabble his head off. You haven't answered any ofmy questions, and you've made me feel as if you'd found a dangerous, wild woman that morning. It isn't very flattering, but I think you'rehonest, anyway. "

Lone smiled for the first time, and she found his smile pleasant. "I'mno angel, " he disclaimed modestly, "and most folks think I could beimproved on a whole lot. But I'm honest in one way. I'm thinkingabout what's best for you, this time. "

"I'm terribly grateful, " Lorraine laughed. "I shall take great carenot to go all around the country telling people my dreams. I can seethat it wouldn't make me awfully popular. " Then she sobered. "MrMorgan, that was a _horrible_ kind of--nightmare. Why, even last nightI woke up shivering, just imagining it all over again. "

"It was sure horrible the way you talked about it, " Lone assured her. "It's because you were sick, I reckon. I wish you'd tell me as closeas you can where you left that grip of yours. You said it was under abush where a rabbit was sitting. I'd like to find the grip--but I'mafraid that rabbit has done moved!"

"Oh, Mr Warfield and I found it, thank you. The rabbit had moved, butI sort of remembered how the road had looked along there, and we hunteduntil we discovered the place. Dad has driven in after my otherluggage to-day--and I believe I must be getting home. I was only outfor a little ride. "

She thanked him again for the trouble he had taken and rode away. Loneturned off the trail and, picking his way around rough outcroppings ofrock, and across unexpected little gullies, headed straight for theford across Granite Creek and home. Brit Hunter's girl, he wasthinking, was even nicer than he had pictured her. And that she couldbelieve in the nightmare was a vast relief. 

CHAPTER VII

THE MAN AT WHISPER

Brit Hunter finished washing the breakfast dishes and put a stick ofwood into the broken old cook-stove that had served him and Frank forfifteen years and was feeling its age. Lorraine's breakfast was in theoven, keeping warm. Brit looked in, tested the heat with his gnarledhand to make sure that the sour-dough biscuits would not be dried tocrusts, and closed the door upon them and the bacon and fried potatoes. Frank Johnson had the horses saddled and it was time to go, yet Britlingered, uneasily conscious that his habitation was lacking in manythings which a beautiful young woman might consider absolutenecessities. He had seen in Lorraine's eyes, as they glanced here andthere about the grimy walls, a certain disparagement of hersurroundings. The look had made him wince, though he could not quitedecide what it was that displeased her. Maybe she wanted lacecurtains, or something. 

He set the four chairs in a row against the wall, swept up the bits ofbark and ashes beside the stove, made sure that the water bucket wasstanding full on its bench beside the door, sent another criticalglance around the room, and tip-toed over to the dish cupboard and letdown the flowered calico curtain that had been looped up over a nailfor convenience. The sun sent a bright, wide bar of yellow lightacross the room to rest on the shelf behind the stove where stood thesalt can, the soda, the teapot, a box of matches and two pepper cans, one empty and the other full. Brit always meant to throw out thatempty pepper can and always neglected to do so. Just now he rememberedpicking up the empty one and shaking it over the potatoes futilely andthen changing it for the full one. But he did not take it away; in thewilderness one learns to save useless things in the faint hope thatsome day they may become useful. The shelves were cluttered with fitcompanions to that empty pepper can. Brit thought that he would have"cleaned out" had he known that Lorraine was coming. Since she washere, it scarcely seemed worth while. 

He walked on his boot-toes to the door of the second room of the cabin, listened there for a minute, heard no sound and took a tablet andpencil off another shelf littered with useless things. The note whichhe wrote painstakingly, lest she might think him lacking in education, he laid upon the table beside Lorraine's plate; then went out, closingthe door behind him as quietly as a squeaking door can be made to close. 

Lorraine, in the other room, heard the squeak and sat up. Her wristwatch, on the chair beside her bed, said that it was fifteen minutespast six, which she considered an unearthly hour for rising. Shepulled up the covers and tried to sleep again. The day would be longenough, at best. There was nothing to do, unless she took that queerold horse with withers like the breastbone of a lean Christmas turkeyand hips that reminded her of the little roofs over dormer windows, andwent for a ride. And if she did that, there was nowhere to go andnothing to do when she arrived there. 

In a very few days Lorraine had exhausted the sights of Quirt Creek andvicinity. If she rode south she would eventually come to the top of ahill whence she could look down upon further stretches of barrenness. If she rode east she would come eventually to the road along which shehad walked from Echo, Idaho. Lorraine had had enough of that road. Ifshe went north she would--well, she would not meet Mr Lone Morganagain, for she had tried it twice, and had turned back because thereseemed no end to the trail twisting through the sage and rocks. Westshe had not gone, but she had no doubt that it would be the same drearymonotony of dull gray landscape. 

Monotony of landscape was one thing which Lorraine could not endure, unless it had a foreground of riders hurtling here and there, and ofperspiring men around a camera tripod. At the Sawtooth ranch, aftershe was able to be up, she had seen cowboys, but they had lacked thedash and the picturesque costuming of the West she knew. They weremostly commonplace young men, jogging past the house on horseback, orloitering down by the corrals. They had offered absolutely no interestor "colour" to the place, and the owner's son, Bob Warfield, had drivenher over to the Quirt in a Ford and had seemed exactly like any otherbig, good-looking young man who thought well of himself. Lorraine wasnot susceptible to mere good looks, three years with the "movies"having disillusioned her quite thoroughly. Too many young men of BobWarfield's general type had attempted to make love to her--lightly andnot too well--for Lorraine to be greatly impressed. 

She yawned, looked at her watch again, found that she had spent exactlysix minutes in meditating upon her immediate surroundings, and fell towondering why it was that the real West was so terribly commonplace. Why, yesterday she had been brought to such a pass of sheer lonelinessthat she had actually been driven to reading an old horse-doctor book!She had learned the symptoms of epizoötic--whatever that was--andpoll-evil and stringhalt, and had gone from that to making a shoppingtour through a Montgomery-Ward catalogue. There was nothing else inthe house to read, except a half-dozen old copies of the _Boise News_. 

There was nothing to do, nothing lo see, no one to talk to. Her dadand the big, heavy-set man whom he called Frank, seemed uncomfortablyaware of their deficiencies and were pitiably anxious to make her feelwelcome--and failed. They called her "Raine. " The other two men didnot call her anything at all. They were both sandy-complexioned andthey both chewed tobacco quite noticeably, and when they sat down intheir shirt sleeves to eat, Lorraine had seen irregular humps in theirhip pockets which must be six-guns; though why they should carry themin their pockets instead of in holster belts buckled properly aroundtheir bodies and sagging savagely down at one side and swingingferociously when they walked, Lorraine could not imagine. They did notwear chaps, either, and their spurs were just spurs, without so much asa silver concho anywhere. Cowboys in overalls and blue gingham shirtsand faded old coats whose lapels lay in wrinkles and whose pockets weretorn down at the corners! If Lorraine had not been positive that thiswas actually a cattle ranch in Idaho, she never would have believedthat they were anything but day labourers. 

"It's a comedy part for the cattle-queen's daughter, " she admitted, putting out a hand to stroke the lean, gray cat that jumped upon herbed from the open window. "Ket, it's a _scream_! I'll take my Westbefore the camera, thank you; or I would, if I hadn't jumped right intothe middle of this trick West before I knew what I was doing. Ket, what do you do to pass away the time? I don't see how you can have thenerve to live in an empty space like this and purr!"

She got up then, looked into the kitchen and saw the paper on thetable. This was new and vaguely promised some sort of break in thedeadly monotony which she saw stretching endlessly before her. Carrying the nameless cat in her arms, Lorraine went in her bare feetacross the grimy, bare floor to the table and picked up the note. Itread simply:

"Your brekfast is in the oven we wont be back till dark maby. Dontleave the ranch today. Yr loveing father. "

Lorraine hugged the cat so violently that she choked off a purr in themiddle. "'Don't leave the ranch to-day!' Ket, I believe it's going tobe dangerous or something, after all. "

She dressed quickly and went outside into the sunlight, the cat at herheels, the thrill of that one command filling the gray monotone of thehills with wonderful possibilities of adventure. Her father had madeno objection before when she went for a ride. He had merely instructedher to keep to the trails, and if she didn't know the way home, to letthe reins lie loose on Yellowjacket's neck and he would bring her tothe gate. 

Yellowjacket's instinct for direction had not been working that day, however. Lorraine had no sooner left the ranch out of sight behind herthan she pretended that she was lost. Yellowjacket had thereuponwalked a few rods farther and stopped, patiently indifferent to thelocation of his oats box. Lorraine had waited until his head began todroop lower and lower, and his switching at flies had become purelyautomatic. Yellowjacket was going to sleep without making any effortto find the way home. But since Lorraine had not told her fatheranything about it, his injunction could not have anything to do withthe unreliability of the horse. 

"Now, " she said to the cat, "if three or four bandits would appear onthe ridge, over there, and come tearing down into the immediateforeground, jump the gate and surround the house, I'd know this was thereal thing. They'd want to make me tell where dad kept his gold orwhatever it was they wanted, and they'd have me tied to a chair--andthen, cut to Lone Morgan (that's a perfectly _wonderful_ name for thelead!) hearing shots and coming on a dead run to the rescue. " Shepicked up the cat and walked slowly down the hard-trodden path to thestable. "But there aren't any bandits, and dad hasn't any gold oranything else worth stealing--Ket, if dad isn't a miser, he's _poor_!And Lone Morgan is merely ashamed of the way I talked to him, andafraid I'll queer myself with the neighbours. No Western lead that _I_ever saw would act like that. Why, he didn't even want to ride homewith me, that day. 

"And Bob Warfield and his Ford are incidents of the past, and not onesoul at the Sawtooth seems to give a darn whether I'm in the country orout of it. Soon as they found out where I belonged, they brought meover here and dropped me and forgot all about me. And that, I suppose, is what they call in fiction the Western spirit!

"Dad looked exactly as if he'd opened the door to a book agent when Icame. He--he _tolerates_ my presence, Ket! And Frank Johnson's pipesmells to high heaven, and I hate him in the house and 'theboys'--hmhm! The _boys_--Ket, it would be terribly funny, if I didn'thave to stay here. "

She had reached the corral and stood balancing the cat on a warped toprail, staring disconsolately at Yellowjacket, who stood in a far cornerswitching at flies and shamelessly displaying all the angularity of hisbones under a yellowish hide with roughened hair that was sheddingdreadfully, as Lorraine had discovered to her dismay when she removedher green corduroy skirt after riding him. Yellowjacket's lower lipsagged with senility or lack of spirit, Lorraine could not tell which. 

"You look like the frontispiece in that horse-doctor book, " sheremarked, eyeing him with disfavour. "I can't say that comedy hideyou've got improves your appearance. You'd be better peeled, Ibelieve. "

She heard a chuckle behind her and turned quickly, palm up to shieldher eyes from the straight, bright rays of the sun. Now here was alive man, after all, with his hat tilted down over his forehead, acigarette in one hand and his reins in the other, looking at her andsmiling. 

"Why don't you peel him, just on a chance?" His smile broadened to agrin, but when Lorraine continued to look at him with a neutralexpression in her eyes, he threw away his cigarette and abandoned withit his free-and-easy manner. 

"You're Miss Hunter, aren't you? I rode over to see your father. Thought I'd find him somewhere around the corral, maybe. "

"You won't, because he's gone for the day. No, I don't know where. "

"I--see. Is Mr Johnson anywhere about?"

"No, I don't believe anyone is anywhere about. They were all gone whenI got up, a little while ago. " Then, remembering that she did not knowthis man, and that she was a long way from neighbours, she added, "Ifyou'll leave a message I can tell dad when he comes home. "

"No-o--I'll ride over to-morrow or next day. I'm the man at Whisper. You can tell him I called, and that I'll call again. "

Still he did not go, and Lorraine waited. Some instinct warned herthat the man had not yet stated his real reason for coming, and shewondered a little what it could be. He seemed to be watching hercovertly, yet she failed to catch any telltale admiration for her inhis scrutiny. She decided that his forehead was too narrow to pleaseher, and that his eyes were too close together, and that the linesaround his mouth were cruel lines and gave the lie to his smile, whichwas pleasant enough if you just looked at the smile and paid noattention to anything else in his face. 

"You had quite an experience getting out here, they tell me, " heobserved carelessly; too carelessly, thought Lorraine, who was wellschooled in the circumlocutions of delinquent tenants, agents ofvarious sorts and those who crave small gossip of their neighbours. "Heard you were lost up in Rock City all night. "

Lorraine looked up at him, startled. "I caught a terrible cold, " shesaid, laughing nervously. "I'm not used to the climate, " she addedguardedly. 

The man fumbled in his pocket and produced smoking material. "Do youmind if I smoke?" he asked perfunctorily. 

"Why, no. It doesn't concern me in the slightest degree. " Why, shethought confusedly, must she always be reminded of that horrible placeof rocks? What was it to this man where she had been lost?

"You must of got there about the time the storm broke, " the manhazarded after a silence. "It's sure a bad place in a thunderstorm. Them rocks draw lightning. Pretty bad, wasn't it?"

"Lightning is always bad, isn't it?" Lorraine tried to hold her voicesteady. "I don't know much about it. We don't have thunderstorms toamount to anything, in Los Angeles. It sometimes does thunder there inthe winter, but it is very mild. "

With hands that trembled she picked the cat off the rail and startedtoward the house. "I'll tell dad what you said, " she told him, glancing back over her shoulder. When she saw that he had turned hishorse and was frankly following her to the house, her heart jumpedwildly into her throat--judging by the feel of it. 

"I'm plumb out of matches. I wonder if you can let me have some, " hesaid, still speaking too carelessly to reassure her. "So you stuck itout in Rock City all through that storm! That's more than what I'dwant to do. "

She did not answer that, but once on the door-step Lorraine turned andfaced him. Quite suddenly it came to her--the knowledge of why she didnot like this man. She stared at him, her eyes wide and bright. 

"Your hat's brown!" she exclaimed unguardedly. "I--I saw a man with abrown hat----"

He laughed suddenly. "If you stay around here long you'll see a goodmany, " he said, taking off his hat and turning it on his hand beforeher. "This here hat I traded for yesterday. I had a gray one, but itdidn't suit me. Too narrow in the brim. Brown hats are getting to bethe style. If I can borrow half a dozen matches, Miss Hunter, I'll begoing. "

Lorraine looked at him again doubtfully and went after the matches. Hethanked her, smiling down at her quizzically. "A man can get alongwithout lots of things, but he's plumb lost without matches. You'vemaybe saved my life, Miss Hunter, if you only knew it. "

She watched him as he rode away, opening the gate and letting himselfthrough without dismounting. He disappeared finally around a smallspur of the hill, and Lorraine found her knees trembling under her. 

"Ket, you're an awful fool, " she exclaimed fiercely. "Why did you letme give myself away to that man? I--I believe he _was_ the man. Andif I really did see him, it wasn't my imagination at all. He saw methere, perhaps. Ket, I'm scared! I'm not going to stay on this ranchall alone. I'm going to saddle the family skeleton, and I'm going toride till dark. There's something queer about that man from Whisper. I'm afraid of him. "

After awhile, when she had finished her breakfast and was putting up alunch, Lorraine picked up the nameless gray cat and holding its headbetween her slim fingers, looked at it steadily. "Ket, you're thehumanest thing I've seen since I left home, " she said wistfully. "I_hate_ a country where horrible things happen under the surface and thetop is just gray and quiet and so dull it makes you want to scream. Lone Morgan lied to me. He lied--he lied!" She hugged the catimpulsively and rubbed her cheek absently against it, so that it beganpurring immediately. 

"Ket--I'm afraid of that man at Whisper!" she breathed miserablyagainst its fur. 

CHAPTER VIII

"IT TAKES NERVE JUST TO HANG ON"

Brit was smoking his pipe after supper and staring at nothing, thoughhis face was turned toward the closed door. Lorraine had washed thedishes and was tidying the room and looking at her father now and thenin a troubled, questioning way of which Brit was quite oblivious. 

"Dad, " she said abruptly, "who is the man at Whisper?"

Brit turned his eyes slowly to her face as if he had not grasped hermeaning and was waiting for her to repeat the question. It was evidentthat his thoughts had pulled away from something that meant a good dealto him. 

"Why?"

"A man came this morning, and said he was the man at Whisper, and thathe would come again to see you. "

Brit took his pipe from his mouth, looked at it and crowded down thetobacco with a forefinger. "He seen me ride away from the ranch, thismorning, " he said. "He was coming down the Whisper trail as I wastaking the fork over to Sugar Spring, Frank and me. What did he say hewanted to see me about?"

"He didn't say. He asked for you and Frank. " Lorraine sat down andfolded her arms on the oilcloth-covered table. "Dad, what _is_Whisper?"

"Whisper's a camp up against a cliff, over west of here. It belongs tothe Sawtooth. Is that all he said? Just that he wanted to see me?"

"He--talked a little, " Lorraine admitted, her eyebrows pulled down. "If he saw you leave, I shouldn't think he'd come here and ask for you. "

"He knowed I was gone, " Brit stated briefly. 

With a finger nail Lorraine traced the ugly, brown pattern on theoilcloth. It was not easy to talk to this silent man who was herfather, but she had done a great deal of thinking during that long, empty day, and she had reached the point where she was afraid not tospeak. 

"Dad!"

"What do you want, Raine?"

"Dad, was--has any one around here died, lately?"

"Died? Nobody but Fred Thurman, over here on Granite. He was drugwith a horse and killed. "

Lorraine caught her breath, saw Brit looking at her curiously and movedcloser to him. She wanted to be near somebody just then, and afterall, Brit was her father, and his silence was not the inertia of a dullmind, she knew. He seemed bottled-up, somehow, and bitter. She caughthis hand and held it, feeling its roughness between her two soft palms. 

"Dad, I've got to tell you. I feel trapped, somehow. Did his horsehave a white face, dad?"

"Yes, he's a blaze-faced roan. Why?" Brit moved uncomfortably, but hedid not take his hand away from her. "What do you know about it, Raine?"

"I saw a man shoot Fred Thurman and push his foot through the stirrup. And, dad, I believe it was that man at Whisper. The one I saw had on abrown hat, and this man wears a brown hat--and I was advised not totell any one I had been at that place they call Rock City, when thestorm came. Dad, would an innocent man--one that didn't have anythingto do with a crime--would he try to cover it up afterwards?"

Brit's hand shook when he removed the pipe from his mouth and laid iton the table. His face had turned gray while Lorraine watched himfearfully. He laid his hand on her shoulder, pressing down hard--andat last his eyes met her big, searching ones. 

"If he wanted to live--in this country--he'd have to. Leastways, he'dhave to keep his mouth shut, " he said grimly. 

"And he'd try to shut the mouths of others----"

"If he cared anything about them, he would. You ain't told anybodywhat you saw, have yuh?"

Lorraine hid her face against his arm. "Just Lone Morgan, and hethought I was crazy and imagined it. That was in the morning, when hefound me. And he--he wanted me to go on thinking it was just anightmare--that I'd imagined the whole thing. And I did, for awhile. But this man at Whisper tried to find out where I was that night----"

Brit pulled abruptly away from her, got up and opened the door. Hestood there for a time, looking out into the gloom of early nightfall. He seemed to be listening, Lorraine thought. When he came back to herhis voice was lower, his manner intangibly furtive. 

"You didn't tell him anything, did you?" he asked, as if there had beenno pause in their talk. 

"No--I made him believe I wasn't there. Or I tried to. And dad! As Iwas going to cross that creek just before you come to Rock City, twomen came along on horseback, and I hid before they saw me. Theystopped to water their horses, and they were talking. They saidsomething about the TJ had been here a long time, but they would gettheirs, and it was like sitting into a poker game with a nickel. Theysaid the little ones aren't big enough to fight the Sawtooth, andthey'd carry lead under their hides if they didn't leave. Dad, isn'tyour brand the TJ? That's what it looks like on Yellowjacket. "

Brit did not answer, and when Lorraine was sure that he did not mean todo so, she asked another question. "Dad, why didn't you want me toleave the ranch to-day? I was nervous after that man was here, and Idid go. "

"I didn't want you riding around the country unless I knew where youwent, " Brit said. "My brand is the TJ up-and-down. We never call itjust the TJ. "

"Oh, " said Lorraine, relieved. "They weren't talking about you, then. But dad--it's horrible! We simply _can't_ let that murder go and notdo anything. Because I know that man was shot. I heard the shotfired, and I saw him start to fall off his horse. And the next flashof lightning I saw----"

"Look here, Raine. I don't want you talking about what you saw. Idon't want you _thinkin'_ about it. What's the use? Thurman's deadand buried. The cor'ner come and held an inquest, and the jury agreedit was an accident. I was on the jury. The sheriff's took charge ofhis property. You couldn't prove what you saw, even if you was totry. " He looked at her very much as Lone Morgan had looked at her. His next words were very nearly what Lone Morgan had said, Lorraineremembered. "You don't know this country like I know it. Folks livein it mainly because they don't go around blatting everything they seeand hear and think. "

"You have laws, don't you, dad? You spoke about the sheriff----"

"The sheriff!" Brit laughed harshly. "Yes, we got a sheriff, and wegot a jail, and a judge--all the makin's of law. But we ain't got onething that goes with it, and that's justice. You'd best make up yourmind like the cor'ner's jury done, that Fred Thurman was drug to deathby his horse. That's all that'll ever be proved, and if you can'tprove nothing else you better keep your mouth shut. "

Lorraine sprang up and stood facing her father, every nerve taut withprotest. "You don't mean to tell me, dad, that you and Frank Johnsonand Lone Morgan and--everybody in the country are _cowards_, do you?"

Brit looked at her patiently. "No, " he said in the tone ofacknowledged defeat, "we ain't cowards, Raine. A man ain't a cowardwhen he stands with his hands over his head. Most generally it'sbecause some one's got the drop on 'im. "

Lorraine would not accept that. "You think so, because you don'tfight, " she cried hotly. "No one is holding a gun at your head. Dad!I thought Westerners never quit. It's fight to the finish, always. Why, I've seen one man fight a whole outfit and win. He couldn't bebeaten because he wouldn't give up. Why----"

Brit gave her a tolerant glance. "Where'd you see all that, Raine?"He moved to the table, picked up his pipe and knocked out the ashes onthe stove hearth. His movements were those of an aging man--yet BritHunter was not old, as age is reckoned. 

"Well--in stories--but it was reasonable and logical and possible, justthe same. If you use your brains you can outwit them, and if you haveany nerve----"

Brit made a sound somewhat like a snort. "These days, when politics isplayed by the big fellows, and the law is used to make money for 'em, it takes nerve just to hang on, " he said. "Nobody but a dang foolwould fight. " Slow anger grew within him. He turned upon Lorrainealmost fiercely. "D'yuh think me and Frank could fight the Sawtoothand get anything out of it but a coffin apiece, maybe?" he demandedharshly. "Don't the Sawtooth _own_ this country? Warfield's got thesheriff in his pocket, and the cor'ner, and the judge, and the stockinspector--he's _Senator_ Warfield, and what he wants he gets. He getsthrough the law that you was talking about a little while ago. Whatyou goin' to do about it? If I had the money and the land and thepolitical pull he's got, mebby I'd have me sheriff and a judge, too. 

"Fred Thurman tried to fight the Sawtooth over a water right he ownedand they wanted. They had the case runnin' in court till they like toof took the last dollar he had. He got bull-headed. That water rightmeant the hull ranch--everything he owned. You can't run a ranchwithout water. And when he'd took the case up and up till it got tothe Supreme Court, and he stood some show of winnin' out--he had anaccident. He was drug to death by his horse. "

Brit stooped and opened the stove door, seeking a live coal; found noneand turned again to Lorraine, shaking his pipe at her for emphasis. 

"We try to prove Fred was murdered, and what's the result? Somethinghappens: to me, mebby, or Frank, or both of us. And you can't say, 'Here, I know the Sawtooth had a hand in that. ' You got to _prove_ it!And when you've proved it, " he added bitterly, "you got to haveofficers that'll carry out the law instead of using it to hog-tie yuh. "

His futile, dull anger surged up again. "You call us cowards becausewe don't git up on our hind legs and fight the Sawtooth. A lot youknow about courage! You've read stories, and you've saw movingpictures, and you think that's the West--that's the way they do it. One man hold off a hunderd with his gun--and on the other hand, ahunderd men, mebby, ridin' hell-whoopin' after one. You think that'sit--that's the way they do it. Hunh!" He lifted the lid of the stove, spat into it as if he were spitting in the face of an enemy, and turnedagain to Lorraine. 

"What you seen--what you say you seen--that was done at night whenthere wasn't no audience. All the fighting the Sawtooth does is doneunder cover. _You_ won't see none of it--they ain't such fools. Andwhat us small fellers do, we do it quiet, too. We ain't ridin' up anddown the trail, flourishin' our six-shooters and yellin' to theSawtooth to come on and we'll clean 'em up!"

"But you're fighting just the same, aren't you, dad? You're notletting them----"

"We're makin' out to live here--and we've been doin' it for twenty-fiveyear, " Brit told her, with a certain grim dignity. "We've still got afew head uh stock left--enough to live on. Playin' poker with anickel, mebby--but we manage to ante, every hand so fur. " His mindreturned to the grisly thing Lorraine had seen. 

"We can't run down the man that got Fred Thurman, supposin' he waskilled, as you say. That's what the law is paid to do. If Lone Morgantold you not to talk about it, he told you right. He was talking foryour own good. What about Al--the man from Whisper? You didn't tell_him_, did you?"

His tone, the suppressed violence of his manner, frightened Lorraine. She moved farther away from him. 

"I didn't tell him anything. He was curious but--I only said I knewhim because he was wearing a brown hat, and the man that shot MrThurman had a brown hat. I didn't say all that. I just mentioned thehat. And he said there were lots of brown hats in the country. Hesaid he had traded for that one, just yesterday. He said his own hatwas gray. "

Brit stared at her, his jaw sagging a little, his eyes growing vacantwith the thoughts he hid deep in his mind. He slumped down into hischair and leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, his fingersclasped loosely. After a little he tilted his head and looked up ather. 

"You better go to bed, " he told Her stolidly. "And if you're going tolive at the Quirt, Raine, you'll have to learn to keep your mouth shut. I ain't blaming you--but you told too much to Al Woodruff. Don't talkto him no more, if he comes here when I'm gone. " He put out a hand, beckoning her to him, sorry for his harshness. Lorraine went to himand knelt beside him, slipping an arm around his neck while she hid herface on his shoulder. 

"I won't be a nuisance, dad--really, I won't, " she said. "I--I canshoot a gun. I never shot one with bullets in, but I could. And Ilearned to do lots of things when I was working in that play West Ithought was real. It isn't like I thought. There's no picture stuffin the real West, I guess; they don't do things that way. But--what Iwant you to know is that if they're fighting you they'll have to fightme, too. 

"I don't mean movie stuff, honestly I don't. I'm in this thing now, and you'll have to count me, same as you count Jim and Sorry. Won'tyou please feel that I'm one more in the game, dad, and not justanother responsibility? I'll herd cattle, or do whatever there is todo. And I'll keep my mouth shut, too. I can't stay here, day afterday, doing nothing but sweep and dust two rooms and fry potatoes andbacon for you at night. Dad, I'll go _crazy_ if you don't let me intoyour life!

"Dad, if you knew the stunts I've done in the last three years! It wasmake-believe West, but I learned things just the same. " She kissed himon the unshaven cheek nearest her--and thought of the kisses she hadbreathed upon the cheeks of story fathers with due care for the make-upon her lips. Just because this was real, she kissed him again with thefrank vigour of a child. 

"Dad, " she said wheedlingly, "I think you might scare up something thatI can really ride. Yellowjacket is safe, but--but you have real livehorses on the ranch, haven't you? You must not go judging me by thepalms and the bay windows of the Casa Grande. That's where I've slept, the last few years when I wasn't off on location--but it's just assensible to think I don't know anything else, as it would be for me tothink you can't do anything but skim milk and fry bacon and makesour-dough bread, just because I've seen you do it!"

Brit laughed and patted her awkwardly on the back. "If you was a boy, I'd set you up as a lawyer, " he said with an attempt at playfulness. "I kinda thought you could ride. I seen how you piled onto oldYellowjacket and the way you held your reins. It runs in the blood, Iguess. I'll see what I can do in the way of a horse. Ole Yellowjacketused to be a real rim-rider, but he's gitting old; gitting old--same asme. "

"You're not! You're just letting yourself _feel_ old. And am I one ofthe outfit, dad?"

"I guess so--only there ain't going to be any of this hell-whoopin'stuff, Raine. You can't travel these trails at a long lope with yorehair flyin' out behind and--and all that damn foolishness. I've saw'em in the movin' pitchers----"

Lorraine blushed, and was thankful that her dad had not watched herwork in that serial. For that matter, she hoped that Lone Morgan wouldnever stray into a movie where any of her pictures were being shown. 

"I'm serious, dad. I don't want to make a show of myself. But ifyou'll feel that I can be a help instead of a handicap, that's what Iwant. And if it comes to fighting----"

Brit pushed her from him impatiently. "There yuh go--fight--fight--andI told yuh there ain't any fighting going on. Nothing more'n a fightto hang on and make a living. That means straight, hard work andmindin' your own business. If you want to help at that----"

"I do, " said Raine quietly, getting to her feet. Her legacy ofstubbornness set her lips firmly together. "That's exactly what Imean. Good night, dad. "

Brit answered her non-committally, apparently sunk already in his ownmusings. But his lips drew in to suppress a smile when he saw, fromthe corner of his eyes, that Lorraine was winding the alarm on thecheap kitchen clock, and that she set the hand carefully and took theclock with her to bed. 

CHAPTER IX

THE EVIL EYE OF THE SAWTOOTH

Oppression is a growth that flourishes best in the soil of opportunity. It seldom springs into full power at once. The Sawtooth Cattle Companyhad begun much as its neighbours had begun: with a tract of land, cattle, and the ambition for prospering. Senator Warfield had thenbeen plain Bill Warfield, manager of the outfit, who rode with his menand saw how his herds increased, --saw too how they might increasefaster under certain conditions. At the outset he was not perhaps, more unscrupulous than some of his neighbours. True, if a homesteaderleft his claim for a longer time than the law allowed him, BillWarfield would choose one of his own men to file a contest on thatclaim. The man's wages would be paid. Witnesses were never lacking toswear to the improvements he had made, and after the patent had beengranted the homesteader (for the contestant always won in that country)the Sawtooth would pay him for the land. Frequently a Sawtooth manwould file upon land before any other man had claimed it. Sometimes aSawtooth man would purchase a relinquishment from some poor devil of aclaim-holder who seemed always to have bad luck, and so becamediscouraged and ready to sell. An intelligent man like Bill Warfieldcould acquire much land in this manner, give him time enough. 

In much the same manner his herds increased. He bought out smallranchers who were crowded to the selling point in one way or another. They would find themselves fenced off from water, the Sawtooth havingacquired the water rights to creek or spring. Or they would be hemmedin with fenced fields and would find it next to impossible to make useof the law which gave them the right to "condemn" a road through. Theywould not be openly assailed, --Bill Warfield was an intelligent man. Adozen brands were recorded in the name of the Sawtooth Cattle Company, and if a small rancher found his calf crop shorter than it should be, he might think as he pleased, but he would have no tangible proof thathis calves wore a Sawtooth brand. 

Inevitably it became necessary now and then to stop a mouth that wasready to speak unwelcome truths. But if a Sawtooth man were known tohave committed violence, the Sawtooth itself was the first to put thesheriff on his trail. If the man successfully dodged the sheriff andmade his way to parts unknown, the Sawtooth could shrug its shouldersand wash its hands of him. 

Then whispers were heard that the Sawtooth had on its pay roll men whowere paid to kill and to leave no trace. So many heedless ones crossedthe Sawtooth's path to riches! Fred Thurman had been one; a"bull-headed cuss" who had the temerity to fight back when the Sawtoothcalmly laid claim to the first water rights to Granite Creek, havingbought it, they said, with the placer claim of an old miner who hadprospected along the headwaters of Granite at the base of Bear Top. 

By that time the Sawtooth had grown to a power no poor man could hopeto defeat. Bill Warfield was Senator Warfield, and Senator Warfieldwas a power in the political world that immediately surrounded him. Since his neighbouring ranchmen had not been able to prevent his steadyclimbing to the position he now held, they had small hope of pullinghim down. Brit was right. They did well to hang on and continueliving in that country. 

At open killing, one that would attract the attention of the outsideworld might be avenged. The man who committed the crime might bepunished, --if public opinion were sufficiently massed against him. Inthat case Senator Warfield would cry loudest for justice. But it wouldtake a stronger man than the country held to raise the question of FredThurman's death and take even the first steps toward proving it amurder. 

"It ain't that they can do anything, Mr Warfield, " the man from Whispersaid guardedly, urging his horse close to the machine that stood in thetrail from Echo. It was broad day--a sun-scorched day to boot--andSenator Warfield perspired behind the wheel of his car. "It's the talkthey may get started. "

"What have they said? The girl was at the ranch for several days. Shedidn't talk there, or Hawkins would have told me. "

"She was sick. I saw her the other day at the Quirt, and she more'nhalf recognised me. Hell! How'd _I_ know she was in there among themrocks? Everybody that was apt to be riding through was accounted for, and I knew there wasn't any one coming horseback or with a rig. Myhearing's pretty good. "

Warfield moved the spark lever up and down on the wheel while hethought. "Well, " he said carefully at last, "if you're falling down inyour work, what are you whining about it to me for? What do you want?"

Al moistened his lips with his tongue. "I want to know how far I cango. It's been hands off the Quirt, up to now. And the Quirt'sbeginning to think it can get away with most anything. They've throweda fence across the pass through from Sugar Spring to Whisper. Thatsends us away around by Three Creek. You can't trail stock acrossGranite Ridge, nor them lava ledges. If it's going to be hands off, Iwant to know it. There's other places I'd rather live in, if theQuirt's going to raise talk about Fred Thurman. "

Senator Warfield pulled at his collar and tie as if they choked him. "The Quirt has made no trouble, " he said. "Of course, if they beginthrowing fences across our stock trails and peddling gossip, that isanother story. I expect you to protect our interests, of course. AndI have never made a practice of dictating to you. In this case"--hesent a sharp glance at Al--"it seems to me your interests are involvedmore than ours. As to Fred Thurman, I don't know anything about it. Iwas not here when he died, and I have never seen this girl of Brit'swho seems to worry you. She doesn't interest me, one way or the other. "

"She seems to interest Bob a whole lot, " Al said maliciously. "He rodeover to see her yesterday. She wasn't home, though. "

Senator Warfield seemed unmoved by this bit of news, wherefore Alreturned to the main issue. 

"Do I get a free hand, or don't I?" he insisted. "They can't be letpeddle talk--not if I stay around here. "

Senator Warfield considered the matter. 

"The girl's got the only line on me, " Al went on. "The inquest was asclean as I ever saw. Everything all straight--and then, here she comesup----"

"If you know how to stop a woman's mouth, Al, you can make a million amonth telling other men. " Senator Warfield smiled at him. Then heleaned across the front seat and added impressively, "Bear one thing inmind, Al. The Sawtooth cannot permit itself to become involved in anyscandal, nor in any killing cases. We're just at the most crucialpoint with our reclamation project, over here on the flat. Thelegislature is willing to make an appropriation for the building of thecanal, and in two or three months at the latest we should begin sellingagricultural tracts to the public. The State will also throw open theland it had withdrawn from settlement, pending the floating of thiscanal project. More than ever the integrity of the Sawtooth CattleCompany must be preserved, since it has come out openly as a backer ofthe irrigation company. Nothing--_nothing_ must be permitted to standin the way. "

He removed his thin driving cap and wiped his perspiring forehead. "I'm sorry this all happened--as it has turned out, " he said, with realregret in his tone. "But since it did happen, I must rely upon youto--to--er----"

"I guess I understand, " Al grinned sardonically. "I just wanted you toknow how things is building up. The Quirt's kinda overreached itself. I didn't want you comin' back on me for trying to keep their feet outathe trough. I want you to know things is pretty damn ticklish rightnow, and it's going to take careful steppin'. "

"Well, don't let your foot slip, Al, " Senator Warfield warned him. "The Sawtooth would hate to lose you; you're a good man. "

"Oh, I get yuh, " Al retorted. "My foot ain't going to slip---- If itdid, the Sawtooth would be the first to pile onto my back!" The lastsentence was not meant for the senator's ears. Al had backed hishorse, and Senator Warfield was stepping on the starter. But it wouldnot have mattered greatly if he had heard, for this was a point quitethoroughly understood by them both. 

The Warfield car went on, lurching over the inequalities of the narrowroad. Al shook his horse into a shambling trot, picking his waycarelessly through the scattered sage. 

His horse travelled easily, now and then lifting a foot high to avoidrock or exposed root, or swerving sharply around obstacles too high tostep over. Al very seldom travelled along the beaten trails, thoughthere was nothing to deter him now save an inherent tendency towardsecretiveness of his motives, destinations and whereabouts. If thecountry was open, you would see Al Woodruff riding at some distancefrom the trail--or you would not see him at all, if there were gulliesin which he could conceal himself. He was always "line-riding, " orhunting stray stock--horses, usually--or striking across to someline-camp of the Sawtooth on business which he was perfectly willing tostate. 

But you will long ago have guessed that he was the evil eye of theSawtooth Company. He took no orders save such general ones as SenatorWarfield had just given him. He gave none. Whatever he did he didalone, and he took no man into his confidence. It is more thanprobable that Senator Warfield would never have known to a certaintythat Al was responsible for Thurman's death, if Al had not been worriedover the Quirt's possible knowledge of the crime and anxious to knowjust how far his power might go. 

Ostensibly he was in charge of the camp at Whisper, a place far enoughoff the beaten trails to free him from chance visitors. The Sawtoothkept many such camps occupied by men whose duty it was to look afterthe Sawtooth cattle that grazed near; to see that stock did not "bogdown" in the tricky sand of the adjacent water holes and die beforehelp came, and to fend off any encroachments of the smaller cattleowners--though these were growing fewer year by year, thanks to theweeding-out policy of the Sawtooth and the cunning activities of suchas Al Woodruff. 

It may sound strange to say that the Sawtooth country had not had areal "killing" for years, though accidental deaths had been ratherfrequent. One man, for instance, had fallen over a ledge and brokenhis neck, presumably while drunk. Another had bought a few sticks ofdynamite to open up a spring on his ranch, and at the inquest whichfollowed the jury had returned a verdict of "death caused by beingblown up by the accidental discharge of dynamite. " A sheepman wasstruck by lightning, according to the coroner, and his widow had beenglad to sell ranch and sheep very cheaply to the Sawtooth and return toher relatives in Montana. The Sawtooth had shipped the sheep within amonth and turned the ranch into another line-camp. 

You will see that Senator Warfield had every reason to be sincere whenhe called Al Woodruff a good man; good for the Sawtooth interests, thatmeans. You will also see that Brit Hunter had reasons for believingthat the business of ranching in the Sawtooth country might be classedas extra hazardous, and for saying that it took nerve just to hang on. 

That is why Al rode oblivious to his surroundings, meditating no doubtupon the best means of preserving the integrity of the Sawtooth and atthe same time soothing effectively the ticklishness of the situation ofwhich he had complained. It was his business to find the best means. It was for just such work that the Sawtooth paid him--secretly, to besure--better wages than the foreman, Hawkins, received. Al wasconscientious and did his best to earn his wages; not because heparticularly loved killing and spying as a sport, but because theSawtooth had bought his loyalty for a price, and so long as he feltthat he was getting a square deal from them, he would turn his handagainst any man that stood in their way. He was a Sawtooth man, and hefought the enemies of the Sawtooth as matter-of-factly as a soldierwill fight for his country. To his unimaginative mind there wassufficient justification in that attitude. As for the ease with whichhe planned to kill and cover his killing under the semblance ofaccident, he would have said, if you could make him speak of it, thathe was not squeamish. They'd all have to die some day, anyway. 

CHAPTER X

ANOTHER SAWTOOTH "ACCIDENT"

Frank Johnson rose from the breakfast table, shaved a splinter off theedge of the water bench for a toothpick and sharpened it carefullywhile he looked at Brit. 

"You goin' after them posts, or shall I?" he inquired glumly, which, bythe way, was his normal tone. "Jim and Sorry oughta git the post holesall dug to-day. One erf us better take a look through that young stockin the lower field, too, and see if there's any more sign uh blackleg. Which you ruther do?"

Brit tilted his chair backward so that he could reach the coffeepot onthe stove hearth. "I'll haul down the posts, " he decided carelessly. "They're easy loaded, and I guess my back's as good as yourn. "

"All you got to do is skid 'em down off'n the bank onto the wagon, "Frank said. "I wisht you'd go on up where we cut them last ones andgit my sweater, Brit. I musta left it hanging on a bush right close towhere I was workin'. "

Brit's grunt signified assent, and Frank went out. Jim and Sorry, thetwo unpicturesque cowboys of whom Lorraine had complained to the cat, had already departed with pick and shovel to their unromantic task ofdigging post holes. Each carried a most unattractive lunch tied in aflour sack behind the cantle of his saddle. Lorraine had done herconscientious best, but with lumpy, sourdough bread, cold bacon andcurrant jelly of that kind which is packed in wooden kegs, one can't domuch with a cold lunch. Lorraine wondered how much worse it would lookafter it had been tied on the saddle for half a day; wondered too whatthose two silent ones got out of life--what they looked forward to, what was their final goal. For that matter she frequently wonderedwhat there was in life for any of them, shut into that deadly monotonyof sagebrush and rocks interspersed with little, grassy meadows wherethe cattle fed listlessly. 

Even the sinister undercurrent of antagonism against the Quirt couldnot whip her emotions into feeling that she was doing anything morethan live the restricted, sordid little life of a poorly equippedranch. She had ridden once with Frank Johnson to look through a bunchof cattle, but it had been nothing more than a hot, thirsty, dull ride, with a wind that blew her hat off in spite of pins and tied veil, andwith a companion who spoke only when he was spoken to and then asbriefly as possible. 

Her father would not talk again as he had talked that night. She hadtried to make him tell her more about the Sawtooth and had gottennothing out of him. The man from Whisper, whom Brit had spoken of asAl, had not returned. Nor had the promised saddle horse materialised. The boys were too busy to run in any horses, her father had told hershortly when she reminded him of his promise. When the fence was done, maybe he could rustle her another horse--and then he had added that hedidn't see what ailed Yellowjacket, for all the riding she was likelyto do. 

"Straight hard work and minding your own business, " her father hadsaid, and it seemed to Lorraine after three or four days of it that hehad summed up the life of a cattleman's daughter in a masterly mannerwhich ought to be recorded among Famous Sayings like "War is hell" and"Don't give up the ship. "

On this particular morning Lorraine's spirits were at their lowest ebb. If it were not for the new stepfather, she would return to the CasaGrande, she told herself disgustedly. And if it were not for thebelief among all her acquaintances that she was queening it over thecattle-king's vast domain, she would return and find work again inmotion pictures. But she could not bring herself to the point offacing the curiosity and the petty gossip of the studios. She would beexpected to explain satisfactorily why she had left the real West forthe mimic West of Hollywood. She did not acknowledge to herself thatshe also could not face the admission of failure to carry out what shehad begun. 

She had told her dad that she wanted to fight with him, even though"fighting" in this case meant washing the coarse clothing of her fatherand Frank, scrubbing the rough, warped boards of the cabin floor, andfrying ranch-cured bacon for every meal, and in making butter to sell, and counting the eggs every night and being careful to use only thecracked ones for cooking. 

She hated every detail of this crude housekeeping, from the chippedenamel dishpan to the broom that was all one-sided, and the pillowslips which were nothing more nor less than sugar sacks. She hated iteven more than she had hated the Casa Grande and her mother's frowsymentality. But because she could see that she made life a little morecomfortable for her dad, because she felt that he needed her, she wouldstay and assure herself over and over that she was staying merelybecause she was too proud to go back to the old life and own the West afailure. 

She was sweeping the doorstep with the one-sided broom when Brit droveout through the gate and up the trail which she knew led eventually toSugar Spring. The horses, sleek in their new hair and skittish withthe change from hay to new grass, danced over the rough ground so thatthe running gear of the wagon, with its looped log-chain, which wouldlater do duty as a brake on the long grade down from timber line on theside of Spirit Canyon, rattled and banged over the rocks with theclatter that could be heard for half a mile. Lorraine looked after herfather enviously. If she were a boy she would be riding on that sackof hay tied to the "hounds" for a seat. But, being a girl, it hadnever occurred to Brit that she might like to go--might even be usefulto him on the trip. 

"I suppose if I told dad I could drive that team as well as he can, he'd just look at me and think I was crazy, " she thought resentfullyand gave the broom a spiteful fling toward a presumptuous hen that hadapproached too closely. "If I'd asked him to let me go along he'd havemade some excuse--oh, I'm beginning to know dad! He thinks a woman'splace is in the house--preferably the kitchen. And here I've thoughtall my life that cowgirls did nothing but ride around and warn peopleabout stage holdups and everything! I'd just like to know how a girlwould ever have a chance to know what was going on in the country, unless she heard the men talking while she poured their coffee. Onlythis bunch don't talk at all. They just gobble and go. "

She went in then and shut the door with a slam. Up on the ridge AlWoodruff lowered his small binocular and eased away from the spot wherehe had been crouching behind a bush. Every one on the Quirt ranch wasaccounted for. As well as if he had sat at their breakfast table Alknew where each man's work would take him that day. As for the girl, she was safe at the ranch for the day, probably. If she did take aride later on, it would probably be up the ridge between the Quirt andThurman's ranch, and sit for an hour or so just looking. That ride wasbeginning to be a habit of hers, Al observed, so that he considered heraccounted for also. 

He made his way along the side hill to where his horse was tied to abush, mounted and rode away with his mind pretty much at ease. Muchmore at ease than it would have been had he read what was in Lorraine'smind when she slammed that door. 

Up above Sugar Spring was timber. By applying to the nearest ForestSupervisor a certain amount could be had for ranch improvements uponpaying a small sum for the "stumpage. " The Quirt had permission to cutposts for their new fence which Al Woodruff had reported to his boss. 

As he drove up the trail, which was in places barely passable for awagon, Brit was thinking of that fence. The Sawtooth would object toit, he knew, since it cut off one of their stock trails and sent themaround through rougher country. Just what form their objection wouldtake, Brit did not know. Deep in his intrepid soul he hoped that theSawtooth would at last show its hand openly. He had liked FredThurman, and what Lorraine had told him went much deeper than she knew. He wanted to bring them into the open where he could fight with someshow of winning. 

"I'll git Bill Warfield yet--and git him right, " was the gist of hismusings. "He's bound to show his head, give him time enough. Him andhis killers can't always keep under cover. Let 'em come at me aboutthat fence! It's on my land--the Quirt's got a right to fence everyfoot of land that belong to 'em. "

All the way over the ridge and across the flat and up the steep, narrowroad along the edge of Spirit Canyon, Brit dwelt upon the probablemoves of the Sawtooth. They would wait, he thought, until the fencewas completed and they had made a trail around through the lava rocks. They would not risk any move at present; they would wait and tacitlyaccept the fence, or pretend to accept it, as a natural inconvenience. But Brit did not deceive himself that they would remain passive. Thatit had been "hands off the Quirt" he did not know, but attributed theQuirt's immunity to careful habits and the fact that they had nevercome to the point where their interests actually clashed with theSawtooth. 

It never occurred to him therefore that he was slated for an accidentthat day if the details could be conveniently arranged. 

It was a long trail to Sugar Spring, and from there up Spirit Canyonthe climb was so tedious and steep that Brit took a full hour for thetrip, resting the team often because they were soft from the new grassdiet and sweated easily. They lost none of their spirit, however, andwhen the road was steepest nagged at each other with head-shakings andbared teeth, and ducked against each other in pretended fright at everyunusual rock or bush. 

At the top he was forced to drive a full half mile beyond the piledposts to a flat large enough to turn around. All this took time, especially since Caroline, the brown mare, would rather travel tenmiles straight ahead than go backward ten feet. Brit was obliged to"take it out of her" with the rein ends and his full repertoire ofopprobrious epithets before he could cramp the wagon and head them downthe trail again. 

At the post pile he unhitched the team for safety's sake and tied themto trees, where he fed them a little grain in nose bags. He wasabsorbed now in his work and thought no more about the Sawtooth. Hefastened the log chain to the rear wheels to brake the wagon on thelong grade down the canyon, loaded the wagon with posts, bound themfast with a lighter chain he had brought for the purpose, ate his ownlunch and decided that, since he had made fair time and would arrivehome too early to do the chores and too late to start any other job, hewould cruise farther up the mountain side and see what was the prospectof getting out logs enough for an addition to the cabin. 

Now that Raine was going to live with him, two rooms were not enough. Brit wanted to make her as happy as he could, in his limited fashion. He had for some days been planning a "settin' room and bedroom" forher. She would be having beaux after awhile when she got acquainted, he supposed. He could not deny her the privilege; she was young andshe was, in Brit's opinion, the best looking girl he had ever seen, noteven excepting Minnie, her mother. But he hoped she wouldn't go offand get married the first thing she did, --and one good way to preventthat, he reasoned, was to make her comfortable with him. He hadnoticed how pleased she was that their cabin was of logs. She had evenremarked that she could not understand how a rancher would ever want tobuild a board shack if there was any timber to be had. Well, timberwas to be had, and she should have her log house, though the haulingwas not going to be any sunshine, in Brit's opinion. With his axe hewalked through the timber, craning upward for straight tree trunks andlightly blazing the ones he would want, the occasional axe strokessounding distinctly in the quiet air. 

Lorraine heard them as she rode old Yellowjacket puffing up the grade, following the wagon marks, and knew that she was nearing the end of herjourney, --for which Yellowjacket, she supposed, would be thankful. Shehad started not more than an hour later than her father, but the teamhad trotted along more briskly than her poor old nag would travel, sothat she did not overtake her dad as she had hoped. 

She was topping the last climb when she saw the team tied to the trees, and at the same moment she caught a glimpse of a man who crawled outfrom under the load of posts and climbed the slope farther on. She wason the point of calling out to him, thinking that he was her dad, whenhe disappeared into the brush. At the same moment she heard the strokeof an axe over to the right of where the man was climbing. 

She was riding past the team when Caroline humped her back and kickedviciously at Yellowjacket, who plunged straight down off the trailwithout waiting to see whether Caroline's aim was exact. He slid intoa juniper thicket and sat down looking very perplexed and verypermanently placed there. Lorraine stepped off on the uphill side ofhim, thanked her lucky stars she had not broken a leg, and tried toreassure Yellowjacket and to persuade him that no real harm had beendone him. Straightway she discovered that Yellowjacket had a mind ofhis own and that a pessimistic mind. He refused to scramble back intothe trail, preferring to sit where he was, or since Lorraine made thattoo uncomfortable, to stand where he had been sitting. Yellowjacket, Imay explain, owned a Roman nose, a pendulous lower lip and droopingeyelids. Those who know horses will understand. 

By the time Lorraine had bullied and cajoled him into making a somewhatcircuitous route to the road, where he finally appeared some distanceabove the point of his descent, Brit was there, hitching the team tothe wagon. 

"What yuh doing up there?" he wanted to know, looking up with someastonishment. 

Lorraine furnished him with details and her opinion of both Carolineand Yellowjacket. "I simply refuse to ride this comedy animal anothermile, " she declared with some heat. "I'll drive the team and you canride him home, or he can be tied on behind the wagon. "

"He won't lead, " Brit objected. "Yeller's all right if you make upyour mind to a few failin's. You go ahead and ride him home. You surecan't drive this team. "

"I can!" Lorraine contended. "I've driven four horses--I guess I candrive two, all right. "

"Well, you ain't going to, " Brit stated with a flat finality thatabruptly ended the argument. 

Lorraine had never before been really angry with her father. Shestruck Yellowjacket with her quirt and sent him sidling past the wagonand the tricky Caroline, too stubborn to answer her dad when he calledafter her that she had better ride behind the load. She went on, making Yellowjacket trot when he did not want to trot down hill. 

Behind her she heard the chuck-chuck of the loaded wagon. Far aheadshe heard some one whistling a high, sweet melody which had the queer, minor strains of some old folk song. For just a few bars she heard it, and then it was stilled, and the road dipping steeply before her seemedvery lonely, its emptiness cooling her brief anger to a depression thathad held her too often in its grip since that terrible night of thestorm. For the first time she looked back at her father lurching alongon the load and at the team looking so funny with the collars pushed upon their necks with the weight of the load behind. 

With a quick impulse of penitence she waved her hand to Brit, who wavedback at her. Then she went on, feeling a bit less alone in the world. After all, he was her dad, and his life had been hard. If he failed tounderstand her and her mental hunger for real companionship, perhapsshe also failed to understand him. 

They had left the timber line now and had come to the lip of the canyonitself. Lorraine looked down its steep, rock-roughened sides andthought how her old director would have raved over its possibilities inthe way of "stunts. " Yellowjacket, she noticed, kept circumspectly tothe centre of the trail and eyed the canyon with frank disfavour. 

She did not know at just what moment she became aware of trouble behindher. It may have been Yellowjacket, turning his head sidewise andabruptly quickening his pace that warned her. It may have been thedifference in the sound of the wagon and the impact of the horses'hoofs on the rock trail. She turned and saw that something had gonewrong. They were coming down upon her at a sharp trot, stepping high, the wagon tongue thrust up between their heads as they tried to holdback the load. 

Brit yelled to her then to get out of the way, and his voice was harshand insistent. Lorraine looked at the steep bank to the right, knewinstinctively that Yellowjacket would never have time to climb itbefore the team was upon them, and urged him to a lope. She glancedback again, saw that the team was not running away, that they weretrying to hold the wagon, and that it was gaining momentum in spite ofthem. 

"Jump, dad!" she called and got no answer. Brit was sitting bracedwith his feet far apart, holding and guiding the team. "He won'tjump--he wouldn't jump--any more than I would, " she chattered toherself, sick with fear for him, while she lashed her own horse to keepout of their way. 

The next she knew, the team was running, their eyeballs staring, theirfront feet flung high as they lunged panic-stricken down the trail. The load was rocking along behind them. Brit was still braced andclinging to the reins. 

Panic seized Yellowjacket. He, too, went lunging down that trail, hishead thrown from side to side that he might watch the thing thatmenaced him, heedless of the fact that danger might lie ahead of himalso. Lorraine knew that he was running senselessly, that he mightleave the trail at any bend and go rolling into the canyon. 

A sense of unreality seized her. It could not be deadly earnest, shethought. It was so exactly like some movie thrill, planned carefullyin advance, rehearsed perhaps under the critical eye of the director, and done now with the camera man turning calmly the little crank andcounting the number of film feet the scene would take. A littlefarther and she would be out of the scene, and men stationed aheadwould ride up and stop her horse for her and tell her how well she had"put it over. "

She looked over her shoulder and saw them still coming. It was real. It was terribly real, the way that team was fleeing down the grade. She had never seen anything like that before, never seen horses sofrantically trying to run from the swaying load behind them. Always, she had been accustomed to moderation in the pace and a slowed camerato speed up the action on the screen. Yellowjacket, too--she had neverridden at that terrific speed down hill. Twice she lost a stirrup andgrabbed the saddle horn to save herself from going over his head. 

They neared a sharp turn, and it took all her strength to pull herhorse to the inside and save him from plunging off down the canyon'sside. The nose of the hill hid for a moment her dad, and in thatmoment she heard a crash and knew what had happened. But she could notstop; Yellowjacket had his ears laid back flat on his senseless head, and the bit clamped tight in his teeth. 

She heard the crash repeated in diminuendo farther down in the canyon. There was no longer the rattle of the wagon coming down the trail, thesharp staccato of pounding hoofs. 

CHAPTER XI

SWAN TALKS WITH HIS THOUGHTS

Lorraine, following instinct rather than thought, pulled Yellowjacketinto the first opening that presented itself. This was a narrow, rather precipitous gully that seamed the slope just beyond the bend. The bushes there whipped her head and shoulders cruelly as the horseforged in among them, but they trapped him effectually where the gullynarrowed to a point. He stopped perforce, and Lorraine was out of thesaddle and running down to the trail before she quite realised what shewas doing. 

At the bend she looked down, saw the marks where the wagon had goneover, scraping rocks and bushes from its path. Fence posts were strewnat all angles down the incline, and far down a horse was standing withpart of the harness on him and with his head drooping dispiritedly. Her father she could not see, nor the other horse, nor the wagon. Aclump of young trees hid the lower declivity. Lorraine did not stop tothink of what she would find down there. Sliding, running, shefollowed the traces of the wreck to where the horse was standing. Itwas Caroline, looking very dejected but apparently unhurt, save forskinned patches here and there where she had rolled over rocks. 

A little farther, just beyond the point of the grove which they seemedto have missed altogether, lay the other horse and what was left of thewagon. Brit she did not see at all. She searched the bushes, lookedunder the wagon, and called and called. 

A full-voiced shout answered her from farther up the canyon, and sheran stumbling toward the sound, too agonised to shed tears or to thinkvery clearly. It was not her father's voice; she knew that beyond alldoubt. It was no voice that she had ever heard before. It had a clearresonance that once heard would not have been easily forgotten. Whenshe saw them finally, her father was being propped up in a half-sittingposition, and the strange man was holding something to his lips. 

"Just a little water. I carry me a bottle of water always in mypocket, " said Swan, glancing up at her when she had reached them. "Itsometimes makes a man's head think better when he has been hurt, if hecan drink a little water or something. "

Brit swallowed and turned his face away from the tilted bottle. "Ijumped--but I didn't jump quick enough, " he muttered thickly. "Thechain pulled loose. Where's the horses, Raine?"

"They're all right. Caroline's standing over there. Are you hurtmuch, dad?" It was a futile question, because Brit was already goingoff into unconsciousness. 

"He's hurt pretty bad, " Swan declared honestly; looking up at her withhis eyes grown serious. "I was across the walley and I saw him comingdown the road like rolling rocks down a hill. I came quick. Now wemake stretcher, I think, and carry him home. I could take him on myback, but that is hurting him too much. " He looked at her--throughher, it seemed to Lorraine. In spite of her fear, in spite of hergrief, she felt that Swan was reading her very soul, and she backedaway from him. 

"I could help your father very much, " he said soberly, "but I shouldtell you a secret if I do that. I should maybe ask that you tell a lieif somebody asks questions. Could you do that, Miss?"

"Lie?" Lorraine laughed uncertainly. "I'd _kill!_--if that would helpdad. "

Swan was folding his coat very carefully and placing it under Brit'shead. "My mother I love like that, " he said, without looking up. "Mymother I love so well that I talk with my thoughts to her sometimes. You believe people can talk with their thoughts?"

"I don't know--what's that got to do with helping dad?" Lorraine kneltbeside Brit and began stroking his forehead softly, as is the soothingway of women with their sick. 

"I could send my thought to my mother. I could say to her that a manis hurt and that a doctor must come very quickly to the Quirt ranch. Icould do that, Miss, but I should not like it if people knew that I didit. They would maybe say that I am crazy. They would laugh at me, andit is not right to laugh at those things. "

"I'm not laughing. If you can do it, for heaven's sake go ahead! Idon't believe it, but I won't tell any one, if that's what you want. "

"If some neighbours should ask, 'How did that doctor come soquick?'----"

"I'd rather lie and say I sent for him, than say that you or any oneelse sent a telepathic message. That would sound more like a lie thana lie would. How are we going to make a stretcher? We've got to gethim home, somehow----"

"At my cabin is blankets, " Swan told her briskly. "I can climb thehill--it is up there. In a little while I will come back. "

He started off without waiting to see what Lorraine would have to sayabout it, and with some misgivings she watched him run down to thecanyon's bottom and go forging up the opposite side with a most amazingspeed and certainty. In travel pictures she had seen mountain sheepclimb like that, and she likened him now to one of them. It seemed ashame that he was a bit crazy, she thought; and immediately sherecalled his perfect assurance when he told her of sending thoughtmessages to his mother. She had heard of such things, she had evenread a little on the subject, but it had never seemed to her apractical means of communicating. Calling a doctor, for instance, seemed to Lorraine rather far-fetched an application of what was atbest but a debatable theory. 

Considering the distance, he was back in a surprisingly short time withtwo blankets, a couple of light poles and a flask of brandy. He seemedas fresh and unwinded as if he had gone no farther than the grove, andhe wore, more than ever, his air of cheerful assurance. 

"The doctor will be there, " he remarked, just as if it were thesimplest thing in the world. "We can carry him to Fred Thurman's. There I can get horses and a wagon, and you will not have to carry sofar. And when we get to your ranch the doctor will be there, I think. He is starting now. We will hurry. I will fix it so you need notcarry much. It is just to make it steady for me. "

While he talked he was working on the stretcher. He had a rope, and hewas knotting it in a long loop to the poles. Lorraine wondered why, until he had lifted her father and placed him on the stretcher andplaced the loop over his head and under one arm, as a ploughman holdsthe reins, so that his hands may be free. 

"If you will carry the front, " said Swan politely, "it will not beheavy for you like this. But you will help me keep it steady. "

Lorraine was past discussing anything. She obeyed him silently, lifting the end of the stretcher and leading the way down to thecanyon's bottom, where Swan assured her they could walk quite easilyand would save many detours which the road above must take. At thebottom Swan stopped her so that he might shorten the rope and take moreof the weight on his shoulders. She protested half-heartedly, but Swanonly laughed. 

"I am strong like a mule, " he said. "You should see me wrestle withsomebody. Clear over my head--I can carry a man in my hands. This isso you can walk fast. Three miles straight down we come to Thurman'sranch, where I get the horses. It's funny how hills make a road fararound. Just three miles--that's all. I have walked many times. "

Lorraine did not answer him. She felt that he was talking merely tokeep her from worrying, and she was fairly sick with anxiety and didnot hear half of what he was saying. She was nervously careful aboutchoosing her steps so that she would not stumble and jolt her father. She did not believe that he was wholly unconscious, for she had seenhis eyelids tighten and his lips twitch several times, when she waitingfor Swan. He had seemed to be in pain and to be trying to hide thefact from her. She felt that Swan knew it, else he would have talkedof her dad, would at least have tried to reassure her. But it isdifficult to speak of a person who hears what you are saying, and Swanwas talking of everything, it seemed to her, except the man they werecarrying. 

She wondered if it were really true that Swan had sent a call throughspace for a doctor; straightway she would call herself crazy for evenconsidering for a moment its possibility. If he could do that--but ofcourse he couldn't. He must just imagine it. 

Many times Swan had her lower the stretcher to the ground, and wouldmake a great show of rubbing his arms and easing his shoulder muscles. Whenever Lorraine looked full into his face he would grin at her asthough nothing was wrong, and when they came to a clear-running streamhe emptied the water bottle, dipped up a little fresh water, addedbrandy, and lifted Brit's head very gently and gave him a drink. Britopened his eyes and looked at Swan, and from him to Lorraine, but hedid not say anything. He still had that tightened look around hismouth which spelled pain. 

"Pretty quick now we get you fixed up good, " Swan told him cheerfully. "One mile more is all, and we get the horses and I make a good bed foryou. " He looked a signal, and Lorraine once more took up the stretcher. 

Another mile seemed a long way, light though Swan had made the load forher. She thought once that he must have some clairvoyant power, because whenever she felt as if her arms were breaking, Swan would tellher to stop a minute. 

"How do you know a doctor will come?" she asked Swan suddenly, whenthey were resting with the Thurman ranch in view half a mile below them. 

Swan did not look at her directly, as had been his custom. She saw adarker shade of red creep up into his cheeks. "My mother says shewould send a doctor quick, " he replied hesitatingly. "You will see. It is because--your father he is not like other men in this country. Your father is a good man. That is why a doctor comes. "

Lorraine looked at him strangely and stooped again to her burden. Shedid not speak again until they were passing the Thurman fence where itran up into the mouth of the canyon. A few horses were grazing there, the sun striking their sides with the sheen of satin. They staredcuriously at the little procession, snorted and started to run, headsand tails held high. But one wheeled suddenly and came gallopingtoward them, stopped when he was quite close, ducked and wentthundering past to the head of the field. Lorraine gave a sharp littlescream and set down the stretcher with a lurch, staring after the horsewide-eyed, her face white. 

"They do it for play, " Swan said reassuringly. "They don't hurt you. The fence is between, and they don't hurt you anyway. "

"That horse with the white face--I saw it--and when the man struck itwith his quirt it went past me, running like that anddragging--_oh-h!_" She leaned against the bluff side, her face coveredwith her two palms. 

Swan glanced down at Brit, saw that his eyes were closed, ducked hishead from under the looped rope and went to Lorraine. 

"The man that struck that horse--do you know that man?" he asked, allthe good nature gone from his voice. 

"No--I don't know--I saw him twice, by the lightning flashes. Heshot--and then I saw him----" She stopped abruptly, stood for a minutelonger with her eyes covered, then dropped her hands limply to hersides. But when the horse came circling back with a great flourish, she shivered and her hands closed into the fists of a fighter. 

"Are you a Sawtooth man?" she demanded suddenly, looking up at Swandefiantly. "It was a nightmare. I--I dreamed once about a horse--likethat. "

Swan's wide-open eyes softened a little. "The Sawtooth calls me thatdamn Swede on Bear Top, " he explained. "I took a homestead up thereand some day they will want to buy my place or they will want to make afight with me to get the water. Could you know that man again?"

"Raine!" Brit's voice held a warning, and Lorraine shivered again asshe turned toward him. "Raine, you----"

He closed his eyes again, and she could get no further speech from him. But she thought she understood. He did not want her to talk about FredThurman. She went to her end of the stretcher and waited there whileSwan put the rope over his head. They went on, Lorraine walking withher head averted, trying not to see the blaze-faced roan, trying toshut out the memory of him dashing past her with his terrible burden, that night. 

Swan did not speak of the matter again. With Lorraine's assistance hecarried Brit into Thurman's cabin, laid him, stretcher and all, on thebed and hurried out to catch and harness the team of work horses. Lorraine waited beside her father, helpless and miserable. There wasnothing to do but wait, yet waiting seemed to her the one thing shecould not do. 

"Raine!" Brit's voice was very weak, but Lorraine jumped as though atrumpet had bellowed suddenly in her ear. "Swan--he's all right. Butdon't go telling--all yuh know and some besides. He ain't--Sawtooth, but--he might let out----"

"I know. I won't, dad. It was that horse----"

Brit turned his face to the wall as if no more was to be said on thesubject. Lorraine wandered around the cabin, which was no larger thanher father's place. The rooms were scrupulously clean--neater than theQuirt, she observed guiltily. Not one article, however small andunimportant, seemed to be out of its place, and the floors of bothrooms were scrubbed whiter than any floors she had ever seen. Swan'shousekeeping qualities made her ashamed of her own imperfections; andwhen, thinking that Swan must be hungry and that the least she could dowas to set out food for him, she opened the cupboard, she had a swift, embarrassed vision of her own culinary imperfections. She could cookbetter food than her dad had been content to eat and to set beforeothers, but Swan's bread was a triumph in sour dough. Biscuits talland light as bread can be she found, covered neatly with a cloth. Prunes stewed so that there was not one single wrinkle inthem--Lorraine could scarcely believe they were prunes until she tastedthem. She was investigating a pot of beans when Swan came in. 

"Food I am thinking of, Miss, " he grinned at her. "We shall hurry, butit is not good to go hungry. Milk is outside in a cupboard. It isquicker than to make coffee. "

"It will be dark before we can get him home, " said Lorraine uneasily. "And by the time a doctor can get out there----"

"A doctor will be there, I think. You don't believe, but that is nodifference to his coming just the same. "

He brought the milk, poured off the creamy top into a pitcher, stirredit, and quietly insisted that she drink two glasses. Lorraine observedthat Swan himself ate very little, bolting down a biscuit in greatmouthfuls while he carried a mattress and blankets out to spread in thewagon. It was like his pretence of weariness on the long carry downthe canyon, she thought. It was for her more than for himself that hewas thinking. 

CHAPTER XII

THE QUIRT PARRIES THE FIRST BLOW

A car with dimmed lights stood in front of the Quirt cabin when Swandrove around the last low ridge and down to the gate. The rattle ofthe wagon must have been heard, for the door opened suddenly and Frankstood revealed in the yellow light of the kerosene lamp on the tablewithin. Behind Frank, Lorraine saw Jim and Sorry standing in theirshirt sleeves looking out into the dark. Another, shorter figure sheglimpsed as Frank and the two men stepped out and came striding hastilytoward them. Lorraine jumped out and ran to meet them, hoping andfearing that her hope was foolish. That car might easily be only BobWarfield on some errand of no importance. Still, she hoped. 

"That you, Raine? Where's Brit? What's all this about Brit beinghurt? A doctor from Shoshone----"

"A _doctor_? Oh, did a doctor come, then? Oh, help Swan carry dad in!I'm--oh, I'm afraid he's awfully injured!"

"Yes-s--but how'n hell did a doctor know about it?" Sorry, the silent, blurted unexpectedly. 

"Oh, --never mind--but get dad in. I'll----" She ran past them withoutfinishing her sentence and burst incoherently into the presence of anextremely calm little man with gray whiskers and dust on the shoulderof his coat. These details, I may add, formed the sum of Lorraine'sfirst impression of him. 

"Well! Well!" he remonstrated with a professional briskness, when shenearly bowled him over. "We seem to be in something of a hurry! Isthis the patient I was sent to examine?"

"No!" Lorraine flashed impatiently over her shoulder as she rushedinto her own room and began turning down the covers. "It's dad, ofcourse--and you'd better get your coat off and get ready to go to work, because I expect he's just one mass of broken bones!"

The doctor smiled behind his whiskers and returned to the doorway todirect the carrying in of his patient. His sharp eyes went immediatelyto Brit's face, pallid under the leathery tan, his fingers went toBrit's hairy, corded wrist. The doctor smiled no more that evening. 

"No, he is not a mass of broken bones, I am happy to say, " he reportedgravely to Lorraine afterwards. "He has a sufficient number, however. The left scapula is fractured, likewise the clavicle, and there is acompound fracture of the femur. There is some injury to the head, theexact extent of which I cannot as yet determine. He should be removedto a hospital, unless you are prepared to have a nurse here for sometime, or to assume the burden of a long and tedious illness. " Helooked at her thoughtfully. "The journey to Shoshone would be aconsiderable strain on the patient in his present condition. He has asplendid amount of constitutional vitality, or he would scarcely havesurvived his injuries so long without medical attendance. Can you tellme just how the accident occurred?"

"Excuse me, doctor--and Miss, " Swan diffidently interrupted. "I couldask you to take a look on my shoulder, if you please. If you are donesetting bones in Mr Hunter. I have a great pain on my shoulder fromcarrying so long. "

"You never mentioned it!" Lorraine reproached him quickly. "Of courseit must be looked after right away. And then, Doctor, I'd like to talkto you, if you don't mind. " She watched them retreat to the bunk-housetogether. Swan's big form towering above the doctor's slighter figure. Swan was talking earnestly, the mumble of his voice reaching Lorrainewithout the enunciation of any particular word to give a clue to whathe was saying. But it struck her that his voice did not sound quitenatural; not so Swedish, not so careful. 

Frank came tiptoeing out of the room where Brit lay bandaged andunconscious and stood close to Lorraine, looking down at her solemnly. 

"How'n 'ell did he git here--the doctor?" he demanded, making a greateffort to hold his voice down to a whisper, and forgetting now andthen. "How'd _he_ know Brit rolled off'n the grade? Us here, _we_never knowed it, and I was tryin' to send him back when you came. Hesaid somebody telephoned there was a man hurt in a runaway. Thereain't a telephone closer'n the Sawtooth, and that there's a good twentymile and more from where Brit was hurt. It's damn funny. "

"Yes, it is, " Lorraine admitted uncomfortably. "I don't know any morethan you do about it. "

"Well, how'n 'ell did it happen? Brit, he oughta know enough torough-lock down that hill. An' that team ain't a runaway team. _I_never had no trouble with 'em--they're good at holdin' a load. They'llset down an' slide but what they'll hold 'er. What become of thehorses?"

"Why--they're over there yet. We forgot all about the horses, I think. Caroline was standing up, all right. The other horse may be killed. Idon't know--it was lying down. And Yellowjacket was up that littlegully just this side of the wreck, when I left him. They did try tohold the load, Frank. Something must have happened to the brake. Isaw dad crawling out from under the wagon just before I got to wherethe load was standing. Or some one did. I think it was dad. ButCaroline kicked my horse down off the road, and, I only saw him aminute--but it _must_ have been dad. And then, a little way down thehill, something went wrong. "

Frank seemed trying to reconstruct the accident from Lorraine'sdescription. "He'd no business to start down if his rough-lock wasn'tall right, " he said. "It ain't like him. Brit's careful about themthings--little men most always are. I don't see how 'n 'ell it workedloose. It's a damn queer layout all around; and this here doctorgitting here ahead of you folks, that there is the queerest. What's hesay about Brit? Think he'll pull through?"

The doctor himself, coming up just then, answered the question. Ofcourse the patient would pull through! What were doctors for? As tohis reason for coming, he referred them to Mr Vjolmar, whom he thoughtcould better explain the matter. 

The three of them waited, --five of them, since Jim and Sorry had comeup, anxious to hear the doctor's opinion and anything else pertainingto the affair. Swan was coming slowly from the bunk-house, buttoninghis coat. He seemed to feel that they were waiting for him and to knowwhy. His manner was diffident, deprecating even. 

"We may as well go in out of the mosquitoes, " the doctor suggested. "And I wish you would tell these people what you told me, young man. Don't be afraid to speak frankly; it is rather amazing but not at allimpossible, as I can testify. In fact, " he added dryly, "my presencehere ought to settle any doubt of that. Just tell them, young man, about your mother. "

Swan was the last to enter the kitchen, and he stood leaning againstthe closed door, turning his old hat round and round, his eyes goingswiftly from face to face. They were watching him, and Swan blushed adeep red while he told them about his mother in Boise, and how he couldtalk to her with his thoughts. He explained laboriously how thethoughts from her came like his mother speaking in his head, and thathis thoughts reached her in the same way. He said that since he was alittle boy they could talk together with their thoughts, but peoplelaughed and some called them crazy, so that now he did not like to havesomebody know that he could do it. 

"But Brit Hunter's hurt bad, so a doctor must come quick, or I think hemaybe will die. It takes too long to ride a horse to Echo from thisranch, so I call on my mother, and I tell my mother a doctor must comequick to this ranch. So my mother sends a telephone to this doctor inShoshone, and he comes. That is all. But I would not like it ifeverybody maybe finds it out that I do that, and makes talk about it. "

He looked straight at Jim and Sorry, and those two unprepossessing oneslooked at each other and at Swan and at the doctor and at each otheragain, and headed for the door. But Swan was leaning against it, andhis eyes were on them. "I would like it if you say somebody rides toget the doctor, " he hinted quietly. 

Sorry looked at Jim. "I rode like hell, " he stated heavily. "I leaveit to Jim. "

"You shore'n hell did!" Jim agreed, and Swan removed his big form fromthe door. 

"You boys goin' over t' Spirit Canyon?" Frank wanted to know. 

"Yeah, " said Sorry, answering for them both, and they went out, givingSwan a sidelong look of utter bafflement as they passed him. Talkingby the thought route from Spirit Canyon to Boise City was evidently abit too much for even their phlegmatic souls to contemplate withperfect calm. 

"They'll keep it to theirselves, whether they believe it or not, " Frankassured Swan in his laboured whisper. "It don't go down with me. Iain't supe'stitious enough fer that. "

"The doctor he comes, don't he?" Swan retorted. "I shall go back nowand milk the cows and do chores. "

"But if your shoulder is lame, Swan, how can you?" Lorraine asked inher unexpected fashion. 

Swan swallowed and looked helplessly at the doctor, who stood smoothinghis chin. "The muscle strain is not serious, " he said calmly. "Alittle gentle exercise will prevent further trouble, I think. "Whereupon he turned abruptly to the door of the other room, glanced inat Brit and beckoned Lorraine with an upraised finger. 

"You have had a hard time of it yourself, young lady, " he told her. "You needn't worry about Swan. He is not suffering appreciably. Ishall mix you a very unpleasant dose of medicine, and then I want youto go to bed and sleep. I shall stay with your father to-night; notthat it is necessary, but because I prefer daylight for the trip backto town. So there is no reason why you should sit up and wear yourselfout. You will have plenty of time to do that while your father's bonesmend. "

He proceeded to mix the unpleasant dose, which Lorraine swallowed andstraightway forgot, in the muddle of thoughts that whirled confusinglyin her brain. Little things distressed her oddly, while her father'sdesperate state left her numb. She lay down on the cot in the farthercorner of the kitchen where her father had slept just last night--itseemed so long ago!--and almost immediately, as her senses recorded it, bright sunlight was shining into the room. 

CHAPTER XIII

LONE TAKES HIS STAND

Lone Morgan, over at Elk Spring camp, was just sitting down to eat hismidday meal when some one shouted outside. Lone stiffened in hischair, felt under his coat, and then got up with some deliberation andlooked out of the window before he went to the door. All this was amatter of habit, bred of Lone's youth in the feud country, and hadnothing whatever to do with his conscience. 

"Hello!" he called, standing in the doorway and grinning a welcome toSwan, who stood with one arm resting on the board gate. "She's on thetable--come on in. "

"I don't know if you're home with the door shut like that, " Swanexplained, coming up to the cabin. "I chased a coyote from Rock Cityto here, and by golly, he's going yet! I'll get him sometime, maybe. He's smart, but you can beat anything with thinking if you don't stopthinking. Always the other feller stops sometimes, and then you gethim. You believe that?"

"It most generally works out that way, " Lone admitted, getting anotherplate and cup from the cupboard, which was merely a box nailed with itsbottom to the wall, and a flour sack tacked across the front for acurtain. "Even a coyote slips up now and then, I reckon. "

Swan sat down, smoothing his tousled yellow hair with both hands as hedid so. "By golly, my shoulder is sore yet from carrying Brit Hunter, "he remarked carelessly, flexing his muscles and grimacing a little. 

Lone was pouring the coffee, and he ran Swan's cup over before henoticed what he was doing. Swan looked up at him and looked awayagain, reaching for a cloth to wipe the spilled coffee from the table. 

"How was that?" Lone asked, turning away to the stove. "What-allhappened to Brit Hunter?"

Swan, with his plate filled and his coffee well sweetened, proceeded torelate with much detail the story of Brit's misfortune. "By golly, Idon't see how he don't get killed, " he finished, helping himself toanother biscuit. "By _golly_, I don't. Falling into Spirit Canyon islike getting dragged by a horse. It should kill a man. What youthink, Lone?"

"It didn't, you say. " Lone's eyes were turned to his coffee cup. 

"It don't kill Brit Hunter--not yet. I think maybe he dies with allhis bones broke, like that. By golly, that shows you what could happenif a man don't think. Brit should look at that chain on his wheelbefore he starts down that road. "

"Oh. His brake didn't hold, eh?"

"I look at that wagon, " Swan answered carefully. "It is somethingfunny about that chain. I worked hauling logs in the mountains, once. It is something damn funny about that chain, the way it's fixed. "

Lone did not ask him for particulars, as perhaps Swan expected. He didnot speak at all for awhile, but presently pushed back his plate as ifhis appetite were gone. 

"It's like Fred Thurman, " Swan continued moralising. "If Fred don'tride backwards, I bet he don't get killed--like that. "

"Where's Brit now?" Lone asked, getting up and putting on his hat. "Atthe ranch?"

"Or heaven, maybe, " Swan responded sententiously. "But my dog Yack, hedon't howl yet. I guess Brit's at the ranch. "

"Sorry I'm busy to-day, " said Lone, opening the door. "You stay aslong as you like, Swan. I've got some riding to do. "

"I'll wash the dishes, and then I maybe will think quicker than thatcoyote. I'm after him, by golly, till I get him. "

Lone muttered something and went out. Within five minutes Swan, hearing hoofbeats, looked out through a crack in the door and saw Loneriding at a gallop along the trail to Rock City. "Good bait. Heswallows the hook, " he commented to himself, and his good-natured grinwas not brightening his face while he washed the dishes and tidied thecabin. 

With Lone rode bitterness of soul and a sick fear that had nothing todo with his own destiny. How long ago Brit had been hurled into thecanyon Lone did not know; he had not asked. But he judged that it musthave been very recently. Swan had not told him of anything but therunaway, and of helping to carry Brit home--and of the "damn funnything about the chain"--the rough-lock, he must have meant. Too wellLone understood the sinister meaning that probably lay behind thatphrase. 

"They've started on the Quirt now, " he told himself with foreboding. "She's been telling her father----"

Lone fell into bitter argument with himself. Just how far was itjustifiable to mind his own business? And if he did not mind it, whatpossible chance had he against a power so ruthless and so cunning? Anaccident to a man driving a loaded wagon down the Spirit Canyon gradehad a diabolic plausibility that no man in the country could question. Brit, he reasoned, could not have known before he started that hisrough-lock had been tampered with, else he would have fixed it. Neither was Brit the man to forget the brake on his load. If Britlived, he might talk as much as he pleased, but he could never provethat his accident had been deliberately staged with murderous intent. 

Lone lifted his head and looked away across the empty miles of sagelandto the quiet blue of the mountains beyond. Peace--the peace ofuntroubled wilderness--brooded over the land. Far in the distance, against the rim of rugged hills, was an irregular splotch of brownwhich was the headquarters of the Sawtooth. Lone turned his wrist tothe right, and John Doe, obeying the rein signal, left the trail andbegan picking his way stiff-legged down the steep slope of the ridge, heading directly toward the home ranch. 

John Doe was streaked with sweat and his flanks were palpitating withfatigue when Lone rode up to the corral and dismounted. Pop Bridgerssaw him and came bow-legging eagerly forward with gossip titillating onhis meddlesome tongue, but Lone stalked by him with only a surly nod. Bob Warfield he saw at a distance and gave no sign of recognition. Hemet Hawkins coming down from his house and stopped in the trail. 

"Have you got time to go back to the office and fix up my time, Hawkins?" he asked without prelude. "I'm quitting to-day. "

Hawkins stared and named the Biblical place of torment. "What yuhquittin' for, Lone?" he added incredulously. "All you boys got a raiselast month; ain't that good enough?"

"Plenty good enough, so long as I work for the outfit. "

"Well, what's wrong? You've been with us five years, Lone, and it'ssuited you all right so far----"

Lone looked at him. "Say, I never set out to marry the Sawtooth, " hestated calmly. "And if I have married you-all by accident, you can geta bill of divorce for desertion. This ain't the first time a man everquit yuh, is it, Hawkins?"

"No--and there ain't a man on the pay roll we can't do without, "Hawkins retorted, his neck stiffening with resentment. "It's a kindarusty trick, though, Lone, quittin' without notice and leaving a campempty. "

"Elk Spring won't run away, " Lone assured him without emotion. "She'sbeen left alone a week or two at a time during roundups. I don'treckon the outfit'll bust up before you get a man down there. "

The foreman looked at him curiously, for this was not like Lone, whosetone had always been soft and friendly, and whose manner had no hint ofbrusqueness. There was a light, too, in Lone's eyes that had not beenthere before. But Hawkins would not question him further. If LoneMorgan or any other man wanted to quit, that was hisprivilege, --providing, of course, that his leaving was not likely tomenace the peace and security of the Sawtooth. Lone had made it apoint to mind his own business, always. He had never asked questions, he had never surmised or gossiped. So Hawkins gave him a check for hiswages and let him go with no more than a foreman's natural reluctanceto lose a trustworthy man. 

By hard riding along short cuts, Lone reached the Quirt ranch anddropped reins at the doorstep, not much past mid-afternoon. 

"I rode over to see if there's anything I can do, " he said, whenLorraine opened the door to him. He did not like to ask about herfather, fearing that the news would be bad. 

"Why, thank you for coming. " Lorraine stepped back, tacitly invitinghim to enter. "Dad knows us to-day, but of course he's terribly hurtand can't talk much. We do need some one to go to town for things. Frank helps me with dad, and Jim and Sorry are trying to keep thingsgoing on the ranch. And Swan does what he can, of course, but----"

"I just thought you maybe needed somebody right bad, " said Lonequietly, meaning a great deal more than Lorraine dreamed that he meant. "I'm not doing anything at all, right now, so I can just as well helpout as not. I can go to town right away, if I can borrow a horse. John Doe, he's pretty tired. I been pushing him right through--notknowing there was a town trip ahead of him. "

Lorraine found her eyes going misty. He was so quiet, and soreassuring in his quiet. Half her burden seemed to slip from hershoulders while she looked at him. She turned away, groping for thedoor latch. 

"You may see dad, if you like, while I get the list of things thedoctor ordered. He left only a little while ago, and I was waiting forone of the boys to come back so I could send him to town. "

It was on Lone's tongue to ask why the doctor had not taken in theorder himself and instructed some one to bring out the things; but heremembered how very busy with its own affairs was Echo and decided thatthe doctor was wise. 

He tiptoed in to the bed and saw a sallow face covered with stubblygray whiskers and framed with white bandages. Brit opened his eyes andmoved his thin lips in some kind of greeting, and Lone sat down on theedge of a chair, feeling as miserably guilty as if he himself hadbrought the old man to this pass. It seemed to him that Brit must knowmore of the accident than Swan had told, and the thought did not add tohis comfort. He waited until Brit opened his eyes again, and then heleaned forward, holding Brit's wandering glance with his own intentgaze. 

"I ain't working now, " he said, lowering his voice so that Lorrainecould not hear. "So I'm going to stay here and help see you throughwith this. I've quit the Sawtooth. "

Brit's eyes cleared and studied Lone's face. "D'ye know--anything?"

"No, I don't. " Lone's face hardened a little. "But I wanted you toknow that I'm--with the Quirt, now. "

"Frank hire yuh?"

"No. I ain't hired at all. I'm just--_with_ yuh. "

"We--need yuh, " said Brit grimly, looking Lone straight in the eyes. 

CHAPTER XIV

"FRANK'S DEAD"

"Frank come yet?" The peevish impatience of an invalid whose horizonhas narrowed to his own personal welfare and wants was in Brit's voice. Two weeks he had been sick, and his temper had not sweetened with thepain of his broken bones and the enforced idleness. Brit was the typeof man who is never quiet unless he is asleep or too ill to get out ofbed. 

Lorraine came to the doorway and looked in at him. Two weeks had settheir mark on her also. She seemed older, quieter in her ways; therewere shadows in her eyes and a new seriousness in the set of her mouth. She had had her burdens, and she had borne them with more patience thanmany an older woman would have done, but what she thought of thoseburdens she did not say. 

"No, dad--but I thought I heard a wagon a little while ago. He must becoming, " she said. 

"Where's Lone at?" Brit moved restlessly on the pillow and twisted hisface at the pain. 

"Lone isn't back, either. "

"He ain't? Where'd he go?"

Lorraine came to the bedside and, lifting Brit's head carefully, arranged the pillow as she knew he liked it. "I don't know where hewent, " she said dully. "He rode off just after dinner. Do you wantyour supper now? Or would you rather wait until Frank brings thefruit?"

"I'd ruther wait--if Frank don't take all night, " Brit grumbled. "Ihope he ain't connected up with that Echo booze. If he has----"

"Oh, no, dad! Don't borrow trouble. Frank was anxious to get home assoon as he could. He'll be coming any minute, now. I'll go listen forthe wagon. "

"No use listenin'. You couldn't hear it in that sand--not till he gitsto the gate. I don't see where Lone goes to, all the time. Where'sJim and Sorry, then?"

"Oh, they've had their supper and gone to the bunk-house. Do you wantthem?"

"No! What'd I want 'em fur? Not to look at, that's sure. I want toknow how things is going on this ranch. And from all I can make out, they ain't goin' at all, " Brit fretted. "What was you 'n' Lone talkin'so long about, out in the kitchen last night? Seems to me you 'n' himhave got a lot to say to each other, Raine. "

"Why, nothing in particular. We were just--talking. We're all humanbeings, dad; we have to talk sometimes. There's nothing else to do. "

"Well, I caught something about the Sawtooth. I don't want you talkingto Lone or anybody else about that outfit, Raine. I told yuh so once. He's all right--I ain't saying anything against Lone--but the less youhave to say the more you'll have to be thankful fur, mebby. "

"I was wondering if Swan could have gotten word somehow to the Sawtoothand had them telephone out that you were hurt. And Lone was drawing amap of the trails and showing me how far it was from the canyon to theSawtooth ranch. And he was asking me just how it happened that thebrake didn't hold, and I said it must have been all right, because Isaw you come out from under the wagon just before you hitched up. Ithought you were fixing the chain on them. "

"Huh?" Brit lifted his head off the pillow and let it drop back again, because of the pain in his shoulder. "You never seen me crawl out fromunder no wagon. I come straight down the hill to the team. "

"Well, I saw some one. He went up into the brush. I thought it wasyou. " Lorraine turned in the doorway and stood looking at himperplexedly. "We shouldn't be talking about it, dad--the doctor saidwe mustn't. But are you _sure_ it wasn't you? Because I certainly sawa man crawl out from under the wagon and start up the hill. Then thehorses acted up, and I couldn't see him after Yellowjacket jumped offthe road. "

Brit lay staring up at the ceiling, apparently unheeding herexplanation. Lorraine watched him for a minute and returned to thekitchen door, peering out and listening for Frank to come from Echowith supplies and the mail and, more important just now, fresh fruitfor her father. 

"I think he's coming, dad, " she called in to her father. "I just heardsomething down by the gate. "

She could save a few minutes, she thought, by running down to thecorral where Frank would probably stop and unload the few sacks ofgrain he was bringing, before he drove up to the house. Frank was verymethodical in a fussy, purposeless way, she had observed. Twice he haddriven to Echo since her father had been hurt, and each time he hadstopped at the corral on his way to the house. So she closed thescreen door behind her, careful that it should not slam, and ran downthe path in the heavy dusk wherein crickets were rasping a stridentchorus. 

"Oh! It's you, is it, Lone?" she exclaimed, when she neared the vaguefigure of a man unsaddling a horse. "You didn't see Frank cominganywhere, did you? Dad won't have his supper until Frank comes withthe things I sent for. He's late. "

Lone was lifting the saddle off the back of John Doe, which he hadbought from the Sawtooth because he was fond of the horse. Hehesitated and replaced the saddle, pulling the blanket straight underit. 

"I saw him coming an hour ago, " he said. "I was back up on the ridge, and I saw a team turn into the Quirt trail from the ford. It couldn'tbe anybody but Frank. I'll ride out and meet him. "

He was mounted and gone before she realised that he was ready. Sheheard the sharp staccato of John Doe's hoofbeats and wondered why Lonehad not waited for another word from her. It was as if she had toldhim that Frank was in some terrible danger, --yet she had merelycomplained that he was late. The bunk-house door opened, and Sorrycame out on the doorstep, stood there a minute and came slowly to meether as she retraced her steps to the house. 

"Where'd Lone go so sudden?" he asked, when she came close to him inthe dusk. "That was him, wasn't it?"

Lorraine stopped and stood looking at him without speaking. A vagueterror had seized her. She wanted to scream, and yet she could thinkof nothing to scream over. It was Lone's haste, she told herselfimpatiently. Her nerves were ragged from nursing her dad and fromworrying over things she must not talk about, --that forbidden subjectwhich never left her mind for long. 

"Wasn't that him?" Sorry repeated uneasily. "What took him off againin such a rush?"

"Oh, I don't know! He said Frank should have been here long ago. Hewent to look for him. Sorry, " she cried suddenly, "what _is_ thematter with this place? I feel as if something horrible was just readyto jump out at us all. I--I want my back against something solid, allthe time, so that nothing can creep up behind. Nothing, " she addeddesperately, "could happen to Frank between here and the turn-off atthe ford, could it? Lone saw him turn into our trail over an hour ago, he said. "

Sorry, his fingers thrust into his overalls pockets, his thumbs hookedover the waistband, spat into the sand beside the path. "Well, hestarted off with a cracked doubletree, " he said slowly. "He mightabusted 'er pullin' through that sand hollow. She was wired up prettygood, though, and there was more wire in the rig. I don't know ofanything else that'd be liable to happen, unless----"

"Unless what?" Lorraine prompted sharply. "There's too much that isn'ttalked about, on this ranch. What else could happen?"

Sorry edged away from her. "Well--I dunno as anything would be liableto happen, " he said uncomfortably. "'Tain't likely him 'n' Brit'd bothhave accidents--not right hand-runnin'. "

"_Accidents?_" Lorraine felt her throat squeeze together. "Sorry, youdon't mean--Sawtooth accidents?" she blurted. 

She surprised a grunt out of Sorry, who looked over his shoulder as ifhe feared eavesdroppers. "Where'd you git that idee?" he demanded. "Idunno what you mean. Ain't that yore dad callin' yuh?"

Lorraine ignored the hint. "You _do_ know what I mean. Why did yousay they wouldn't both be likely to have accidents hand-running? Andwhy don't you _do_ something? Why does everyone just keep still andlet things happen, and not say a word? If there's any chance of Frankhaving an--an _accident_, I should think you'd be out looking afterhim, and not standing there with your hands in your pockets justwaiting to see if he shows up or if he doesn't show up. You're alljust like these rabbits out in the sage. You'll hide under a bush andwait until you're almost stepped on before you so much as wiggle anear! I'm getting good and tired of this meek business!"

"We-ell, " Sorry drawled amiably as she went past him, "playin'rabbit-under-a-bush mebby don't look purty, but it's dern good lifeinsurance. "

"A coward's policy, " Lorraine taunted him over her shoulder, and wentto see what her father wanted. When he, too, wanted to know why Lonehad come and gone again in such a hurry, Lorraine felt all the couragego out of her at once. Their very uneasiness seemed to prove thatthere was more than enough cause for it. Yet, when she forced herselfto stop and think, it was all about nothing. Frank had driven to Echoand had not returned exactly on time, though a dozen things might havedetained him. 

She was listening at the door when Swan appeared unexpectedly beforeher, having walked over from the Thurman ranch after doing the chores. To him she observed that Frank was an hour late, and Swan, whistlingsoftly to Jack--Lorraine was surprised to hear how closely the callresembled the chirp of a bird--strode away without so much as apretence at excuse. Lorraine stared after him wide-eyed, wondering andyet not daring to wonder. 

Her father called to her fretfully, and she went in to him again andtold him what Sorry had said about the cracked doubletree, andpersuaded him to let her bring his supper at once, and to have thefruit later when Frank arrived. Brit did not say much, but she sensedhis uneasiness, and her own increased in proportion. Later she saw twotiny, glowing points down by the corral and knew that Sorry and Jimwere down there, waiting and listening, ready to do whatever was neededof them; although what that would be she could not even conjecture. 

She made her father comfortable, chattered aimlessly to combat herunderstanding of his moody silence, and listened and waited and triedher pitiful best not to think that anything could be wrong. Thesubdued chuckling of the wagon in the sand outside the gate startledher with its unmistakable reality after so many false impressions thatshe heard it. 

"Frank's coming, dad, " she announced relievedly, "and I'll go and getthe mail and the fruit. "

She ran down the path again, almost light-hearted in her relief fromthat vague terror which had held her for the past hour. From thecorral Sorry and Jim came walking up the path to meet the wagon whichwas making straight for the bunkhouse instead of going first to thestable. One man rode on the seat, driving the team which walkedslowly, oddly, reminding Lorraine of a funeral procession. Beside thewagon rode Lone, his head drooped a little in the starlight. It wasnot until the team stopped before the bunk-house that Lorraine knewwhat it was that gave her that strange, creepy feeling of disaster. Itwas not Frank Johnson, but Swan Vjolmar who climbed limberly down fromthe seat without speaking and turned toward the back of the wagon. 

"Why, where's Frank?" she asked, going up to where Lone was dismountingin silence. 

"He's there--in the wagon. We picked him up back here aboutthree-quarters of a mile or so. "

"What's the matter? Is he drunk?" This was Sorry who came up to Swanand stood ready to lend a hand. 

"He's so drunk he falls out of wagon down the road, but he don't havewhisky smell by his face, " was Swan's ambiguous reply. 

"He's not hurt, is he?" Lorraine pressed close, and felt a hand on herarm pulling her gently away. 

"He's hurt, " Lone said, just behind her. "We'll take him into thebunk-house and bring him to. Run along to the house and don'tworry--and don't say anything to your dad, either. There's no need tobother him about it. We'll look after Frank. "

Already Swan and Sorry and Jim were lifting Frank's limp form from therear of the wagon. It sagged in their arms like a dead thing, andLorraine stepped back shuddering as they passed her. A minute latershe followed them inside, where Jim was lighting the lamp with shakingfingers. By the glow of the match Lorraine saw how sober Jim looked, how his chin was trembling under the drooping, sandy moustache. Shestared at him, hating to read the emotion in his heavy face that shehad always thought so utterly void of feeling. 

"It isn't--he isn't----" she began, and turned upon Swan, who wasbeside the bunk, looking down at Frank's upturned face. "Swan, if it'sserious enough for a doctor, can't you send another thought message toyour mother?" she asked. "He looks--oh, Lone! He isn't _dead_, is he?"

Swan turned his head and stared down at her, and from her face hisglance went sharply to Lone's downcast face. He looked again atLorraine. 

"To-night I can't talk with my mind, " Swan told her bluntly. "Notalways I can do that. I could ask Lone how can a man be drunk so hefalls off the wagon when no whisky smell is on his breath. "

"Breath? Hell! There ain't no breath to smell, " Sorry exclaimed asunexpectedly as his speeches usually were. "If he's breathin' I can'ttell it on him. "

"He's got to be breathing!" Lone declared with a suppressed fiercenessthat made them all look at him. "I found a half bottle of whisky inhis pocket--but Swan's right. There wasn't a smell of it on hisbreath--I tell you now, boys, that he was lying in the sand between twosagebrushes, on his face. And there is where he got the blow--_behindhis ear_. It's one of them accidents that you've got to figure out foryourself. "

"Oh, do something!" Lorraine cried distractedly. "Never mind now howit happened, or whether he was drunk or not--bring him to his sensesfirst, and let him explain. If there's whisky, wouldn't that help ifhe swallowed some now? And there's medicine for dad's bruises in thehouse. I'll get it. And Swan! Won't you _please_ talk to your motherand tell her we need the doctor?"

Swan drew back. "I can't, " he said shortly. "Better you send to Echofor telegraph. And if you have medicine, it should be on his headquick. "

Lone was standing with his fingers pressed on Frank's wrist. He lookedup, hesitated, drew out his knife and opened the small blade. He movedso that his back was to Lorraine, and still holding the wrist he made asmall, clean cut in the flesh. The three others stooped, stared withtightened lips at the bloodless incision, straightened and looked atone another dumbly. 

"I'd like to lie to you, " Lone told Lorraine, speaking over hisshoulder. "But I won't. You're too game and too square. Go and staywith your dad, but don't let him know--get him to sleep. We don't needthat medicine, nor a doctor either. Frank's dead. I reckon he wasdead when he hit the ground. "

CHAPTER XV

SWAN TRAILS A COYOTE

At daybreak Swan was striding toward the place where Frank Johnson hadbeen found. Lone, his face moody, his eyes clouded with thought, rodebeside him, while Jack trotted loose-jointedly at Swan's heels. Swanhad his rifle, and Lone's six-shooter showed now and then under hiscoat when the wind flipped back a corner. Neither had spoken sincethey left the ranch, where Jim was wandering dismally here and there, trying to do the chores when his heart was heavy with a sense ofpersonal loss and grim foreboding. None save Brit had slept during thenight--and Brit had slept only because Lorraine had prudently given hima full dose of the sedative left by the doctor for that very purpose. Sorry had gone to Echo to send a telegram to the coroner, and he waslikely to return now at any time. Wherefore Swan and Lone were goingto look over the ground before others had trampled out what evidencethere might be in the shape of footprints. 

They reached the spot where the team had stopped of its own accord incrossing a little, green meadow, and had gone to feeding. Lone pulledup and half turned in the saddle, looking at Swan questioningly. 

"Is that dog of yours any good at trailing?" he asked abruptly. "I'vegot a theory that somebody was in that wagon with Frank, and drove on aways before he jumped out. I believe if you'd put that dog on thetrail----"

"If I put that dog on the trail he stays on the trail all day, maybe, "Swan averred with some pride. "By golly, he follows a coyote till hedrops. "

"Well, it's a coyote we're after now, " said Lone. "A sheep-killer thathas made his last killin'. Right here's where I rode up and caught theteam, last night. We better take a look along here for tracks. "

Swan stared at him curiously, but he did not speak, and the two went onmore slowly, their glances roving here and there along the trail edge, looking for footprints. Once the dog Jack swung off the trail into thebrush, and Swan followed him while Lone stopped and awaited the result. Swan came back presently, with Jack sulking at his heels. 

"Yack, he take up the trail of a coyote, " Swan explained, "but it's gotthe four legs, and Yack, he don't understand me when I don't follow. He thinks I'm crazy this morning. "

"I reckon the team came on toward home after the fellow jumped out, "Lone observed. "He'd plan that way, seems to me. I know I would. "

"I guess that's right. I don't have experience in killing somebody, "Swan returned blandly, and Lone was too preoccupied to wonder at theunaccustomed sarcasm. 

A little farther along Swan swooped down upon a blue dottedhandkerchief of the kind which men find so useful where laundries arebut a name. Again Lone stopped and bent to examine it as Swan spreadit out in his hands. A few tiny grains of sandstone rattled out, andin the centre was a small blood spot. Swan looked up straight intoLone's dark, brooding eyes. 

"By golly, Lone, you would do that, too, if you kill somebody, " hebegan in a new tone, --the tone which Lorraine had heard indistinctly inthe bunkhouse when Swan was talking to the doctor. "Do you think I'm adamn fool, just because I'm a Swede? You are smart--you think outevery little thing. But you make a big mistake if you don't think someone else may be using his brain, too. This handkerchief I have seenyou pull from your pocket too many times. And it had a rock in it lastnight, and the blood shows that it was used to hit Frank behind theear. You think it all out--but maybe I've been thinking too. Nowyou're under arrest. Just stay on your horse--he can't run faster thana bullet, and I don't miss coyotes when I shoot them on the run. "

"The hell you say!" Lone stared at him. "Where's your authority, Swan?"

Swan lifted the rifle to a comfortable, firing position, the muzzlepointing straight at Lone's chest. With his left hand he turned backhis coat and disclosed a badge pinned to the lining. 

"I'm a United States Marshal, that's all; a government hunter, " hestated. "I'm hot on the trail of coyotes--all kinds. Throw thatsix-shooter over there in the brush, will you?"

"I hate to get the barrel all sanded up, " Lone objected mildly. "Youcan pack it, can't you?" He grinned a little as he handed out the gun, muzzle toward himself. "You're playing safe, Swan, but if that dog ofyours is any good, you'll have a change of heart pretty quick. Isn'tthat a man's track, just beside that flat rock? Put the dog on, whydon't you?"

"Yack is on already, " Swan pointed out. "Ride ahead of me, Lone. "

With a shrug of his shoulders Lone obeyed, following the dog as ittrotted through the brush on the trail of a man's footprints which Swanhad shown it. A man might have had some trouble in keeping to thetrail, but Jack trotted easily along and never once seemed at fault. In a very few minutes he stopped in a rocky depression where a horsehad been tied, and waited for Swan, wagging his tail and showing histeeth in a panting smile. The man he had trailed had mounted andridden toward the ridge to the west. Swan examined the tracks, andLone sat on his horse watching him. 

Jack picked up the trail where the horseman had walked away toward theroad, and Swan followed him, motioning Lone to ride ahead. 

"You could tell me about this, I think, but I can find out for myself, "he observed, glancing at Lone briefly. 

"Sure, you can find out, if you use your eyes and do a littlethinking, " Lone replied. "I hope you do lay the evidence on the rightdoorstep. "

"I will, " Swan promised, looking ahead to where Jack was nosing his waythrough the sagebrush. 

They brought up at the edge of the road nearly a quarter of a milenearer Echo than the place where Frank's body had been found. They sawwhere the man had climbed into the wagon, and followed to where theyhad found Frank beside the road, lying just as he had pitched forwardfrom the wagon seat. 

"I think, " said Swan quietly, "we will go now and find out where thathorse went last night. "

"A good idea, " Lone agreed. "Do you see how it was done, Swan? Whenhe saw the team coming, away back toward Echo, he rode down into thatwash and tied his horse. He was walking when Frank overtook him, Ireckon--maybe claiming his horse had broke away from him. He had arock in his handkerchief. Frank stopped and gave him a lift, and heused the rock first chance he got. Then I reckon he stuck the whiskybottle in Frank's pocket and heaved him out. He dropped thehandkerchief out of his hip pocket when he jumped out of the rig. It'sright simple, and if folks didn't get to wondering about it, it'd besafe as any killing can be. As safe, " he added meaningly, "as draggingFred Thurman, or unhooking Brit's chain-lock before he started down thecanyon with his load of posts. "

Swan did not answer, but turned back to where the horse had been lefttied and took up the trail from there. As before, the dog trottedalong, Lone riding close behind him and Swan striding after. They didnot really need the dog, for the hoofprints were easily followed forthe greater part of the way. 

They had gone perhaps four miles when Lone turned, resting a hand onthe cantle of his saddle while he looked back at Swan. "You see wherehe was headed for, don't yuh, Swan?" he asked, his tone as friendly asthough he was not under arrest as a murderer. "If he didn't go toWhisper, I'll eat my hat. "

"You're the man to know, " Swan retorted grimly. And then, becauseLone's horse had slowed in a long climb over a ridge, he came up evenwith a stirrup. "Lone, I hate to do it. I'd like you, if you don'tkill for a living. But for that I could shoot you quick as a coyote. You're smart--but not smart enough. You gave yourself away when Ishowed you Fred's saddle. After that I knew who was the Sawtoothkiller that I came here to find. "

"You thought you knew, " Lone corrected calmly. 

"You don't have to lie, " Swan informed mm bluntly. "You don't have totell anything. I find out for myself if I make mistake. "

"Go to it, " Lone advised him coldly. "It don't make a darn bit ofdifference to me whether I ride in front of you or behind. I'm so gladyou're here on the job, Swan, that I'm plumb willing to be tied handand foot if it'll help you any. "

"When a man's too damn willing to be my prisoner, " Swan observedseriously, "he gets tied, all right. Put out your hands, Lone. Youlook good to me with bracelets on, when you talk so willing to go tojail for murder. "

He had slipped the rifle butt to the ground, and before Lone quiterealised what he was doing Swan had a short, wicked-looking automaticpistol in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other. Lone flushed, but there was nothing to do but hold out his hands. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE SAWTOOTH SHOWS ITS HAND

In her fictitious West Lorraine had long since come to look uponviolence as a synonym for picturesqueness; murder and mystery wereinevitably an accompaniment of chaps and spurs. But when a man she hadcooked breakfast for, had talked with just a few hours ago, lay dead inthe bunk-house, she forgot that it was merely an expected incident ofWestern life. She lay in her bed shaking with nervous dread, and theshrill rasping of the crickets and tree-toads was unendurable. 

After the first shock had passed a deep, fighting rage filled her, madeher long for day so that she might fight back somehow. Who was theSawtooth Company, that they could sweep human beings from their path soruthlessly and never be called to account? Not once did she doubt thatthis was the doing of the Sawtooth, another carefully planned"accident" calculated to rid the country of another man who in somefashion had become inimical to their interests. 

From Lone she had learned a good deal about the new irrigation projectwhich lay very close to the Sawtooth's heart. She could see how theQuirt ranch, with its water rights and its big, fertile meadows and itsfences and silent disapprobation of the Sawtooth's methods, might belooked upon as an obstacle which they would be glad to remove. 

That her father had been sent down that grade with a brake deliberatelymade useless was a horrible thought which she could not put from hermind. She had thought and thought until it seemed to her that she knewexactly how and why the killer's plans had gone awry. She was certainthat she and Swan had prevented him from climbing down into the canyonand making sure that her dad did not live to tell what mischance hadovertaken him. He had probably been watching while she and Swan madethat stretcher and carried her dad away out of his reach. He would notshoot _her_, --he would not dare. Nor would he dare come to the cabinand finish the job he had begun. But he had managed to killFrank--poor old Frank, who would never grumble and argue over littlethings again. 

There was nothing picturesque, nothing adventurous about it. It wasjust straight, heart-breaking tragedy, that had its sordid side too. Her dad was a querulous sick man absorbed by his sufferings and not yetout of danger, if she read the doctor's face aright. Jim and Sorry hadtaken orders all their life, and they would not be able to handle theranch work alone; yet how else would it be done? There wasLone, --instinctively she turned her thoughts to him for comfort. Lonewould stay and help, and somehow it would be managed. 

But to think that these things could be done without fear ofretribution. Jim and Sorry, Swan and Lone had not attempted to hidetheir belief that the Sawtooth was responsible for Frank's death, yetnot one of them had hinted at the possibility of calling the sheriff, or placing the blame where it belonged. They seemed browbeaten intothe belief that it would be useless to fight back. They seemed to lookupon the doings of the Sawtooth as an act of Providence, like beingstruck by lightning or freezing to death, as men sometimes did in thatcountry. 

To Lorraine that passive submission was the most intolerable part, theone thing she could not, would not endure. Had she lived all of herlife on the Quirt, she probably would never have thought of fightingback and would have accepted conditions just as her dad seemed toaccept them. But her mimic West had taught her that women sometimesdared where the men had hesitated. It never occurred to her that sheshould submit to the inevitable just because the men appeared to do so. 

Wherefore it was a new Lorraine who rose at daybreak and silentlycooked breakfast for the men, learned from Jim that Sorry was not backfrom Echo, and that Swan and Lone had gone down to the place whereFrank had been found. She poured Jim's coffee and went on her tiptoesto see if her father still slept. She dreaded his awakening and themoment when she must tell him about Frank, and she had an unreasonablehope that the news might be kept from him until the doctor came again. 

Brit was awake, and the look in his eyes frightened Lorraine so thatshe stopped in the middle of the room, staring at him fascinated. 

"Well, " he said flatly, "who is it this time? Lone, or--Frank?"

"Why--who is what?" Lorraine parried awkwardly. "I don't---"

"Did they git Frank, las' night?" Brit's eyes seemed to bore into hersoul, searching pitilessly for the truth. "Don't lie to me, Raine--itain't going to help any. Was it Frank or Lone? They's a dead man laidout on this ranch. Who is it?"

"F-frank, " Lorraine stammered, backing away from him. "H-how did youknow?"

"How did it happen?" Brit's eyes were terrible. 

Lorraine shuddered while she told him. 

"Rabbits in a trap, " Brit muttered, staring at the low ceiling. "Can'tprove nothing--couldn't convict anybody if we could prove it. BillWarfield's got this county under his thumb. Rabbits in a trap. Raine, you better pack up and go home to your mother. There's goin' to behell a-poppin' if I live to git outa this bed. "

Lorraine stooped over him, and her eyes were almost as terrible as wereBrit's. "Let it pop. We aren't quitters, are we, dad? I'm going tostay with you. " Then she saw tears spilling over Brit's eyelids andleft the room hurriedly, fighting back a storm of weeping. She herselfcould not mourn for Frank with any sense of great personal loss, but itwas different with her dad. He and Frank had lived together for somany years that his loyal heart ached with grief for that surly, faithful old partner of his. 

But Lorraine's fighting blood was up, and she could not waste time inweeping. She drank a cup of coffee, went out and called Jim, and toldhim that she was going to take a ride, and that she wanted a decenthorse. 

"You can take mine, " Jim offered. "He's gentle and easy-gaited. I'llgo saddle up. When do you want to go?"

"Right now, as soon as I'm ready. I'll fix dad's breakfast, and youcan look after him until Lone and Swan come back. One of them willstay with him then. I may be gone for three or four hours. I'll gocrazy if I stay here any longer. "

Jim eyed her while he bit off a chew of tobacco. "It'd be a good thingif you had some neighbour woman come in and stay with yuh, " he saidslowly. "But there ain't any I can think of that'd be much force. Youtake Snake and ride around close and forget things for awhile. " Hehesitated, his hand moving slowly back to his pocket. "If yuh feellike you want a gun----"

Lorraine laughed bitterly. "You don't think any accident would happento _me_, do you?"

"Well, no--er I wouldn't advise yuh to go ridin', " Jim saidthoughtfully. "This here gun's kinda techy, anyway, unless you're usedto a quick trigger. Yuh might be safer without than with it. "

By the time she was ready, Jim was tying his horse, Snake, to thecorral. Lorraine walked slowly past the bunk-house with her faceturned from it and her thoughts dwelling terrifiedly upon what laywithin. Once she was past she began running, as if she were trying tooutrun her thoughts, Jim watched her gravely, untied Snake and stood athis head while she mounted, then walked ahead of her to the gate andopened it for her. 

"Yore nerves are sure shot to hell, " he blurted sympathetically as sherode past him. "I guess you need a ride, all right. Snake's plumbsafe, so yuh got no call to worry about him. Take it easy, Raine, onthe worrying. That's about the worst thing you can do. "

Lorraine gave him a grateful glance and a faint attempt at a smile, androde up the trail she always took, --the trail where she had met Lonethat day when he returned her purse, the trail that led to FredThurman's ranch and to Sugar Spring and, if you took a certain turn ata certain place, to Granite Ridge and beyond. 

Up on the ridge nearest the house Al Woodruff shifted his position sothat he could watch her go. He had been watching Lone and Swan and thedog, trailing certain tracks through the sagebrush down below, and whenLorraine rode away from the Quirt they were in the wagon road, fussingaround the place where Frank had been found. 

"They can't pin nothing on _me_, " Al tried to comfort himself. "Ifthat damn girl would keep her mouth shut I could stand a trial, even. They ain't got any evidence whatever, unless she saw me at Rock Citythat night. " He turned and looked again toward the two men down on theroad and tilted his mouth down at the corners in a sour grin. 

"Go to it and be damned to you!" he muttered. "You haven't got thedope, and you can't git it, either. Trail that horse if you wantto--I'd like to see yuh amuse yourselves that way!"

He turned again to stare after Lorraine, meditating deeply. If she hadonly been a man, he would have known exactly how to still her tongue, but he had never before been called upon to deal with the problem ofkeeping a woman quiet. He saw that she was taking the trail towardFred Thurman's, and that she was riding swiftly, as if she had someerrand in that direction, something urgent. Al was very adept atreading men's moods and intentions from small details in theirbehaviour. He had seen Lorraine start on several leisurely, purposeless rides, and her changed manner held a significance which hedid not attempt to belittle. 

He led his horse down the side of the ridge opposite the road and thehouse, mounted there and rode away after Lorraine, keeping parallelwith the trail but never using it, as was his habit. He made noattempt to overtake her, and not once did Lorraine glimpse him orsuspect that she was being followed. Al knew well the art ofconcealing his movements and his proximity from the inquisitive eyes ofanother man's saddle horse, and Snake had no more suspicion than hisrider that they were not altogether alone that morning. 

Lorraine sent him over the trail at a pace which Jim had long sincereserved for emergencies. But Snake appeared perfectly able andwilling to hold it and never stumbled or slowed unexpectedly as didYellowjacket, wherefore Lorraine rode faster than she would have donehad she known more about horses. 

Still, Snake held his own better than even Jim would have believed, andcarried Lorraine up over Granite Ridge and down into the Sawtooth flatalmost as quickly as Lorraine expected him to do. She came up to theSawtooth ranch-houses with Snake in a lather of sweat and with her owndetermination unweakened to carry the war into the camp of her enemy. It was, she firmly believed, what should have been done long ago; whatwould have curbed effectually the arrogant powers of the Sawtooth. 

She glanced at the foreman's cottage only to make sure that Hawkins wasnowhere in sight there, and rode on toward the corrals, interceptingHawkins and a large, well-groomed, smooth-faced man whom she knew atonce must be Senator Warfield himself. Unconsciously Lorraine mentallyfitted herself into a dramatic movie "scene" and plunged straight intothe subject. 

"There has been, " she said tensely, "another Sawtooth accident. Itworked better than the last one, when my father was sent over the gradeinto Spirit Canyon. Frank Johnson is _dead_. I am here to discoverwhat you are going to do about it?" Her eyes were flashing, her chestwas rising and falling rapidly when she had finished. She lookedstraight into Senator Warfield's face, her own full in the sunlight, sothat, had there been a camera "shooting" the scene, her expressionwould have been fully revealed--though she did not realise all that. 

Senator Warfield looked her over calmly (just as a director would havewished him to do) and turned to Hawkins. "Who is this girl?" he asked. "Is she the one who came here temporarily--deranged?"

"She's the girl, " Hawkins affirmed, his eyes everywhere but onLorraine's face. "Brit Hunter's daughter--they say. "

"They _say_? I _am_ his daughter! How dare you take that tone, MrHawkins? My home is at the Quirt. When you strike at the Quirt youstrike at me. When you strike at me I am going to strike back. SinceI came here two men have been killed and my father has been nearlykilled. He may die yet--I don't know what effect this shock will haveupon him. But I know that Frank is dead, and that it's up to me now tosee that justice is done. You--you cowards! You will kill a man forthe sake of a few dollars, but you kill in the dark. You cover yourmurders under the pretence of accidents. I want to tell you this: Ofall the men you have murdered, Frank Johnson will be avenged. You aregoing to answer for that. I shall see that you do answer for it!There is justice in this country, there _must_ be. I'm going to demandthat justice shall be measured out to you. I----"

"Was she violent, before?" Senator Warfield asked Hawkins in anundertone which Lorraine heard distinctly. "You're a deputy, Hawkins. If this keeps on, I'm afraid you will have to take her in and have hercommitted for insanity. It's a shame, poor thing. At her age it ispitiful. Look how she has ridden that horse! Another mile would havefinished him. "

"Do you mean to say you think I'm crazy? What an idea! It seems tome, Senator Warfield, that you are crazy yourself, to imagine that youcan go on killing people and thinking you will never have to pay thepenalty. You will pay. There is law in this land, even if----"

"This is pathetic, " said Senator Warfield, still speaking to Hawkins. "Her father--if he is her father--is sick and not able to take care ofher. We'll have to assume the responsibility ourselves, I'm afraid, Hawkins. She may harm herself, or----"

Lorraine turned white. She had never seen just such a situation arisein a screen story, but she knew what danger might lie in being accusedof insanity. While Warfield was speaking, she had a swift vision ofthe evidence they could bring against her; how she had arrived theredelirious after having walked out from Echo, --why, they would call eventhat a symptom of insanity! Lone had warned her of what people wouldsay if she told any one of what she saw in Rock City, perhaps reallybelieving that she had imagined it all. Lone might even think that shehad some mental twist! Her world was reeling around her. 

She whirled Snake on his hind feet, struck him sharply with the quirtand was galloping back over the trail past the Hawkins house beforeSenator Warfield had finished advising Hawkins. She saw Mrs Hawkinsstanding in the door, staring at her, but she did not stop. They wouldtake her to the asylum; she felt that the Sawtooth had the power, thatshe had played directly into their hands, and that they would be asruthless in dealing with her as they had been with the nesters whomthey had killed. She knew it, she had read it in the inscrutable, level look of Senator Warfield, in the half cringing, whollysubservient manner of Hawkins when he listened to his master. 

"They're fiends!" she cried aloud once, while she urged Snake up theslope of Granite Ridge. "I believe they'd kill me if they were surethey could get away with it. But they could frame an insanity chargeand put me--my God, what fiends they are!"

At the Sawtooth, Senator Warfield was talking with Mrs Hawkins whileher husband saddled two horses. Mrs Hawkins lived within her fourwalls and called that her "spere, " and spoke of her husband as "he. "You know the type of woman. That Senator Warfield was anything lessthan a godlike man who stood very high on the ladder of Fame, she wouldnever believe. So she related garrulously certain incoherent, aimlessutterances of Lorraine's, and cried a little, and thought it wasperfectly awful that a sweet, pretty girl like that should be crazy. She would have made an ideal witness against Lorraine, her verysympathy carrying conviction of Lorraine's need of it. That she didnot convince Senator Warfield of Lorraine's mental derangement was amere detail. Senator Warfield had reasons for knowing that Lorrainewas merely afflicted with a dangerous amount of knowledge and was usingit without discretion. 

"You mustn't let her run loose and maybe kill herself or somebodyelse!" Mrs Hawkins exclaimed. "Oh, Senator, it's awful to think of!When she went past the house I knew the poor thing wasn't right----"

"We'll overtake her, " Senator Warfield assured her comfortingly. "Shecan't go very far on that horse. She'd ridden him half to death, getting here. He won't hold out--he can't. She came here, I suppose, because she had been here before. A sanitorium may be able to restoreher to a normal condition. I can't believe it's anything more thansome nervous disorder. Now don't worry, my good woman. Just have aroom ready, so that she will be comfortable here until we can get herto a sanitorium. It isn't hopeless, I assure you--but I'm mighty gladI happened to be here so that I can take charge of the case. Now herecomes Hawkins. We'll bring her back--don't you worry. "

"Well, take her away as quick as you can, Senator. I'm scared of crazypeople. His brother went crazy in our house and----"

"Yes, yes--we'll take care of her. Poor girl, I wish that I had beenhere when she first came, " said the senator, as he went to meetHawkins, who was riding up from the corrals leading two horses--one forLorraine, which shows what was his opinion of Snake. 

CHAPTER XVII

YACK DON'T LIE

For a time the trail seemed to lead toward Whisper. Then it turnedaway and seemed about to end abruptly on a flat outcropping of rock twomiles from Whisper camp. Lone frowned and stared at the ground, andSwan spoke sharply to Jack, who was nosing back and forth, at fault ifever a dog was. But presently he took up the scent and led them down abarren slope and into grassy ground where a bunch of horses grazedcontentedly. Jack singled out one and ran toward it silently, as hehad done all his trailing that morning. The horse looked up, staredand went galloping down the little valley, stampeding the others withhim. 

"That's about where I thought we'd wind up--in a saddle bunch, " Loneobserved disgustedly. "If I had the evidence you're carrying in yourpocket, Swan, I'd put that darn dog on the scent of the man, not thehorse. "

"The man I've got, " Swan retorted. "I don't have to trail him. "

"Well, now, you _think_ you've got him. Here's good, level ground--Icouldn't get outa sight in less than ten minutes, afoot. Let me walkout a ways, and you see if that handkerchief's mine. Oh, search me allyou want to, first, " he added, when he read the suspicion in Swan'seyes. "Make yourself safe as yuh please, but give me a fair show. You've made up your mind I'm the killer, and you've been fitting theevidence to me--or trying to. "

"It fits, " Swan pointed out dryly. 

"You see if it does. The dog'll tell you all about it in about twominutes if you give him a chance. "

Swan looked at him. "Yack don't lie. By golly, I raised that dog totrail, and he _trails_, you bet! He's cocker spaniel and bloodhound, and he knows things, that dog. All right, Lone, you walk over to thatblack rock and set down. If you think you frame something, maybe, Ipack a dead man to the Quirt again. "

"You can, for all me, " Lone replied quietly. "I'd about as soon gothat way as the way I am now. "

Swan watched him until he was seated on the rock as directed, hismanacled hands resting on his knees, his face turned toward the horses. Then Swan took the blue handkerchief from his pocket, called Jack tohim and muttered something in Swedish while the dog sniffed at thecloth. "Find him, Yack, " said Swan, standing straight again. 

Jack went sniffing obediently in wide circles, crossing unconcernedlyLone's footprints while he trotted back and forth. He hesitated onceon the trail of the horse he had followed, stopped and looked at Swaninquiringly, and whined. Swan whistled the dog to him with a peculiar, birdlike note and called to Lone. 

"You come back, Lone, and let Yack take a damn good smell of you. Bygolly, if that dog lies to me this time, I lick him good!"

Lone came back, grinning a little. "All right, now maybe you'll listento reason. I ain't the kind to tell all I know and some besides, Swan. I've been a Sawtooth man, and a fellow kinda hates to throw down hisoutfit deliberate. But they're going' too strong for any white man tostand for. I quit them when they tried to get Brit Hunter. I don'tknow so much, Swan, but I'm pretty good at guessing. So if you'll comewith me to Whisper, your dog may show yuh who owns that handkerchief. If he don't, then I'm making a mistake, and I'd like to be set right. "

"Somebody rode that horse, " Swan meditated aloud. "Yack don't make amistake like that, and I don't think I'm blind. Where's the man thatwas on the horse? What you think, Lone?"

"_Me_? I think there was another horse somewhere close to thatoutcropping, tied to a bush, maybe. I think the man you're afterchanged horses there, just on a chance that somebody might trail himfrom the road. You put your dog on the trail of that one particularhorse, and he showed yuh where it was feeding with the bunch. It looksto me like it was turned loose, back there, and come on alone. Yourman went to Whisper; I'll bank money on that. Anyway, your dog'll knowif he's been there. "

Swan thought it over, his eyes moving here and there to every hint ofmovement between the skyline and himself. Suddenly he turned to Lone, his face flushing with honest shame. 

"Loney, take a damn Swede and give him something he believes, and youcould pull his teeth before you pull that notion from his thick head. You acted funny, that day Fred Thurman was killed, and you gaveyourself away at the stable when I showed you that saddle. So I thinkyou're the killer, and I keep on thinking that, and I've been trying tocatch you with evidence. I'm a Swede, all right! Square head. Builtof wood two inches thick. Loney, you kick me good. You don't havetime to ride over here, get some other horse and ride back to the Quirtafter Frank was killed. You got there before I did, last night. Weknow Frank was dead not much more than one hour when we get him to thebunk-house. Yack, he gives you a good alibi. "

"I sure am glad we took the time to trail that horse, then, " Loneremarked, while Swan was removing the handcuffs. "You're all right, Swan. Nothing like sticking to an idea till you know it's wrong. Now, let's stick to mine for awhile. Let's go on to Whisper. It ain't far. "

They returned to the rocky hillside where the trail had been covered, and searched here and there for the tracks of another horse; found thetrail and followed it easily enough to Whisper. Swan put Jack oncemore on the scent of the handkerchief, and if actions meant anything, Jack proved conclusively that he found the Whisper camp reeking withthe scent. 

But that was all, --since Al was at that moment trailing Lorraine towardthe Sawtooth. 

"We may as well eat, " Swan suggested. "We'll get him, by golly, but wedon't have to starve ourselves. "

"He wouldn't know we're after him, " Lone agreed. "He'll stick aroundso as not to raise suspicion. And he might come back, most any time. If he does, we'll say I'm out with you after coyotes, and we stoppedhere for a meal. That's good enough to satisfy him--till you get thedrop on him. But I want to tell yuh, Swan, you can't take Al Woodruffas easy as you took me. And you couldn't have taken me so easy if I'dbeen the man you wanted. Al would kill you as easy as you killcoyotes. Give him a reason, and you won't need to give him a chancealong with it. He'll find the chance himself. "

Because they thought it likely that Al would soon return, they did nothurry. They were hungry, and they cooked enough food for four men andate it leisurely. Jim was at the ranch, Sorry had undoubtedly returnedbefore now, and the coroner would probably not arrive before noon, atthe earliest. 

Swan wanted to take Al Woodruff back with him in irons. He wanted toconfront the coroner with the evidence he had found and the testimonywhich Lone could give. There had been too many killings already, heasserted in his naïve way; the sooner Al Woodruff was locked up, thesafer the country would be. 

He discussed with Lone the possibility of making Al talk, --the chanceof his implicating the Sawtooth. Lone did not hope for much and saidso. 

"If Al was a talker he wouldn't be holding the job he's got, " Loneargued. "Don't get the wrong idea again, Swan. Yuh may pin this on toAl, but that won't let the Sawtooth in. The Sawtooth's too slick forthat. They'd be more likely to make up a lynching party right in theoutfit and hang Al as an example than they would try to shield him. He's played a lone hand, Swan, right from the start, unless I'm badlymistaken. The Sawtooth's paid him for playing it, that's all. "

"Warfield, he's the man I want, " Swan confided. "It's for more thankilling these men. It goes into politics, Loney, and it goes deep. He's bad for the government. Getting Warfield for having men killed isgetting Warfield without telling secrets of politics. Warfield, he's asmart man, by golly. He knows some one is after him in politics, buthe don't know some one is after him at home. So the big Swede has gotto be smart enough to get the evidence against him for killing. "

"Well, I wish yuh luck, Swan, but I can't say you're going at it right. Al won't talk, I tell yuh. "

Swan did not believe that. He waited another hour and made a mentalinventory of everything in camp while he waited. Then, chiefly becauseLone's impatience finally influenced him, he set out to see where Alhad gone. 

According to Jack, Al had gone to the corral. From there they put Jackon the freshest hoof-prints leaving the place, and were led here andthere in an apparently aimless journey to nowhere until, after Jack hadbeen at fault in another rock patch, the trail took them straight awayto the ridge overlooking the Quirt ranch. The two men looked at oneanother. 

"That's like Al, " Lone commented dryly. "Coyotes are foolish alongsidehim, and you'll find it out. I'll bet he's been watching this placesince daybreak. "

"Where he goes, Yack will follow, " Swan grinned cheerfully. "And Ifollow Yack. We'll get him, Lone. That dog, he never quits till I sayquit. "

"You better go down and get a horse, then, " Lone advised. "They're allgentle. Al's mounted, remember. He's maybe gone to the Sawtooth, andthat's farther than you can walk. "

"I can walk all day and all night, when I need to go like that. I cantake short cuts that a horse can't take. I think I shall go on my ownlegs. "

"Well, I'm going down to the house first. I know them two men ridingdown to the gate. I want to see what the boss and Hawkins have got tosay about this last 'accident. ' Better come on down, Swan. You mightpick up something. They're heading for the ranch, all right. Going tomake a play at being neighbourly, I reckon. "

"You bet I want to see Warfield, " Swan assented rather eagerly andcalled Jack, who had nosed around the spot where Al had waited so longand was now trotting along the ridge on the next lap of Al's journey. 

They reached the gate in time to meet Warfield and Hawkins face toface. Hawkins gave Lone a quick, questioning look and noddedcarelessly to Swan. Warfield, having a delicate errand to perform andknowing how much depended upon first impressions, pulled up eagerlywhen he recognised Lone. 

"Has the girl arrived safely, Lone?" he asked anxiously. 

"What girl?" Lone looked at him non-committally. 

"Miss--ah--Hunter. Have you been away all the forenoon? The girl cameto the ranch in such a condition that I was afraid she might do herselfor some one else an injury. Has she been unbalanced for long?"

"If you mean Lorraine Hunter, she was all right last time I saw her, and that was last night. " Lone's eyes narrowed a little as he watchedthe two. "You say she went to the Sawtooth?"

"She came pelting over there crazier than when you brought her in, "Hawkins broke in gruffly. "She ain't safe going around alone likethat. "

Senator Warfield glanced at him impatiently. "Is there any truth inher declaring that Frank Johnson is dead? She seemed to have had ashock of some kind. She was raving crazy, and in her rambling talk shesaid something about Frank Johnson having died last night. "

Lone glanced back as he led the way through the gate which Swan washolding open. "He didn't die--he got killed last night, " he corrected. 

"Killed! And how did that happen? It was impossible to get twocoherent sentences out of the girl. " Senator Warfield rode throughjust behind Lone and reined close, lowering his voice. "No use inletting this get out, " he said confidentially. "It may be that thegirl's dementia is some curable nervous disorder, and you know what aninjustice it would be if it became noised around that the girl iscrazy. How much English does that Swede know?"

"Not any more than he needs to get along on, " Lone answered, instinctively on guard. "He's all right--just a good-natured kindacuss that wouldn't harm anybody. "

He glanced uneasily at the house, hoping that Lorraine was safe inside, yet fearing that she would not be safe anywhere. Sane or insane, shewas in danger if Senator Warfield considered her of sufficientimportance to bring him out on horseback to the Quirt ranch. Lone knewhow seldom the owner of the Sawtooth rode on horseback since he hadhigh-powered cars to carry him in soft comfort. 

"I'll go see if she's home, " Lone explained, and reined John Doe towardthe house. 

"I'll go with you, " Senator Warfield offered suavely and keptalongside. "Frank Johnson was killed, you say? How did it happen?"

"Fell off his wagon and broke his neck, " Lone told him laconically. "Brit's pretty sick yet; I don't guess you'd better go inside. There'sbeen a lot of excitement already for the old man. He only sees folkshe's used to having around. "

With that he dismounted and went into the house, leaving SenatorWarfield without an excuse for following. Swan and Hawkins came up andwaited with him, and Jim opened the door of the bunkhouse and lookedout at them without showing enough interest to come forward and speakto them. 

In a few minutes Lone returned, to find Senator Warfield trying toglean information from Swan, who seemed willing enough to give it ifonly he could find enough English words to form a complete sentence. Swan, then, had availed himself of Lone's belittlement of him and wasliving down to it. But Lone gave him scant attention just then. 

"She hasn't come back. Brit's worked himself up into a fever, and Ididn't dare tell him she wasn't with me. I said she's all tired outand sick and wanted to stay up by the spring awhile, where it's cool. I said she was with me, and the sun was too much for her, and she senthim word that Jim would take care of him awhile longer. So you bettermove down this way, or he'll hear us talking and want to know what'sup. "

"You're sure she isn't here?" Senator Warfield's voice held suspicion. 

"You can ask Jim, over here. He's been on hand right along. And ifyou can't take his word for it, you can go look in the shack--but inthat case Brit's liable to take a shot at yuh, Senator. He's on thewarpath right, and he's got his gun right handy. "

"It is not necessary to search the cabin, " Senator Warfield answeredstiffly. "Unless she is in a stupor we'd have heard her yelling longago. The girl was a raving maniac when she appeared at the Sawtooth. It's for her good that I'm thinking. "

Jim stepped out of the doorway and came slowly toward them, eyeing thetwo from the Sawtooth curiously while he chewed tobacco. His handsrested on his hips, his thumbs hooked inside his overalls; a gawky posethat fitted well his colourless personality, --and left his right handclose to his six-shooter. 

"Cor'ner comin'?" he asked, nodding at the two who were almoststrangers to him. "Sorry, he got back two hours ago, and he said thecor'ner would be right out. But he ain't showed up yet. "

Senator Warfield said that he felt sure the coroner would be prompt andthen questioned Jim artfully about "Miss Hunter. "

"Raine? She went fer a ride. I loaned her my horse, and she ain'tback yet. I told her to take a good long ride and settle her nerves. She acted kinda edgy. "

Senator Warfield and his foreman exchanged glances for which Lone couldhave killed them. 

"You noticed, then, that she was not quite--herself?" Senator Warfieldused his friendly, confidential tone on Jim. 

"We-ell--yes, I did. I thought a ride would do her good, mebby. She'sbeen sticking here on the job purty close. And Frank getting killedkinda--upset her, I guess. "

"That's it--that's what I was saying. Disordered nerves, which restand proper medical care will soon remedy. " He looked at Lone. "Herhorse was worn out when she reached the ranch. Does she know thiscountry well? She started this way, and she should have been here sometime ago. We thought it best to ride after her, but there was somedelay in getting started. Hawkins' horse broke away and gave us sometrouble catching him, so the girl had quite a start. But with herhorse fagged as it was, we had no idea that we would fail to get even asight of her. She may have wandered off on some other trail, in whichcase her life as well as her reason is in danger. "

Lone did not answer at once. It had occurred to him that SenatorWarfield knew where Lorraine was at that minute, and that he might beshowing this concern for the effect it would have on his hearers. Helooked at him speculatively. 

"Do you think we ought to get out and hunt for her?" he asked. 

"I certainly think some one ought to. We can't let her wander aroundthe country in that condition. If she is not here, she is somewhere inthe hills, and she should be found. "

"She sure ain't here, " Jim asserted convincingly. "I been watching forthe last two hours, expecting every minute she'd show up. I'd a beenkinda oneasy, myself, but Snake's dead gentle, and she's a purty fairrider fer a girl. "

"Then we'll have to find her. Lone, can you come and help?"

"The Swede and me'll both help, " Lone volunteered. "Jim and Sorry canwait here for the coroner. We ought to find her without any trouble, much. Swan, I'll get you that tobacco first and see if Brit needsanything. "

He started to the house, and Swan followed him aimlessly, his longstrides bringing him close to Lone before they reached the door. 

"What do you make of this new play?" Lone muttered cautiously when hesaw Swan's shadow move close to his own. 

"By golly, it's something funny about it. You stick with them, Loney, and find out. I'm taking Al's trail with Yack. You fix it. " And headded whimsically, "Not so much tobacco, Lone. I don't eat it or smokeit ever in my life. "

His voice was very Swedish, which was fortunate, because SenatorWarfield appeared softly behind him and went into the house. Swan wasstartled, but he hadn't much time to worry over the possibility ofhaving been overheard. Brit's voice rose in a furious denunciation ofBill Warfield, punctuated by two shots and followed almost immediatelyby the senator. 

"My God, the whole family's crazy!" Warfield exclaimed, when he hadreached the safety of the open air. "You're right, Lone. I thoughtI'd be neighbourly enough to ask what I could do for him, and he triedto kill me!"

Lone merely grunted and gave Swan the tobacco. 

CHAPTER XVIII

"I THINK AL WOODRUFF'S GOT HER"

There was no opportunity for further conference. Senator Warfieldshowed no especial interest in Swan, and the Swede was permittedwithout comment to take his dog and strike off up the ridge. Jim andSorry were sent to look after Brit, who was still shouting vain threatsagainst the Sawtooth, and the three men rode away together. Warfielddid not suggest separating, though Lone expected him to do so, sinceone man on a trail was as good as three in a search of this kind. 

He was still inclined to doubt the whole story. He did not believethat Lorraine had been to the Sawtooth, or that she had raved aboutanything. She had probably gone off by herself to cry and to worryover her troubles, --hurt, too, perhaps, because Lone had left the ranchthat morning without a word with her first. He believed the story ofher being insane had been carefully planned, and that Warfield hadperhaps ridden over in the hope that they would find her alone; thoughwith Frank dead on the ranch that would be unlikely. But to offsetthat, Lone's reason told him that Warfield had probably not known thatFrank was dead. That had been news to him--or had it? He tried toremember whether Warfield had mentioned it first and could not. Toomany disturbing emotions had held him lately; Lone was beginning tofeel the need of a long, quiet pondering over his problems. He did notfeel sure of anything except the fact that the Quirt was like adrowning man struggling vainly against the whirlpool that is suckinghim slowly under. 

One thing he knew, and that was his determination to stay with thesetwo of the Sawtooth until he had some definite information; until hesaw Lorraine or knew that she was safe from them. Like a weightpressing harder and harder until one is crushed beneath it, their talkof Lorraine's insanity forced fear into his soul. They could do justwhat they had talked of doing. He himself had placed that weapon intheir hands when he took her to the Sawtooth delirious and told ofwilder words and actions. Hawkins and his wife would swear away hersanity if they were told to do it, and there were witnesses in plentywho had heard him call her crazy that first morning. 

They could do it; they could have her committed to an asylum, or atleast to a sanitorium. He did not underestimate the influence ofSenator Warfield. And what could the Quirt do to prevent the outrage?Frank Johnson was dead; Brit was out of the fight for the time being;Jim and Sorry were the doggedly faithful sort who must have a leaderbefore they can be counted upon to do much. 

Swan, --Lone lifted his head and glanced toward the ridge when hethought of Swan. There, indeed, he might hope for help. But Swan wasout here, away from reinforcements. He was trailing Al Woodruff, andwhen he found him, --that might be the end of Swan. If not, Warfieldcould hurry Lorraine away before Swan could act in the matter. Awhimsical thought of Swan's telepathic miracle crossed his mind and wasdismissed as an unseemly bit of foolery in a matter so grave asLorraine's safety. And yet--the doctor had received a message that hewas wanted at the Quirt, and he had arrived before his patient. Therewas no getting around that, however impossible it might be. No onecould have foreseen Brit's accident; no one save the man who hadprepared it for him, and he would be the last person to call for help. 

"We followed the girl's horse-tracks almost to Thurman's place and lostthe trail there. " Warfield turned in the saddle to look at Lone ridingbehind him. "We made no particular effort to trace her from there, because we were sure she would come on home. I'm going back that far, and we'll pick up the trail, unless we find her at the ranch. She mayhave hidden herself away. You can't, " he added, "be sure of anythingwhere a demented person is concerned. They never act according tologic or reason, and it is impossible to make any deductions as totheir probable movements. "

Lone nodded, not daring to trust his tongue with speech just then. Ifhe were to protect Lorraine later on, he knew that he must not defendher now. 

"Hawkins told me she had some sort of hallucination that she had seen aman killed at Rock City, when she was wandering around in that storm, "Warfield went on in a careless, gossipy tone. "Just what was thatabout, Lone? You're the one who found her and took her in to theranch, I believe. She somehow mixed her delusion up with Fred Thurman, didn't she?"

Lone made a swift decision. He was afraid to appear to hesitate, so helaughed his quiet little chuckle while he scrambled mentally for aplausible lie. 

"I don't know as she done that, quite, " he drawled humorously. "Shewas out of her head, all right, and talking wild, but I laid it to herbeing sick and scared. She said a man was shot, and that she saw ithappen. And right on top of that she said she didn't think they oughtto stage a murder and a thunderstorm in the same scene, and thoughtthey ought to save the thunder and lightning for the murderer to makehis get-a-way by. She used to work for the moving pictures, and shewas going on about some wild-west picture she thought she was acting apart in. 

"Afterwards I told her what she'd been saying, and she seemed to kindaremember it, like a bad dream she'd had. She told me she thought thevillain in one of the plays she acted in had pulled off a stage murderin them rocks. We figured it out together that the first crack ofthunder had sounded like shooting, and that's what started her off. She hadn't ever been in a real thunderstorm before, and she's scared ofthem. I know that one we had the other day like to of scared her intohysterics. I laughed at her and joshed her out of it. "

"Didn't she ever say anything about Fred Thurman, then?" Warfieldpersisted. 

"Not to me, she didn't. Fred was dragged that night, and if she heardabout a man being killed during that same storm, she might have saidsomething about it. She might have wondered if that was what she saw. I don't know. She's pretty sensible--when she ain't crazy. "

Warfield turned his horse, as if by accident, so that he was broughtface to face with Lone. His eyes searched Lone's face pitilessly. 

"Lone, you know how ugly a story can grow if it's left alone. Do _you_believe that girl actually saw a man shot? Or do you think she wascrazy?"

Lone met Warfield's eyes fairly. "I think she was plumb out of herhead, " he answered. And he added with just the right degree ofhesitation: "I don't think she's what you'd call right crazy, MrWarfield. Lots of folks go outa their heads and talk crazy when theyget a touch of fever, and they get over it again. "

"Let's have a fair understanding, " Warfield insisted. "Do you think Iam justified in the course I am taking, or don't you?"

"Hunting her up? Sure, I do! If you and Hawkins rode on home, I'dkeep on hunting till I located her. If she's been raving around likeyou say, she's in no shape to be riding these hills alone. She's gotto be taken care of. "

Warfield gave him another sharp scrutiny and rode on. "I always preferto deal in the open with everyone, " he averred. "It may not be myaffair, strictly speaking. The Quirt and the Sawtooth aren't veryintimate. But the Quirt's having trouble enough to warrant any one inlending a hand; and common humanity demands that I take charge of thegirl until she is herself again. "

"I don't know as any one would question that, " Lone assented and groundhis teeth afterwards because he must yield even the appearance ofapproval. He knew that Warfield must feel himself in rather adesperate position, else he would never trouble to make his motives soclear to one of his men. Indeed, Warfield had protested hisunselfishness in the matter too much and too often to have deceived thedullest man who owned the slightest suspicion of him. Lone could havesmiled at the sight of Senator Warfield betraying himself so, hadsmiling been possible to him then. 

He dropped behind the two at the first rough bit of trail and feltstealthily to test the hanging of his six-shooter, which he might needin a hurry. Those two men would never lay their hands on LorraineHunter while he lived to prevent it. He did not swear it to himself;he had no need. 

They rode on to Fred Thurman's ranch, dismounted at Warfield'ssuggestion--which amounted to a command--and began a careful search ofthe premises. If Warfield had felt any doubt of Lone's loyalty heappeared to have dismissed it from his mind, for he sent Lone to thestable to search there, while he and Hawkins went into the house. Loneguessed that the two felt the need of a private conference after theirvisit to the Quirt, but he could see no way to slip unobserved to thehouse and eavesdrop, so he looked perfunctorily through all the shedsand around the depleted haystacks, --wherever a person could find ahiding place. He was letting himself down through the manhole in thestable loft when Swan's voice, lowered almost to a whisper, startledhim. 

"What the hell!" Lone ejaculated under his breath. "I thought you wereon another trail!"

"That trail leads here, Lone. Did you find Raine yet?"

"Not a sign of her. Swan, I don't know what to make of it. I didthink them two were stalling. I thought they either hadn't seen her atall, or had got hold of her and were trying to square themselves on theinsanity dodge. But if they know where she is, they're acting damnqueer, Swan. They _want_ her. They haven't got her yet. "

"They're in the house, " Swan reassured Lone. "I heard them walking. You don't think they've got her there, Lone?"

"If they have, " gritted Lone, "they made the biggest blunder of theirlives bringing me over here. No, I could see they wanted to get offalone and hold a powwow. They expected she'd be at the Quirt. "

"I think Al Woodruff, he's maybe got her, then, " Swan declared, afterstudying the matter briefly. "All the way he follows the trail overhere, Lone. I could see you sometimes in the trail. He was keepinghid from the trail--I think because Raine was riding along, thismorning, and he's following. The tracks are that old. "

"They said they had trailed Raine this far, coming from the Sawtooth, "Lone told him worriedly. "What do you think Al would want----"

"Don't she see him shoot Fred Thurman? By golly, I'm scared for thatgirl, Loney!"

Lone stared at him. "He wouldn't dare!"

"A coward is a brave man when you scare him bad enough, " Swan statedflatly. "I'm careful always when I corner a coward. "

"Al ain't a coward. You've got him wrong. "

"Maybe, but he kills like a coward would kill, and he's scared he willbe caught. Warfield, he's scared, too. You watch him, Lone. 

"Now I tell you what I do. Yack, he picks up the trail from here towhere you can follow easy. We know two places where he didn't go withher, and from here is two more trails he could take. But one goes tothe main road, and he don't take that one, I bet you. I think he takesthat girl up Spirit Canyon, maybe. It's woods and wild country in afew miles, and plenty of places to hide, and good chances for gettingout over the top of the divide. 

"I'm going to my cabin, and you don't say anything when I leave. Warfield, he don't want the damn Swede hanging around. So you go withthem, Loney. This is to what you call a showdown. "

"We'll want the dog, " Lone told him, but Swan shook his head. Hawkinsand Warfield had come from the house and were approaching the stable. Swan looked at Lone, and Lone went forward to meet them. 

"The Swede followed along on the ridge, and he didn't see anything, " hevolunteered, before Warfield could question him. "We might put his dogon the trail and see which way she went from here. "

Warfield thought that a good idea. He was so sure that Lorraine mustbe somewhere within a mile or two of the place that he seemed to thinkthe search was practically over when Jack, nosing out the trail of AlWoodruff, went trotting toward Spirit Canyon. 

"Took the wrong turn after she left the corrals here, " Warfieldcommented relievedly. "She wouldn't get far, up this way. "

"There's the track of two horses, " Hawkins said abruptly. "That thereis the girl's horse, all right--there's a hind shoe missing. We sawwhere her horse had cast a shoe, coming over Juniper Ridge. Butthere's another horse track. "

Lone bit his lip. It was the other horse that Jack had been trailingso long. "There was a loose horse hanging around Thurman's place, " hesaid casually. "It's him, tagging along, I reckon. "

"Oh, " said Hawkins. "That accounts for it. "

CHAPTER XIX

SWAN CALLS FOR HELP

Past the field where the horses were grazing and up the canyon on theside toward Skyline Meadow, that lay on a shoulder of Bear Top, the dognosed unfalteringly along the trail. Now and then he was balked whenthe hoofprints led him to the bank of Granite Creek, but not for long. Jack appeared to understand why his trailing was interrupted andsniffed the bank until he picked up the scent again. 

"Wonder if she changed off and rode that loose horse, " Hawkins saidonce, when the tracks were plain in the soft soil of the creek bank. "She might, and lead that horse she was on. "

"She wouldn't know enough. She's a city girl, " Lone replied, his heartheavy with fear for Lorraine. 

"Well, she ain't far off then, " Hawkins comforted himself. "Her horseacted about played out when she hit the ranch. She had him wet fromhis ears to his tail, and he was breathin' like that Ford at the ranch. If that's a sample of her riding, she ain't far off. "

"Crazy--to ride up here. Keep your eyes open, boys. We must find her, whatever we do. " Warfield gazed apprehensively at the rugged steeps oneither hand and at the timber line above them. "From here on shecouldn't turn back without meeting us--if I remember this countrycorrectly. Could she, Hawkins?"

"Not unless she turned off, up here a mile or two, into that gulch thatheads into Skyline, " said Hawkins. "There's a stock trail part waydown from the top where it swings off from the divide to Wilder Creek. "

Swan, walking just behind Hawkins, moved up a pace. 

"I could go on Skyline with Yack, and I could come down by thosetrail, " he suggested diffidently, Swedishly, yet with a certaincompelling confidence. "What you think?"

"I think that's a damned good idea for a square head, " Hawkins toldhim, and repeated it to Warfield, who was riding ahead. 

"Why, yes. We don't need the dog, or the man either. Go up to thehead of the gulch and keep your eyes open, Swan. We'll meet you uphere. You know the girl, don't you?"

"Yas, Ay know her pretty good, " grinned Swan. 

"Well, don't frighten her. Don't let her see that you think anythingis wrong--and don't say anything about us. We made the mistake ofdiscussing her condition within her hearing, and it is possible thatshe understood enough of what we were saying to take alarm. Youunderstand? Don't tell girl she's crazy. " He tapped his head to makehis meaning plainer. "Don't tell girl we're looking for her. Youunderstand?"

"Yas, Ay know English pretty good. Ay don't tell too moch. " Hischeerful smile brought a faint response from Senator Warfield. At Lonehe did not look at all. "I go quick. I'm good climber like a sheep, "he boasted, and whistling to Jack, he began working his way up a rough, brush-scattered ledge to the slope above. 

Lone watched him miserably, wishing that Swan was not quite so matterof fact in his man-chasing. If Al Woodruff, for some reason which Lonecould not fathom, had taken Lorraine and forced her to go with him intothe wilderness, Warfield and Hawkins would be his allies the momentthey came up with him. Lone was no coward, but neither was he a fool. Hawkins had never distinguished himself as a fighter, but Lone hadgleaned here and there a great deal of information about SenatorWarfield in the old days when he had been plain Bill. When Lorraineand Al were overtaken, then Lone would need to show the stuff that wasin him. He only hoped he would have time, and that luck would be withhim. 

"If they get me, it'll be all off with her, " he worried, as he followedthe two up the canyon. "Swan would have been a help. But he thinksmore of catching Al than he does of helping Raine. "

He looked up and saw that already Swan was halfway up the canyon'ssteep side, making his way through the brush with more speed than Lonecould have shown on foot in the open, unless he ran. The sightheartened Lone a little. Swan might have some plan of his own, --anambush, possibly. If he would only keep along within rifle shot andremain hidden, he would show real brains, Lone thought. But Swan, whenLone looked up again, was climbing straight away from the littlesearching party; and even though he seemed tireless on foot, he couldnot perform miracles. 

Swan, however, was not troubling himself over what Lone would think, oreven what Warfield was thinking. Contrary to Lone's idea of him, Swanwas tired, and he was thinking a great deal about Lorraine, and verylittle about Al Woodruff, except as Al was concerned with Lorraine'swelfare. Swan had made a mistake, and he was humiliated over hisblunder. Al had kept himself so successfully in the background whileLone's peculiar actions had held his attention, that Swan had neverconsidered Al Woodruff as the killer. Now he blamed himself forFrank's death. He had been watching Lone, had been baffled by Lone'sconsistent kindness toward the Quirt, by the force of his personalitywhich held none of the elements of cold-blooded murder. He hadbelieved that he had the Sawtooth killer under observation, and he hadbeen watching and waiting for evidence that would impress a grand jury. And all the while he had let Al Woodruff ride free and unsuspected. 

The one stupid thing, in Swan's opinion, which he had not done was tolet Lone go on holding his tongue. He had forced the issue thatmorning. He had wanted to make Lone talk, had hoped for a weakeningand a confession. Instead he had learned a good deal which he shouldhave known before. 

As he forged up the slope across the ridged lip of the canyon, his oneimmediate object was speed. Up the canyon and over the divide on thewest shoulder of Bear Top was a trail to the open country beyond. Itwas perfectly passable, as Swan knew; he had packed in by that trailwhen he located his homestead on Bear Top. That is why he had hiscabin up and was living in it before the Sawtooth discovered hispresence. 

Al, he believed, was making for Bear Top Pass. Once down the otherside he would find friends to lend him fresh horses. Swan had learnedsomething of these friends of the Sawtooth, and he could guess prettyaccurately how far some of them would go in their service. Freshhorses for Al, food--perhaps even a cabin where he could hide Lorraineaway--were to be expected from any one of them, once Al was over thedivide. 

Swan glanced up at the sun, saw that it was dropping to late afternoonand started in at a long, loose-jointed trot across the mountain meadowcalled Skyline. A few pines, with scattered clumps of juniper and fir, dotted the long, irregular stretch of grassland which formed themeadow. Range cattle were feeding here and there, so wild they liftedheads to stare at the man and dog, then came trotting forward, theircuriosity unabated by the fact that they had seen these two before. 

Jack looked up at his master, looked at the cattle and took his placeat Swan's heels. Swan shouted and flung his arms, and the cattleducked, turned and galloped awkwardly away. Swan's trot did notslacken. His rifle swung rhythmically in his right hand, the muzzletilted downward. Beads of perspiration on his forehead had merged intotiny rivulets on his cheeks and dripped off his clean-lined, squarejaw. Still he ran, his breath unlaboured yet coming in whisperyaspirations from his great lungs. 

The full length of Skyline Meadow he ran, jumping the small beginningof Wilder Creek with one great leap that scarcely interrupted thebeautiful rhythm of his stride. At the far end of the clearing, snuggled between two great pines that reached high into the blue, hissquatty cabin showed red-brown against the precipitous shoulder of BearTop peak, covered thick with brush and scraggy timber whippedincessantly by the wind that blew over the mountain's crest. 

At the door Swan stopped and examined the crude fastening of the door;made himself certain, by private marks of his own, that none hadentered in his absence, and went in with a great sigh of satisfaction. It was still broad daylight, though the sun's rays slanted in throughthe window; but Swan lighted a lantern that hung on a nail behind thedoor, carried it across the neat little room, and set it down on thefloor beside the usual pioneer cupboard made simply of clean boxesnailed bottom against the wall. Swan had furnished a few extra frillsto his cupboard, for the ends of the boxes were fastened to hewn slabsstanding upright and just clearing the floor. Near the upper shelf arow of nails held Swan's coffee cups, --four of them, thick and white, such as cheap restaurants use. 

Swan hooked a finger over the nail that held a cracked cup and glancedover his shoulder at Jack, sitting in the doorway with his keen nose tothe world. 

"You watch out now, Yack. I shall talk to my mother with my thoughts, "he said, drawing a hand across his forehead and speaking in breathlessgasps. "You watch. "

For answer Jack thumped his tail on the dirt floor and sniffed thebreeze, taking in his overlapping tongue while he did so. He lickedhis lips, looked over his shoulder at Swan, and draped his pink tonguedown over his lower jaw again. 

"All right, now I talk, " said Swan and pulled upon the nail in hisfingers. 

The cupboard swung toward him bodily, end slabs and all. He picked upthe lantern, stepped over the log sill and pulled the cupboard doorinto place again. 

Inside the dugout Swan set the lantern on a table, dropped wearily upona rough bench before it and looked at the jars beside him, lifted hishand and opened a compact, but thoroughly efficient field wireless"set. " His right fingers dropped to the key, and the whining drone ofthe wireless rose higher and higher as he tuned up. He reached for hisreceivers, ducked his head and adjusted them with one hand, and sent acall spitting tiny blue sparks from the key under his fingers. 

He waited, repeating the call. His blue eyes clouded with anxiety andhe fumbled the adjustments, coaxing the current into perfect actionbefore he called again. Answer came, and Swan bent over the table, listening, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the opposite wall of thedugout. Then, his fingers flexing delicately, swiftly, he sent themessage that told how completely his big heart matched the big body:

"Send doctor and trained nurse to Quirt ranch at once. Send men toBear Top Pass, intercept man with young woman, or come to rescue if hedon't cross. Have three men here with evidence to convict if we cansave the girl who is valuable witness. Girl being abducted in fear ofwhat she can tell. They plan to charge her with insanity. Urgent. Hurry. Come ready to fight. 

"S. V. "

Swan had a code, but codes require a little time in the composition ofa message, and time was the one thing he could not waste. He heard thegist of the message repeated to him, told the man at the other stationthat lives were at stake, and threw off the current. 

CHAPTER XX

KIDNAPPED

Lorraine had once had a nasty fall from riding down hill at a gallop. She remembered that accident and permitted Snake to descend GraniteRidge at a walk, which was fortunate, since it gave the horse a chanceto recover a little from the strain of the terrific pace at which shehad ridden him that morning. At first it had been fighting fury thathad impelled her to hurry; now it was fear that drove her homewardwhere Lone was, and Swan, and that stolid, faithful Jim. She felt thatSenator Warfield would never dare to carry out his covert threat, onceshe reached home. Nevertheless, the threat haunted her, made herglance often over her shoulder. 

At the Thurman ranch, which she was passing with a sickening memory ofthe night when she and Swan had carried her father there, Al Woodruffrode out suddenly from behind the stable and blocked trail, hissix-shooter in his hand, his face stony with determination. Lorraineafterwards decided that he must have seen or heard her coming down theridge and had waited for her there. He smiled with his lips when shepulled up Snake with a startled look. 

"You're in such a hurry this morning that I thought the only way to geta chance to talk to you was to hold you up, " he said, in much the sametone he had used that day at the ranch. 

"I don't see why you want to talk to me, " Lorraine retorted, not in theleast frightened at the gun, which was too much like her movie West toimpress her much. But her eyes widened at the look in his face, andshe tried to edge away from him without seeming to do so. 

Al stopped her by the simple method of reaching out his left hand andcatching Snake by the cheek-piece of the bridle. "You don't have tosee why, " he said. "I've been thinking a lot about you lately. I'vemade up my mind that I've got to have you with me--always. This iskinda sudden, maybe, but that's the way the game runs, sometimes. Now, I want to tell yuh one or two things that's for your own good. One isthat I'll have my way, or die getting it. Don't be scared; I won'thurt you. But if you try to break away, I'll shoot you, that's all. I'm going to marry you, see, first. Then I'll make love to youafterwards. I ain't asking you if you'll marry me. You're going to doit, or I'll kill you. "

Lorraine gazed at him fascinated, too astonished to attempt any movetoward escape. Al's hand slipped from the bridle down to the reins, and still holding Snake, still holding the gun muzzle toward her, stilllooking her straight in the eyes, he threw his right leg over thecantle of his saddle and stepped off his horse. 

"Put your other hand on the saddle horn, " he directed. "I ain't goingto hurt you if you're good. "

He twitched his neckerchief off--Lorraine saw that it was untied, andthat he must have planned all this--and with it tied her wrists to thesaddle horn. She gave Snake a kick in the ribs, but Al checked thehorse's first start and Snake was too tired to dispute a command tostand still. Al put up his gun, pulled a hunting knife from a littlescabbard in his boot, sliced two pairs of saddle strings fromLorraine's saddle, calmly caught and held her foot when she tried tokick him, pushed the foot back into the stirrup and tied it there withone of the leather strings. Just as if he were engaged in an everydayproceeding, he walked around Snake and tied Lorraine's right foot;then, to prevent her from foolishly throwing herself from the horse andgetting hurt, he tied the stirrups together under the horse's belly. 

"Now, if you'll be a good girl, I'll untie your hands, " he said, glancing up into her face. He freed her hands, and Lorraineimmediately slapped him in the face and reached for his gun. But Alwas too quick for her. He stepped back, picked up Snake's reins andmounted his own horse. He looked back at her appraisingly, saw herglare of hatred and grinned at it, while he touched his horse with thespurs and rode away, leading Snake behind him. 

Lorraine said nothing until Al, riding at a lope, passed the field atthe mouth of Spirit Canyon where the blaze-faced roan still fed withthe others. They were feeding along the creek quite close to thefence, and the roan walked toward them. The sight of it stirredLorraine out of her dumb horror. 

"You killed Fred Thurman! I saw you, " she cried suddenly. 

"Well, you ain't going to holler it all over the country, " Al flungback at her over his shoulder. "When you're married to me, you'll comemighty close to keeping your mouth shut about it. "

"I'll never marry you! You--you fiend! Do you think I'd marry acold-blooded murderer like you?"

Al turned in the saddle and looked at her intently. "If I'm all that, "he told her coolly, "you can figure out about what'll happen to you ifyou _don't_ marry me. If you saw what I done to Fred Thurman, what doyou reckon I'd do to _you_?" He looked at her for a minute, shruggedhis shoulders and rode on, crossing the creek and taking a trail whichLorraine did know. Much of the time they travelled in the water, though it slowed their space. Where the trail was rocky, they took itand made better time. 

Snake lagged a little on the upgrades, but he was well trained to leadand gave little trouble. Lorraine thought longingly of Yellowjacketand his stubbornness and tried to devise some way of escape. She couldnot believe that fate would permit Al Woodruff to carry out such aplan. Lone would overtake them, perhaps, --and then she remembered thatLone would have no means of knowing which way she had gone. If Hawkinsand Senator Warfield came after them, her plight would be worse thanever. Still, she decided that she must risk that danger and give Lonea clue. 

She dropped a glove beside the trail, where it lay in plain sight ofany one following them. But presently Al looked over his shoulder, sawthat one of her hands was bare, and tied Snake's reins to his saddleand his own horse to a bush. Then he went back down the trail until hefound the glove. He put it into his pocket, came silently up toLorraine and pulled off her other glove. Without a word he took herwrists in a firm clasp, tied them together again to the saddle horn, pulled off her tie, her hat, the pins from her hair. 

"I guess you don't know me yet, " he remarked dryly, when he hadconfiscated every small article which she could let fall as she rode. "I was trying to treat yuh white, but you don't seem to appreciate it. Now you can ride hobbled, young lady. "

"Oh, I could _kill_ you!" Lorraine whispered between set teeth. 

"You mean you'd like to. Well, I ain't going to give you a chance. "His eyes rested on her face with a new expression; an awakening desirefor her, an admiration for the spirit that would not let her weep andplead with him. 

"Say! you ain't going to be a bit hard to marry, " he observed, his eyeslighting with what was probably his nearest approach to tenderness. "Ikinda wish you liked me, now I've got you. "

He shook her arm and laughed when she turned her face away from him, then remounted his horse, Snake moved reluctantly when Al started on. Lorraine felt hope slipping from her. With her hands tied, she coulddo nothing at all save sit there and ride wherever Al Woodruff chose tolead her horse. He seemed to be making for the head of Spirit Canyon, on the side toward Bear Top. 

As they climbed higher, she could catch glimpses of the road down whichher father had driven almost to his death. She studied Al's back as herode before her and wondered if he could really be cold-blooded enoughto kill without compunction whoever he was told to kill, whether he hadany personal quarrel with his victim or not. Certainly he had had noquarrel with her father, or with Frank. 

It was long past noon, and she was terribly hungry and very thirsty, but she would not tell Al her wants if she starved. She tried to guessat his plans and at his motive for taking her away like this. He hadno camping outfit, a bulkily rolled slicker forming his only burden. He could not, then, be planning to take her much farther into thewilderness; yet if he did not hide her away, how could he expect tokeep her? His motive for marrying her was rather mystifying. He didnot seem sufficiently in love with her to warrant an abduction, and hewas too cool for such a headlong action, unless driven by necessity. She wondered what he was thinking about as he rode. Not about her, sheguessed, except when some bad place in the trail made it necessary forhim to stop, tie Snake to the nearest bush, lead his own horse past theobstruction and come back after her. Several times this was necessary. Once he took the time to examine the thongs on her ankles, apparentlywishing to make sure that she was not uncomfortable. Once he looked upinto her sullenly distressed face and said, "Tired?" in a humanlysympathetic tone that made her blink back the tears. She shook herhead and would not look at him. Al regarded her in silence for aminute, led Snake to his own horse, mounted and rode on. 

He was a murderer; he had undoubtedly killed many men. He would killher if she attempted to escape--"and he could not catch me, " Lorrainewas just enough to add. Yet she felt baffled; cheated of the fullhorror of being kidnapped. 

She had no knowledge of a bad man who was human in spots without beingrepentant. For love of a girl, she had been taught to believe, theworst outlaw would weep over his past misdeeds, straighten hisshoulders, look to heaven for help and become a self-sacrificing herofor whom audiences might be counted upon to shed furtive tears. 

Al Woodruff, however, did not love her. His eyes had once or twicesoftened to friendliness, but love was not there. Neither wasrepentance there. He seemed quite satisfied with himself, quite readyto commit further crimes for sake of his own safety or desire. He washard, she decided, but he was not unnecessarily harsh; cruel, withoutbeing wantonly brutal. He was, in short, the strangest man she hadever seen. 

CHAPTER XXI

"OH, I COULD KILL YOU!"

Before sundown they reached the timber-land on Bear Top. The horsesslipped on the pine needles when Al left the trail and rode up a gentleincline where the trees grew large and there was little underbrush. Itwas very beautiful, with the slanting sun-rays painting broad yellowbars across the gloom of the forest. In a little while they reachedthe crest of that slope, and Lorraine, looking back, could only guessat where the trail wound on among the trees lower down. 

Birds called companionably from the high branches above them. Anesting grouse flew chuttering out from under a juniper bush, alighteda short distance away and went limping and dragging one wing beforethem, cheeping piteously. 

While Lorraine was wondering if the poor thing had hurt a leg inlighting, Al clipped its head off neatly with a bullet from hissix-shooter, though Lorraine had not seen him pull the gun and did notknow he meant to shoot. The bird's mate whirred up and away throughthe trees, and Lorraine was glad that it had escaped. 

Al slid the gun back into his holster, leaned from his saddle andpicked up the dead grouse as unconcernedly as he would have dismounted, pulled his knife from his boot and drew the bird neatly, flinging thecrop and entrails from him. 

"Them juniper berries tastes the meat if you don't clean 'em out rightaway, " he remarked casually to Lorraine, as he wiped the knife on histrousers and thrust it back into the boot-scabbard before he tied thegrouse to the saddle by its blue, scaley little feet. 

When he was ready to go on, Snake refused to budge. Tough as he was, he had at last reached the limit of his energy and ambition. Al yankedhard on the bridle reins, then rode back and struck him sharply withhis quirt before Snake would rouse himself enough to move forward. Hewent stiffly, reluctantly, pulling back until his head was heldstraight out before him. Al dragged him so for a rod or two, lostpatience and returned to whip him forward again. 

"What a brute you are!" Lorraine exclaimed indignantly. "Can't you seehow tired he is?"

Al glanced at her from under his eyebrows. "He's all in, but he's gotto make it, " he said. "I've been that way myself--and made it. What Ican do, a horse can do. Come on, you yella-livered bonehead!"

Snake went on, urged now and then by Al's quirt. Every blow madeLorraine wince, and she made the wincing perfectly apparent to Al, inthe hope that he would take some notice of it and give her a chance totell him what she thought of him without opening the conversationherself. 

But Al did not say anything. When the time came--as even Lorraine sawthat it must--when Snake refused to attempt a steep slope, Al stillsaid nothing. He untied her ankles from the stirrups and her handsfrom the saddle horn, carried her in his arms to his own horse andcompelled her to mount. Then he retied her exactly as she had beentied on Snake. 

"Skinner knows this trail, " he told Lorraine. "And I'm behind yuh witha gun. Don't forget that, Miss Spitfire. You let Skinner go to suithimself--and if he goes wrong, you pay, because it'll be you reininghim wrong. Get along there, Skinner!"

Skinner got along in a businesslike way that told why Al Woodruff hadchosen to ride him on this trip. He seemed to be a perfectlydependable saddle horse for a bandit to own. He wound in and out amongthe trees and boulders, stepping carefully over fallen logs; he thrusthis nose out straight and laid back his ears and pushed his way throughthickets of young pines; he went circumspectly along the edge of a deepgulch, climbed over a ridge and worked his way down the precipitousslope on the farther side, made his way around a thick clump of sprucesand stopped in a little, grassy glade no bigger than a city lot, butwith a spring gurgling somewhere near. Then he swung his head aroundand looked over his shoulder inquiringly at Al, who was coming behind, leading Snake. 

Lorraine looked at him also, but Al did not say anything to her or tothe horse. He let them stand there and wait while he unsaddled Snake, put a drag rope on him and led him to the best grazing. Then, comingback, he very matter-of-factly untied Lorraine and helped her off thehorse. Lorraine was all prepared to fight, but she did not quite knowhow to struggle with a man who did not take hold of her or touch her, except to steady her in dismounting. Unconsciously she waited for acue, and the cue was not given. 

Al's mind seemed intent upon making Skinner comfortable. Still, hekept an eye on Lorraine, and he did not turn his back to her. Lorrainelooked over to where Snake, too exhausted to eat, stood with droopinghead and all four legs braced like sticks under him. It flashed acrossher mind that not even her old director would order her to make a runfor that horse and try to get away on him. Snake looked as if he wouldnever move from that position until he toppled over. 

Al pulled the bridle off Skinner, gave him a half-affectionate slap onthe rump, and watched him go off, switching his tail and nosing theground for a likeable place to roll. Al's glance went on to Snake, andfrom him to Lorraine. 

"You sure do know how to ride hell out of a horse, " he remarked. "Nowhe'll be stiff and sore to-morrow--and we've got quite a ride to make. "

His tone of disapproval sent a guilty feeling through Lorraine, untilshe remembered that a slow horse might save her from this man who wasall bad, --except, perhaps, just on the surface which was not altogetherrepellent. She looked around at the tiny basin set like a saucer amongthe pines. Already the dusk was painting deep shadows in the woodsacross the opening, and turning the sky a darker blue. Skinner rolledover twice, got up and shook himself with a satisfied snort and wentaway to feed. She might, if she were patient, run to the horse whenAl's back was turned, she thought. Once in the woods she might havesome chance of eluding him, and perhaps Skinner would show as muchwisdom going as he had in coming, and take her down to the sageland. 

But Skinner walked to the farther edge of the meadow before he stopped, and Al Woodruff never turned his back to a foe. An owl hootedunexpectedly, and Lorraine edged closer to her captor, who wasgathering dead branches one by one and throwing them toward a certainspot which he had evidently selected for a campfire. He looked at herkeenly, even suspiciously, and pointed with the stick in his left hand. 

"You might go over there by the saddle and set down till I get a firegoing, " he said. "Don't go wandering around aimless, like a henturkey, watching a chance to duck into the brush. There's bear inthere and lion and lynx, and I'd hate to see you chawed. They neverclean their toe-nails, and blood poison generally sets in where theyleave a scratch. Go and set down. "

Lorraine did not know how much of his talk was truth, but she went andsat down by his saddle and began braiding her hair in two tight braidslike a squaw. If she did get a chance to run, she thought, she did notwant her hair flying loose to catch on bushes and briars. She had oncefled through a brush patch in Griffith Park with her hair flowingloose, and she had not liked the experience, though it had looked verynice on the screen. 

Before she had finished the braiding, Al came over to the saddle anduntied his slicker roll and the grouse. 

"Come on over to the fire, " he said. "I'll learn yuh a trick or twoabout camp cooking. If I'm goin' to keep yuh with me, you might justas well learn how to cook. We'll be on the trail the biggest part ofour time, I expect. "

He took her by the arm, just as any man might have done, and led her tothe fire that was beginning to crackle cheerfully. He set her down onthe side where the smoke would be least likely to blow her way andproceeded to dress the grouse, stripping off skin and featherstogether. He unrolled the slicker and laid out a piece of bacon, apackage of coffee, a small coffeepot, bannock and salt. The coffeepotand the grouse he took in one hand--his left, Lorraine observed--andstarted toward the spring which she could hear gurgling in the shadowsamongst the trees. 

Lorraine watched him sidelong. He seemed to take it for granted nowthat she would stay where she was. The woods were dark, the firelightand the warmth enticed her. The sight of the supper preparations madeher hungrier than she had ever been in her life before. When one hasbreakfasted on one cup of coffee at dawn and has ridden all day withnothing to eat, running away from food, even though that food is in thehands of one's captor, requires courage. Lorraine was terribly temptedto stay, at least until she had eaten. But Al might not give heranother chance like this. She crept on her knees to the slicker andseized one piece of bannock, crawled out of the firelight stealthily, then sprang to her feet and began running straight across the meadowtoward Skinner. 

Twenty yards she covered when a bullet sang over her head. Lorraineducked, stumbled and fell head-first over a hummock, not quite surethat she had not been shot. 

"Thought maybe I could trust yuh to play square, " Al said disgustedly, pulling her to her feet, the gun still smoking in his hands. "Youlittle fool, what do you think you'd do in these hills alone? You sureenough belittle me, if you think you'd have a chance in a million ofgetting away from me!"

She fought him, then, with a great, inner relief that the situation wasat last swinging around to a normal kidnapping. Still, Al Woodruffseemed unable to play his part realistically. He failed to fill herwith fear and repulsion. She had to think back, to remember that hehad killed men, in order to realise her own danger. Now, for instance, he merely forced her back to the campfire, pulled the saddle stringsfrom his pocket and tied her feet together, using a complicated knotwhich he told her she might work on all she darn pleased, for all hecared. Then he went calmly to work cooking their supper. 

This was simple. He divided the grouse so that one part had the meatybreast and legs, and the other the back and wings. The meaty part helarded neatly with strips of bacon, using his hunting knife, --whichLorraine watched fascinatedly, wondering if it had ever taken the lifeof a man. He skewered the meat on a green, forked stick and gave it toher to broil for herself over the hottest coals of the fire, while hemade the coffee and prepared his own portion of the grouse. 

Lorraine was hungry. She broiled the grouse carefully and ate it, withthe exception of one leg, which she surprised herself by offering toAl, who was picking the bones of his own share down to the last shredof meat. She drank a cup of coffee, black, and returned the cup to thekiller, who unconcernedly drank from it without any previous rinsing. She ate bannock with her meat and secretly thought what an adventure itwould be if only it were not real, --if only she were not threatenedwith a forced marriage to this man. The primitive camp appealed toher; she who had prided herself upon being an outdoor girl saw how shehad always played at being primitive. This was real. She would haveloved it if only the man opposite were Lone, or Swan, or some one elsewhom she knew and trusted. 

She watched the firelight dancing on Al's sombre face, softening itshardness, making it almost wistful when he gazed thoughtfully into thecoals. She thrilled when she saw how watchful he was, how he liftedhis head and listened to every little night sound. She was afraid ofhim as she feared the lightning; she feared his pitiless attitudetoward human life. She would find some way to outwit him when it cameto the point of marrying him, she thought. She would escape him if shecould without too great a risk of being shot. She felt absolutelycertain that he would shoot her with as little compunction as he wouldmarry her by force, --and it seemed to Lorraine that he would notgreatly care which he did. 

"I guess you're tired, " Al said suddenly, rousing himself from deepstudy and looking at her imperturbably. "I'll fix yuh so you cansleep--and that's about all yuh can do. "

He went over to his saddle, took the blanket and unfolded it untilLorraine saw that it was a full-size bed blanket of heavy gray wool. The man's ingenuity seemed endless. Without seeming to have any extraluggage, he had nevertheless carried a very efficient camp outfit withhim. He took his hunting knife, went to the spruce grove and cut manysmall, green branches, returning with all he could hold in his arms. She watched him lay them tips up for a mattress, and was secretly gladthat she knew this much at least of camp comfort. He spread theblanket over them and then, without a word, came over to her and untiedher feet. 

"Go and lay down on the blanket, " he commanded. 

"I'll do nothing of the kind!" Lorraine set her mouth stubbornly. 

"Well, then I'll have to lay you down, " said Al, lifting her to herfeet. "If you get balky, I'm liable to get rough. "

Lorraine drew away from him as far as she could and looked at him for afull minute. Al stared back into her eyes. "Oh, I could _kill_ you!"cried Lorraine for the second time that day and threw herself down onthe bed, sobbing like an angry child. 

Al said nothing. The man's capacity for keeping still was amazing. Heknelt beside her, folded the blanket over her from the two sides, andtied the corners around her neck snugly, the knot at the back. In thesame way he tied her ankles. Lorraine found herself in a sleeping bagfrom which she had small hope of extricating herself. He took hiscoat, folded it compactly and pushed it under her head for a pillow;then he brought her own saddle blanket and spread it over her for extrawarmth. 

"Now stop your bawling and go to sleep, " he advised her calmly. "Youain't hurt, and you ain't going to be as long as you gentle down andbehave yourself. "

She saw him draw the slicker over his shoulders and move back where theshadows were deep and she could not see him. She heard some animalsquall in the woods behind them. She looked up at the stars, --millionsof them, and brighter than she had ever seen them before. Insensiblyshe quieted, watching the stars, listening to the night noises, catching now and then a whiff of smoke from Al Woodruff's cigarette. Before she knew that she was sleepy, she slept. 

CHAPTER XXII

"YACK, I LICK YOU GOOD IF YOU BARK"

Swan cooked himself a hasty meal while he studied the variouspossibilities of the case and waited for further word fromheadquarters. He wanted to be sure that help had started and to beable to estimate within an hour or two the probable time of itsarrival, before he left the wireless. Jack he fed and left on watchoutside the cabin, so that he could without risk keep open the door tothe dugout. 

His instrument was not a large one, and the dugout door was thick, --asa precaution against discovery if he should be called when some visitorchanced to be in the cabin. Not often did a man ride that way, thoughoccasionally some one stopped for a meal if he knew that the cabin wasthere and had ever tasted Swan's sour-dough biscuits. His aerial wascleverly camouflaged between the two pine trees, and he had no fear ofdiscovery there; Jack was a faithful guardian and would give warning ifany one approached the place. Swan could therefore give his wholeattention to the business at hand. 

He was not yet supplied with evidence enough to warrant arrestingWarfield and Hawkins, but he hoped to get it when the real crisis came. They could not have known of Al Woodruff's intentions towards Lorraine, else they would have kept themselves in the background and would nothave risked the failure of their own plan. 

On the other hand, Al must have been wholly ignorant of Warfield'sscheme to try and prove Lorraine crazy. It looked to Swan very muchlike a muddling of the Sawtooth affairs through over-anxiety to avoidtrouble. They were afraid of what Lorraine knew. They wanted toeliminate her, and they had made the blunder of working independentlyto that end. 

Lone's anxiety he did not even consider. He believed that Lone wouldbe equal to any immediate emergency and would do whatever thecircumstances seemed to require of him. Warfield counted him aSawtooth man. Al Woodruff, if the four men met unexpectedly, wouldalso take it for granted that he was one of them. They would probablytalk to Lone without reserve, --Swan counted on that. Whereas, if hewere present, they would be on their guard, at least. 

Swan's plan was to wait at the cabin until he knew that deputies wereheaded toward the Pass. Then, with Jack, it would be a simple matterto follow Warfield to where he overtook Al, --supposing he did overtakehim. If he did not, then Swan meant to be present when the meetingoccurred. The dog would trail Al anywhere, since the scent would beless than twenty-four hours old. Swan would locate Warfield and leadhim straight to Al Woodruff, and then make his arrests. But he wantedto have the deputies there. 

At dusk he got his call. He learned that four picked men had startedfor the Pass, and that they would reach the divide by daybreak. Otherswere on their way to intercept Al Woodruff if he crossed before then. 

It was all that Swan could have hoped for, --more than he had dared toexpect on such short notice. He notified the operator that he wouldnot be there to receive anything else, until he returned to report thathe had got his men. 

"Don't count your chickens till they're hatched, " came facetiously outof the blue. 

"By golly, I can hear them holler in the shell, " Swan sent back, grinning to himself as he rattled the key. "That irrigation graft iskilled now. You tell the boss Swan says so. He's right. The way tocatch a fox is to watch his den. "

He switched off the current, closed the case and went out, making surethat the cupboard-camouflaged door looked perfectly innocent on theoutside. With a bannock stuffed into one pocket, a chunk of bacon inthe other, he left the cabin and swung off again in that long, tirelessstride of his, Jack following contentedly at his heels. 

At the farther end of Skyline Meadow he stopped, took a tough leatherleash from his pocket and fastened it to Jack's collar. 

"We don't go running to paw nobody's stomach and say, 'Wow-wow! Herewe are back again!'" he told the dog, pulling its ears affectionately. "Maybe we get shot or something like that. We trail, and we keep ourmouth still, Yack. One bark, and I lick you good!"

Jack flashed out a pink tongue and licked his master's chin to show howlittle he was worried over the threat, and went racing along at the endof the leash, taking Swan's trail and his own back to where they hadclimbed out of the canyon. 

At the bottom Swan spoke to the dog in an undertone, and Jackobediently started up the canyon on the trail of the five horses whohad passed that way since noon. It was starlight now, and Swan did nothurry. He was taking it for granted that Warfield and Hawkins wouldstop when it became too dark to follow the hoofprints, and without Jackto show them the way they would perforce remain where they were untildaybreak. 

They would do that, he reasoned, if they were sincere in wanting toovertake Lorraine and in their ignorance that they were also followingAl Woodruff. And try as he would, he could not see the object of sofoolish a plan as this abduction carried out in collusion with two menof unknown sentiments in the party. They had shown no suspicion ofAl's part in the affair, and Swan grinned when he thought of the mutualsurprise when they met. 

He was not disappointed. They reached timber line, following theseldom used trail that wound over the divide to Bear Top Pass and so, by a difficult route which he did not believe Al would attempt afterdark, to the country beyond the mountain. Where dark overtook them, they stopped in a sheltered nook to wait, just as Swan had expectedthey would. They were close to the trail, where no one could passwithout their knowledge. 

In the belief that it was only Lorraine they were following, and thatshe would be frightened and would come to the cheer of a campfire, theyhad a fine, inviting blaze. Swan made his way as close as he dared, without being discovered, and sat down to wait. He could see nothingof the men until Lone appeared and fed the flames more wood, and satdown where the light shone on his face. Swan grinned again. Warfieldhad probably decided that Lorraine would be less afraid of Lone than ofthem and had ordered him into the firelight as a sort of decoy. AndLone, knowing that Al Woodruff might be within shooting distance, wasprobably much more uncomfortable than he looked. 

He sat with his legs crossed in true range fashion and stared into thefire while he smoked. He was a fair mark for an enemy who might belurking out there in the dark, but he gave no sign that he realised thedanger of his position. Neither did he wear any air of expectancy. Warfield and Hawkins might wait and listen and hope that Lorraine, wide-eyed and weary, would steal up to the warmth of the fire; but notLone. 

Swan, sitting on a rotting log, became uneasy at the fine target whichLone made by the fire, and drew Al Woodruff's blue bandanna from hispocket. He held it to Jack's nose and whispered, "You find him, Yack--and I lick you good if you bark. " Jack sniffed, dropped his noseto the ground and began tugging at the leash. Swan got up and, movingstealthily, followed the dog. 

CHAPTER XXIII

"I COULDA LOVED THIS LITTLE GIRL"

A chill wind that hurried over Bear Top ahead of the dawn brought Swanand Jack clattering up the trail that dipped into Spirit Canyon. Warfield rose stiffly from the one-sided warmth of the fire and walkeda few paces to meet him, shrugging his wide shoulders at the cold andrubbing his thigh muscles that protested against movement. Much ridingupon upholstered cushions had not helped Senator Warfield to retain thetough muscles of hard-riding Bill Warfield. The Senator wassaddle-sore as well as hungry, and his temper showed in his blood-shoteyes. He would have quarrelled with his best-loved woman that morning, and he began on Swan. 

Why hadn't he come back down the gulch yesterday and helped track thegirl, as he was told to do? (The senator had quite unpleasant opinionsof Swedes, and crazy women, and dogs that were never around when theywere wanted, and he expressed them fluently. )

Swan explained with a great deal of labour that he had not thought hewas wanted, and that he had to sleep on his claim sometimes or the lawwould take it from him, maybe. Also he virtuously pointed out that hehad come with Yack before daylight to the canyon to see if they hadfound Miss Hunter and gone home, or if they were still hunting for her. 

"If you like to find that jong lady, I put Yack on the trail quick, " heoffered placatingly. "I bet you Yack finds her in one-half an hour. "

With much unnecessary language, Senator Warfield told him to get towork, and the three tightened cinches, mounted their horses andprepared to follow Swan's lead. Swan watched his chance and gave Lonea chunk of bannock as a substitute for breakfast, and Lone, I may add, dropped behind his companions and ate every crumb of it, in spite ofhis worry over Lorraine. 

Indeed, Swan eased that worry too, when they were climbing the pineslope where Al had killed the grouse. Lone had forged ahead on JohnDoe, and Swan stopped suddenly, pointing to the spot where a few bloodyfeathers and a boot-print showed. The other evidence Jack had eaten inthe night. 

"Raine's all right, Lone. Got men coming. Keep your gun handy, " hemurmured and turned away as the others rode up, eager for whatever newsSwan had to offer. 

"Something killed a bird, " Swan explained politely, planting one of hisown big feet over the track, which did not in the least resembleLorraine's. "Yack! you find that jong lady quick!"

From there on Swan walked carefully, putting his foot wherever a printof Al's boot was visible. Since he was much bigger than Al, with acorrespondingly longer stride, his gait puzzled Lone until he saw justwhat Swan was doing. Then his eyes lightened with amused appreciationof the Swede's cunning. 

"We ought to have some hot drink, or whisky when we find that girl, "Hawkins muttered unexpectedly, riding up beside Lone as they crossed anopen space. "She'll be half-dead with cold--if we find her alive. "

Before Lone could answer, Swan looked back at the two and raised hishand for them to stop. 

"Better if you leave the horses here, " he suggested. "From Yack I knowwe get close pretty quick. That jong lady's horse maybe smells thesehorse and makes a noise, and crazy folks run from noise. "

Without objection the three dismounted and tied their horses securelyto trees. Then, with Swan and Jack leading the way, they climbed overthe ridge and descended into the hollow by way of the ledge whichSkinner had negotiated so carefully the night before. Without the dogthey never would have guessed that any one had passed this way, but asit was they made good progress and reached the nearest edge of thespruce thicket just as the sun was making ready to push up over theskyline. 

Jack stopped and looked up at his master inquiringly, lifting his lipat the sides and showing his teeth. But he made no sound; nor didSwan, when he dropped his fingers to the dog's head and patted himapprovingly. 

They heard a horse sneeze, beyond the spruce grove, and Warfieldstepped forward authoritatively, waving Swan back. This, his mannersaid plainly, was first and foremost his affair, and from now on hewould take charge of the situation. At his heels went Hawkins, andSwan sent an oblique glance of satisfaction toward Lone, who answeredit with his half-smile. Swan himself could not have planned theapproach more to his liking. 

The smell of bacon cooking watered their mouths and made Warfield andHawkins look at one another inquiringly. Crazy young women wouldhardly be expected to carry a camping outfit. But Swan and Lone weretreading close on their heels, and their own curiosity pulled themforward. They went carefully around the thicket, guided by the pungentodour of burning pine wood, and halted so abruptly that Swan and Lonebumped into them from behind. A man had risen up from the campfire andfaced them, his hands rising slowly, palms outward. 

"Warfield, by----!" Al blurted in his outraged astonishment. "Trailingme with a bunch, are yuh? I knew you'd double-cross your ownfather--but I never thought you had it in you to do it in the open. Damn yuh, what d'yuh want that you expect to get?"

Warfield stared at him, slack-jawed. He glanced furtively behind himat Swan, and found that guileless youth ready to poke him in the backwith the muzzle of a gun. Lone, he observed, had another. He lookedback at Al, whose eyes were ablaze with resentment. With an effort hesmiled his disarming, senatorial smile, but Al's next words froze it onhis face. 

"I think I know the play you're making, but it won't get you anything, Bill Warfield. You think I slipped up--and you told me not to let myfoot slip; said you'd hate to lose me. Well, you're the one thatslipped, you damned, rotten coward. I was watching out for leaks. Istopped two, and this one----"

He glanced down at Lorraine, who sat beside the fire, a blanket tiedtightly around her waist and her ankles, so that, while comfortablyfree, she could make no move to escape. 

"I was fixing to stop _her_ from telling all she knew, " he addedharshly. "By to-night I'd have had her married to me, you damned fool. And here you've blocked everything for me, afraid I was falling down onmy job!

"Now folks, lemme just tell you a few little things. I know mylimit--you've got me dead to rights. I ain't complaining about that; aman in my game expects to get his, some day. But I ain't going to letthe man go that paid me my wages and a bonus of five hundred dollarsfor every man I killed that he wanted outa the way. 

"Hawkins knows that's a fact. He's foreman of the Sawtooth, and heknows the agreement. I've got to say for Hawkins that aside fromstealing cattle off the nesters and helping make evidence against somethat's in jail, Hawkins never done any dirty work. He didn't have to. They paid _me_ for that end of the business. 

"I killed Fred Thurman--this girl, here, saw me shoot him. And it waswhen I told Warfield I was afraid she might set folks talking that hebegan to get cold feet. Up to then everything was lovely, but Warfieldbegan to crawfish a little. We figured--_we_ figured, emphasise the_we_, folks, --that the Quirt would have to be put outa business. Weknew if the girl told Brit and Frank, they'd maybe get the nerve to tryand pin something on us. We've stole 'em blind for years, and theywouldn't cry if we got hung. Besides, they was friendly with Fred. 

"The girl and the Swede got in the way when I tried to bump Brit off. I'd have gone into the canyon and finished him with a rock, but theybeat me to it. The girl herself I couldn't get at very well and makeit look accidental--and anyway, I never did kill a woman, and I'd hateit like hell. I figured if her dad got killed, she'd leave. 

"And let me tell you, folks, Warfield raised hell with me because BritHunter wasn't killed when he pitched over the grade. He held out on mefor that job--so I'm collecting five hundred dollars' worth of funright now. He did say he'd pay me after Brit was dead, but it lookslike he's going to pull through, so I ain't counting much on getting mymoney outa Warfield. 

"Frank I got, and made a clean job of it. And yesterday morning thegirl played into my hands. She rode over to the Sawtooth, and I gother at Thurman's place, on her way home, and figured I'd marry her andtake a chance on keeping her quiet afterwards. I'd have been down thePass in another two hours and heading for the nearest county seat. She'd have married me, too. She knows I'd have killed her if shedidn't--which I would. I've been square with her--she'll tell youthat. I told her, when I took her, just what I was going to do withher. So that's all straight. She's been scared, I guess, but sheain't gone hungry, and she ain't suffered, except in her mind. I don'tfight women, and I'll say right now, to her and to you, that I've gotall the respect in the world for this little girl, and if I'd marriedher I'd have been as good to her as I know how, and as she'd let me be. 

"Now I want to tell you folks a few more things about Bill Warfield. If you want to stop the damnest steal in the country, tie a can ontothat irrigation scheme of his. He's out to hold up the State for allhe can get, and bleed the poor devils of farmers white, that buys landunder that canal. It may look good, but it ain't good--not by a damnsight. 

"Yuh know what he's figuring on doing? Get water in the canal, sellland under a contract that lets him out if the ditch breaks, orsomething so he _can't_ supply water at any time. And when them poorsuckers gets their crops all in, and at the point where they've got tohave water or lose out, something'll happen to the supply. Folks, I_know_! I'm a reliable man, and I've rode with a rope around my neckfor over five years, and Warfield offered me the same old five hundredevery time I monkeyed with the water supply as ordered. He'd have doneit slick; don't worry none about that. The biggest band of thieves hecould get together is that company. So if you folks have got anysense, you'll bust it up right now. 

"Bill Warfield, what I've got to say to you won't take long. Youthought you'd make a grand-stand play with the law, and at the sametime put me outa the way. You figured I'd resist arrest, and you'dhave a chance to shoot me down. I know your rotten mind better thanyou do. You wanted to bump me off, but you wanted to do it in a waythat'd put you in right with the public. Killing me for kidnappingthis girl would sound damn romantic in the newspapers, and it wouldn'thave a thing to do with Thurman or Frank Johnson, or any of the restthat I've sent over the trail for you. 

"Right now you're figuring how you'll get around this bawling-out I'mgiving you. There's nobody to take down what I say, and I'm just amean, ornery outlaw and killer, talking for spite. With your pull youexpect to get this smoothed over and hushed up, and have me at ahanging bee, and everything all right for Bill! Well----"

His eyes left Warfield's face and went beyond the staring group. Hisface darkened, a sneer twisted his lips. 

"Who're them others?" he cried harshly. "Was you afraid four wouldn'tbe enough to take me?"

The four turned heads to look. Bill Warfield never looked back, forAl's gun spoke, and Warfield sagged at the knees and the shoulders, andhe slumped to the ground at the instant when Al's gun spoke again. 

"That's for you, Lone Morgan, " Al cried, as he fired again. "Shetalked about you in her sleep last night. She called you Loney, andshe wanted you to come and get her. I was going to kill you firstchance I got. I coulda loved this little girl. I--could----"

He was down, bleeding and coughing and trying to talk. Swan had shothim, and two of the deputies who had been there through half of Al'sbitter talk. Lorraine, unable to get up and run, too sturdy of soul tofaint, had rolled over and away from him, her lips held tightlytogether, her eyes wide with horror. Al crawled after her, his eyespleading. 

"Little Spitfire--I shot your Loney--but I'd have been good to you, girl. I watched yuh all night--and I couldn't help loving yuh. I--couldn't----" That was all. Within three feet of her, his facetoward her and his eyes agonising to meet hers, he died. 

CHAPTER XXIV

ANOTHER STORY BEGINS

This chapter is very much like a preface: it is not absolutelynecessary, although many persons will read it and a few will be gladthat it was written. 

The story itself is ended. To go on would be to begin another story;to tell of the building up of the Quirt outfit, with Lone and Lone'ssavings playing a very important part, and with Brit a semi-invalided, retired stockman who smoked his pipe and told the young couple whatthey should do and how they should do it. 

Frank he mourned for and seldom mentioned. The Sawtooth, under themanagement of a greatly chastened young Bob Warfield, was slowlywinning its way back to the respect of its neighbours. 

For certain personal reasons there was no real neighbourliness betweenthe Quirt and the Sawtooth. There could not be, so long as Brit'smemory remained clear, and Bob was every day reminded of the crimes hisfather had paid a man to commit. Moreover, Southerners are jealous oftheir women, --it is their especial prerogative. And Lone suspectedthat, given the opportunity, Bob Warfield would have fallen in lovewith Lorraine. Indeed, he suspected that any man in the country wouldhave done that. Al Woodruff had, and he was noted for his indifferenceto women and his implacable hardness toward men. 

But you are not to accuse Lone of being a jealous husband. He was not, and I am merely pointing out the fact that he might have been, had hebeen given any cause. 

Oh, by the way, Swan "proved up" as soon as possible on his homesteadand sold out to the Quirt. Lone managed to buy the Thurman ranch also, and the TJ up-and-down is on its feet again as a cattle ranch. Sorryand Jim will ride for the Quirt, I suppose, as long as they can crawlinto a saddle, but there are younger men now to ride the Skyline Meadowrange. 

Some one asked about Yellowjacket, having, I suppose, a sneaking regardfor his infirmities. He hasn't been peeled yet--or he hadn't, the lastI heard of him. Lone and Lorraine told me they were trying to save himfor the "Little Feller" to practise on when he is able to sit upwithout a cushion behind his back, and to hold something besides arubber rattle. And--oh, do you know how Lone is teaching the LittleFeller to sit up on the floor? He took a horse collar and scrubbed ituntil he nearly wore out the leather. Then he brought it to the cabin, put it on the floor and set the Little Feller inside it. 

They sent me a snap-shot of the event, but it is not very good. Thefilm was under-exposed, and nothing was to be seen of the Little Fellerexcept a hazy spot which I judged was a hand, holding a black object Iguessed was the ridgy, rubber rattle with the whistle gone out of theend, --down the Little Feller's throat, they are afraid. And there washis smile, and a glimpse of his eyes. 

Aren't you envious as sin, and glad they're so happy?