[Illustration: "THAT LOOK IN YOUR EYES--THAT LOOK AS IF YOU HADN'TNOTHIN' TO HIDE--IS IT TRUE?" Page 59]

"ME-SMITH"

BY

CAROLINE LOCKHART

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

GAYLE HOSKINS

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

Copyright 1911By J. B. Lippincott Company

Published February 15, 1911Second printing, February 25, 1911Third printing, March 5, 1911Fourth printing, March 20, 1911Fifth Printing, June 5, 1911Sixth Printing, July 1, 1911Seventh Printing, August 17, 1911

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I. "Me--Smith" 11 II. On the Alkali Hill 18 III. The Empty Chair 29 IV. A Swap in Saddle Blankets 48 V. Smith Makes Medicine with the Schoolmarm 58 VI. The Great Secret 79 VII. Cupid "Wings" a Deputy Sheriff 95 VIII. The Bug-hunter Elucidates 110 IX. Speaking Of Grasshoppers---- 123 X. Mother Love and Savage Passion Conflict 130 XI. The Best Horse 142 XII. Smith Gets "Hunks" 156 XIII. Susie's Indian Blood 162 XIV. The Slayer of Mastodons 169 XV. Where a Man Gets a Thirst 190 XVI. Tinhorn Frank Smells Money 205 XVII. Susie Humbles Herself to Smith 213 XVIII. A Bad "Hombre" 228 XIX. When The Clouds Played Wolf 240 XX. The Love Medicine of the Sioux 248 XXI. The Murderer of White Antelope 272 XXII. A Mongolian Cupid 293 XXIII. In Their Own Way 303

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

 PAGE

"That Look in Your Eyes--That Look as if YouHadn't Nothin' to Hide--is it True?" Frontispiece

"She's a Game Kid, All Right, " Said Smithto Himself at the Top of the Hill. 22

It Meant Death--but it was Wet!--it was Water! 196

Smith Reached for the Trailing Rope and TheyWere Gone! 284

They Quirted Their Horses at Breakneck SpeedIn the Direction of the Bad Lands. 308

"ME--SMITH"

I

"ME--SMITH"

A man on a tired gray horse reined in where a dim cattle-trail droppedinto a gulch, and looked behind him. Nothing was in sight. He half closedhis eyes and searched the horizon. No, there was nothing--just the sameold sand and sage-brush, hills, more sand and sage-brush, and then to thewest and north the spur of the Rockies, whose jagged peaks were white witha fresh fall of snow. The wind was chill. He shivered, and looked to theeastward. For the last few hours he had felt snow in the air, and now hecould see it in the dim, gray mist--still far off, but creeping towardhim. 

For the thousandth time, he wondered where he was. He knew vaguely that hewas "over the line"--that Montana was behind him--but he was riding anunfamiliar range, and the peaks and hills which are the guide-boards ofthe West meant nothing to him. So far as he knew, he was the only humanbeing within a hundred miles. His lips drew back in a half-grin andexposed a row of upper teeth unusually white and slightly protruding. Hewas thinking of the meeting with the last person to whom he had spokenwithin twenty-four hours. He closed one eye and looked up at the sun. Yes, it was just about the same time yesterday that a dude from the Englishranch, a dude in knee breeches and shiny-topped riding boots, had gallopedconfidently toward him. He had dismounted and pretended to be cinching hissaddle. When the dude was close enough Smith had thrown down on him withhis gun. 

"Feller, " he had said, "I guess I'll have to trade horses with you. Andfall off quick, for I'm in kind of a hurry. "

The grin widened as he thought of the dude's surprised eyes and the dude'sface as he dropped out of the saddle without a word. Smith had stood hisvictim with his hands above his head while he pulled the saddle from hishorse and threw it upon his own. The dude rode a saddle with a doublecinch, and the fact had awakened in the Westerner a kind of interest. Hehad even felt a certain friendliness for the man he was robbing. 

"Feller, " he had asked, "do you come from the Maņana country?"

"From Chepstow, Monmouth County, Wales, " the dude had replied, in ashaking voice. 

"Where did you get that double-rigged saddle, then?"

"Texas. "

The answer had pleased Smith. 

"You ain't losin' none on this deal, " he had then volunteered. "This horsethat you just traded for is a looker when he is rested, and he can runlike hell. You can go your pile on him. Just burn out that lazy S brandand run on your own. You can hold him easy, then. I like a feller thatrides a double-rigged saddle in a single-rigged country. S'long, and keepyour hands up till I'm out of range. "

"Thank you, " the dude had replied feebly. 

When Smith had ridden for a half a mile he had turned to look behind him. The dude was still standing with his hands high above his head. 

"I wonder if he's there yet?" The man on horseback grinned. 

He reached in the pocket of his mackinaw coat and took out a handful ofsugar. 

"You can travel longer on it nor anything, " he muttered. 

He congratulated himself that he had filled his pocket from thebooze-clerk's sugar-bowl before the mix came. The act was characteristicof him, as was the forethought which had sent him to the door to pick thebest saddle-horse at the hitching-post, before the lead began to fly. 

The man suddenly realized that the mist in the east was denser, andspreading. He jabbed the spurs into his horse and sent the jaded animalsliding on its fetlocks down the steep and rocky trail that led into thedry bed of a creek which in the spring flowed bank high. In the bottom hepulled his horse to its haunches and leaned from his saddle to look at afoot-print in a little patch of smooth sand no larger than his two hands. The print had been made by a moccasined foot, and recently; otherwise thewind would have wiped it out. 

He threw his leg over the cantle of the saddle and stepped softly to theground. Dropping the reins, he looked up and down the gulch. Then he drewhis rifle from the scabbard and began to hunt for more tracks. As hesearched, his movements were no longer those of a white man. Hispantomime, stealthy, cautious, was the pantomime of the Indian. He creptup the gulch to a point where it turned sharply. His stealth became thestealth of the coyote. In spite of the leather soles and exaggerated highheels of the boots he wore his movements were absolutely noiseless. 

An Indian of middle age, in blue overalls, moccasins, a limp felt hatcoming far down over his braided hair, a gaily striped blanket drawn abouthis shoulders, stood in an attitude of listening, carelessly holding acheap, single-barrelled shotgun. He had heard the horse sliding down thetrail and was waiting for it to appear on the bench above. 

The stranger took in the details of the Indian's costume, but his eyerested longest upon the gay blanket. He might need a blanket with thatsnow in the air. It looked like a good blanket. It seemed to be thick andwas undoubtedly warm. 

The Indian saw him the instant he rose from his hiding-place behind a hugesage-brush. Startled, the red man instinctively half raised his gun. Thestranger gave the sign of attention, then, touching his breast and liftinghis hand slightly, told him in the sign language used by all tribes that"his heart was right"--he was a friend. 

The Indian hesitated and lowered his gun, but did not advance. Thestranger then asked him where he would find the nearest house, and whetherit was that of a white or a red man. In swift pantomime, the Indian toldhim that the nearest house was the home of a "full-blood, " a woman, a fatwoman, who lived five miles to the southeast, in a log cabin, on runningwater. 

Before he turned to go, the stranger again touched his breast and raisedhis hand above his heart to reiterate his friendship. He took a half-dozensteps, then whirled on his heel. As he did so, he brought his rifle on aline with the Indian's back, which was toward him. Simultaneously with thereport, the Indian fell on his back on the side of the gulch. He drew uphis leg, and the stranger, thinking he had raised it for a gun-rest, riddled him with bullets. 

The white man's bright blue eyes gleamed; the pupils were like pin-points. The grin which disclosed his protruding teeth was like the snarl of a dogbefore it snaps. The expression of the man's face was that of animalferocity, pure and simple. He edged up cautiously, but there was nofurther movement from the Indian. He had been dead when he fell. The whiteman gave a short laugh when he realized that the raising of the leg hadbeen only a muscular contraction. To save the blanket from the blood whichwas soiling it, he tore it from the limp, unresisting shoulders, andrubbed it in the dirt to obliterate the stain. He cursed when he saw thata bullet had torn in it two jagged, tell-tale holes. 

He glanced at the Indian's moccasins, then, stooping, ripped one off. Heexamined it with interest. It was a Cree moccasin. The Indian was far fromhome. He examined the centre seam: yes, it was sewed with deer-sinew. 

"The Crees can tan to beat the world, " he muttered, "but I hates the shapeof the Cree moccasin. The Piegans make better. " He tossed it from himcontemptuously and picked up the shotgun. 

"No good. " He threw it down and straightened the Indian's head with thetoe of his boot. "I despises to lie cramped up, myself. "

Returning to his horse, he removed his saddle, and folded the Indian'sblanket inside of his own. Then he recinched his saddle, and turned hishorse's head to the southeast, where "the full-blood--the woman, the fatwoman--lived in a log cabin by running water. "

He glanced over his shoulder as he spurred his horse to a gallop. 

"I'm a killer, me--Smith, " he said, and grinned. 

II

ON THE ALKALI HILL

There was at least an hour and a half of daylight left when Smith struck awagon-road. He looked each way doubtfully. The woman's house was quite aslikely to be to the right as to the left; there was no way of telling. While he hesitated, his horse lifted its ears. Smith also thought he heardvoices. Swinging his horse to the right, he rode to the edge of the benchwhere the road made a steep and sudden drop. 

At the bottom of the hill he saw a driver on the spring-seat of a round-upwagon urging two lean-necked and narrow-chested horses up the hill. Theywere smooth-shod, and, the weight of the wagon being out of all proportionto their strength, they fell often in their futile struggles. At the sideof the road near the top of the hill the water oozed from an alkalispring, which kept the road perpetually muddy. The horses were strainingevery nerve and muscle, their eyes bulging and nostrils distended, andstill the driver, loudmouthed and vacuously profane, lashed themmercilessly with the stinging thongs of his leather whip. Smith, from thetop of the hill, watched him with a sneer on his face. 

"He drives like a Missourian, " he muttered. 

He could have helped the troubled driver, knowing perfectly well what todo, but it would have entailed an effort which he did not care to make. Itwas nothing to him whether the round-up wagon got up the hill thatnight--or never. 

Smith thought the driver was alone until he began to back the team to rushthe hill once more. Then he heard angry exclamations coming from the rearof the wagon--exclamations which sounded not unlike the buzzing of anenraged bumble-bee. He stretched his neck and saw that which suggested anovergrown hoop-snake rolling down the hill. At the bottom a littlemud-coated man stood up. The part of his face that was visible above hisbeard was pale with anger. His brown eyes gleamed behind mud-splashedspectacles. 

"Oscar Tubbs, " he demanded, "why did you not tell me that you were aboutto back the wagon?"

"I would have did it if I had knowed myself that the team were goin' toback, " replied Tubbs, in the conciliatory tone of one who addresses theman who pays him his wages. 

The man in spectacles groaned. "Three inexcusable errors in one sentence. Oscar Tubbs, you are hopeless!"

"Yep, " replied that person resignedly; "nobody never could learn menothin'. Onct I knowed----"

"Stop! We have no time for a reminiscence. Have you any reason to believethat we can get up this hill to-night?"

"No chanst of it. These buzzard-heads has drawed every poun' they kinpull. But I has some reason to believe that if you don't hist your hoofsout'n that mud-hole, you'll bog down. You're up to your pant-leg now. OnctI knowed----"

The little man threw out his hand in a restraining gesture, and Tubbs, foiled again, closed his lips and watched his employer stand back on oneleg while he pulled the other out of the mud with a long, sucking sound. 

"What for an outfit is that, anyhow?" mused Smith, watching theproceedings with some interest. "He looks like one of them bug-hunters. He's got a pair of shoulders on him like a drink of water, and his legslook like the runnin'-gears of a katydid. "

So intently were they all engaged in watching the man's struggles that noone observed a girl on a galloping horse until she was almost upon them. She sat her sturdy, spirited pony like a cowboy. She was about sixteen, with a suggestion of boyishness in her appearance. Her brown hair, worn ina single braid, was bleached to a lighter shade on top, as if she rodealways with bared head. Her eyes were gray, in curious contrast to a tawnyskin. She was slight to scrawniness, and, one might have thought, insufficiently clad for the time of year. 

"Bogged down, pardner?" she inquired in a friendly voice, as she rode upbehind and drew rein. "I've been in that soap-hole myself. Here, ketch tomy pommel, and I'll snake you out. "

Smiling dubiously he gripped the pommel. The pony had sunk to its knees, and as it leaped to free itself the little man's legs fairly snapped inthe air. 

"I thank you, Miss, " he said, removing his plaid travelling cap as hedropped on solid ground. "That was really quite an adventure. "

"This mud is like grease, " said the girl. 

"Onct I knowed some mud----" began the driver, but the little man, ignoring him, said:

"We are in a dilemma, Miss. Our horses seem unable to pull our wagon upthe hill. Night is almost upon us, and our next camping spot is severalmiles beyond. "

"This is the worst grade in the country, " replied the girl. "A team thatcan haul a load up here can go anywhere. What's the matter with thatfellow up there? Why don't he help?"--pointing to Smith. 

"He has made no offer of assistance. "

"He must be some Scissor-Bill from Missouri. They all act like that whenthey first come out. "

"Onct some Missourians I knowed----"

"Oscar Tubbs, if you attempt to relate another reminiscence while in myemploy, I shall make a deduction from your wages. I warn you--I warn youin the presence of this witness. My overwrought nerves can endure no more. Between your inexpiable English and your inopportune reminiscences, I am anervous wreck!" The little man's voice ended on high C. 

"All right, Doc, suit yourself, " replied Tubbs, temporarily subdued. 

"And in Heaven's name, I entreat, I implore, do not call me 'Doc'!"

"Sorry I spoke, Cap. "

The little man threw up both hands in exasperation. 

"Say, Mister, " said the girl curtly to Tubbs, "if you'll take that hundredand seventy pounds of yourn off the wagon and get some rocks and block thewheels, I guess my cayuse can help some. " As she spoke, she beganuncoiling the rawhide riata which was tied to her saddle. 

"I appreciate the kindness of your intentions, Miss, but I cannot permityou to put yourself in peril. " The little man was watching herpreparations with troubled eyes. 

"No peril at all. It's easy. Croppy can pull like the devil. Wait till yousee him lay down on the rope. That yap up there at the top of the hillcould have done this for you long ago. Here, Windy"--addressingTubbs--"tie this rope to the X, and make a knot that will hold. "

[Illustration: "SHE'S A GAME KID, ALL RIGHT, " SAID SMITH TO HIMSELF ATTHE TOP OF THE HILL. ]

The girl's words and manner inspired confidence. Interest and relief werein the face of the little man standing at the side of the road. 

"Now, Windy, hand me the rope. I'll take three turns around mysaddle-horn, and when I say 'go' you see that your team get down in theircollars. "

"She's a game kid, all right, " said Smith to himself at the top of thehill. 

When the sorrel pony at the head of the team felt the rope grow taut onthe saddle-horn, it lay down to its work. The grit and muscle of a dozenhorses seemed concentrated in the little cayuse. It pulled until everyvein and cord in its body appeared to stand out beneath its skin. It laydown on the rope until its chest almost touched the ground. There was alook of determination that was almost human in its bright, excited eyes asit strained and struggled on the slippery hillside with no word of urgingfrom the girl. She was standing in one stirrup, one hand on the cantle, the other on the pommel, watching everything with keen eyes. She issuedorders to Tubbs like a general, telling him when to block the wheels, whento urge the exhausted team to greater efforts, when to relax. Nothingescaped her. She and the little sorrel knew their work. As the man at theroadside watched the gallant little brute struggle, literally inch byinch, up the terrible grade he felt himself choking with excitement andmaking inarticulate sounds. At last the rear wheels of the wagon lurchedover the hill and stood on level ground, while the horses, with spreadinglegs and heaving sides, gasped for breath. 

"Awful tired, ain't you, Mister?" the girl asked dryly, of the stranger onhorseback, as she recoiled her rope with supple wrist and tied it again tothe saddle by the buckskin thongs. 

"Plumb worn to a frazzle, " Smith replied with cool impudence, as he lookedher over in much the same manner as he would have eyed a heifer on therange. "I was whipped for working when I was a boy, and I've alwaysremembered. "

"It must be quite a ride--from the brush back there in Missouri where youwas drug up. "

"I ranges on the Sundown slope, " he replied shortly. 

"They have sheep-camps over there, then?"

Again the slurring insinuation pricked him. 

"Oh, I can twist a rope and ride a horse fast enough to keep warm. "

"So?"--the inflection was tantalizing. "Was that horse gentled for yourgrandmother?"

He eyed her angrily, but checked the reply on his tongue. 

"Say, girl, can you tell me where I can find that fat Injun woman's tepeewho lives around here?"

"You mean my mother?"

He looked at her with new interest. 

"Does she live in a log cabin on a crick?"

"She did about an hour ago. "

"Is your mother a widder?"

"Lookin' for widders?"

"I likes widders. It happens frequent that widders are sociableinclined--especially if they are hard up, " he added insolently. 

"Oh, you're ridin' the grub-line?" Her insolence equalled his own. 

"Not yet;" and he took from his pocket a thick roll of banknotes. 

"Blood money? Some sheep-herder's month's pay, I guess. "

"You're a good guesser. "

"Not very--you're easy. "

The girl's dislike for Smith was as unreasoning and violent as was herliking for the excitable little man whom she had helped up the hill, andwhose wagon was now rumbling close at her horse's heels. 

They all travelled together in silence until, after a mile and a half onthe flat, the road sloped gradually toward a creek shadowed by willows. Onthe opposite side of the creek were a ranch-house, stables, and corrals, the extent of which brought a glint of surprise to Smith's eyes. 

"That's where the widder lives who might be sociable inclined if she washard up, " said the girl, with a sneer which made Smith's fingers itch tochoke her. "Couldn't coax you to stop, could I?"

"I aims to stay, " Smith replied coolly. 

"Sure--it won't cost you nothin'. "

The girl waited for the wagon, and, with a change of manner in markedcontrast to her impudent attitude toward Smith, invited the little man tospend the night at the ranch. 

"We should not be intruders?" he asked doubtfully. 

"You won't feel lonesome, " she answered with a laugh. "We keep a kind offree hotel. "

"Colonel, I cakalate we better lay over here, " broke in Tubbs. 

His employer winced at this new title, but nodded assent; so they allforded the shallow stream and entered the dooryard together. 

"Mother!" called the girl. 

One of the heavy plank doors of the long log-house opened, and a shortwoman, large-hipped, full-busted--in appearance a typical blanketsquaw--stood in the doorway. Her thick hair was braided Indian fashion, her fingers adorned with many rings. The wide girdle about her waist wasstudded with brass nail-heads, while gaily-beaded moccasins covered hershort, broad feet. Her eyes were soft and luminous, like an animal's whenit is content; but there was savage passion too in their dark depths. 

"This is my mother, " said the girl briefly. "I am Susie MacDonald. "

"My name is Peter McArthur, madam. "

The little man concealed his surprise as best he could, and bowed. 

The girl, quick to note his puzzled expression, explained laconically:

"I'm a breed. My father was a white man. You're on the reservation whenyou cross the crick. "

Recovering himself, the stranger said politely:

"Ah, MacDonald--that good Scotch name is a very familiar one to me. I hadan uncle----"

"I go show dem where to turn de horses, " interrupted the Indian woman, towhom the conversation was uninteresting. So, without ceremony, she paddedaway in her moccasins, drawing her blanket squaw-fashion across her faceas she waddled down the path. 

At the mission the woman had obtained the rudiments of an education. There, too, she had learned to cut and make a dress, after a crude, laborious fashion, and had acquired the ways of the white people'shousekeeping. She was noted for the acumen which she displayed indisposing of the crop from her extensive hay-ranch to the neighboringwhite cattlemen; and MacDonald, the big, silent Scotch MacDonald who hadcome down from the north country and married her before the reservationpriest, was given the credit for having instilled into her some of his ownshrewdness and thrift. 

In the corral the Indian woman came upon Smith. He turned his head slowlyand looked at her. For a second, two, three seconds, or more, they lookedinto each other's eyes. His gaze was confident, masterful, compelling;hers was wondering, until finally she dropped her eyes in the submissive, modest, half-shy way of Indian women. 

Smith moistened his short upper lip with the tip of his tongue, while theshadow of a smile lurked at the corner of his mouth. He turned to hissaddle, again, and without speaking, she watched him until he had goneinto the barn. His saddle lay on the ground, half covering his blankets. Something in this heap caught the woman's eyes and held them. Swoopingforward, she caught a protruding corner between her thumb and finger andpulled a gay, striped blanket from the rest. Lifting it to her nose, shesmelled it. Smith saw the act as he came out of the door, but there wasneither consternation nor fear in his face. Smith knew Indian women. 

III

THE EMPTY CHAIR

Peter McArthur came into the big living-room of the ranch-house bearingtenderly in his arms a long brown sack. He set it upon a chair, and, as hepatted it affectionately, he said to the Indian woman in explanation:

"These are some specimens which I have been fortunate enough to find in alimestone formation in the country through which we have just passed. Nodoubt you will be amused, madam, but the wealth of Croesus could not buyfrom me the contents of this canvas sack. "

"I broke a horse for that son-of-a-gun onct. He owes me a dollar and sixbits for the job yet, " remarked Tubbs. 

The fire of enthusiasm died in McArthur's eyes as they rested upon hisman. 

"What for a prospect do you aim to open up in a limestone formation?"

Smith, tipped on the rear legs of his chair, with his head restingcomfortably against the unbleached muslin sheeting which lined the walls, winked at Tubbs as he asked the question. 

"'What for a prospect'?" repeated McArthur. 

"Yes, 'prospect'--that's what I said. You say you've got your war-bag fullof spec'mens. "

McArthur laughed heartily. 

"Ah, my dear sir, I understand. You are referring to mines--to mineralspecimens. These are the specimens of which I am speaking. "

Opening the sack, McArthur held up for inspection what looked to be a lumpof dried mud. 

"This is a magnificent specimen of the crustacean period, " he declared. 

The Indian woman looked from the prized object to his animated face; then, with puzzled eyes, she looked at Smith, who touched his forehead with hisfinger, making a spiral, upward gesture which in the sign language says"crazy. "

The woman promptly gathered up the rag rug she was braiding and moved to abench in the farthermost corner of the room. 

"I can get you a wagon-load of chunks like that. "

"Oh, my dear sir----"

"Smith's my name. "

"But, Mr. Smith----"

"I trusts no man that 'Misters' me, " Smith scowled. "Every time I've everbeen beat in a deal, it's been by some feller that's called me 'Mister. 'Jest Smith suits me better. "

"Certainly, if you prefer, " amicably replied McArthur, althoughunenlightened by the explanation. 

He replaced his specimen and tied the sack, convinced that it would beuseless to explain to this person that fossils like this were not foundby the wagon-load; that perhaps in the entire world there was not one inwhich the branchiocardiac grooves were so clearly defined, in which theemostigite and the ambulatory legs were so perfectly preserved. 

He seemed a singular person, this Smith. McArthur was not sure that hefancied him. 

"Say, Guv'ner, what business do you follow, anyhow?" Tubbs asked thequestion in the tone of one who really wanted to get at the bottom of amatter which had troubled him. "Air you a bug-hunter by trade, or what?I've hauled you around fer more'n a month now, and ain't figgered it outwhat you're after. We've dug up ant-hills and busted open most of therocks between here and the North Fork of Powder River, but I've never seenyou git anything yet that anybuddy'd want. "

In the beginning of their tour, Tubbs's questions and caustic commentwould have given McArthur offense, but a longer acquaintance had taughthim that none was intended; that his words were merely those of a manentirely without knowledge upon any subject save those which had comeunder his direct observation. While Tubbs frequently exasperated himbeyond expression, he found at the same time a certain fascination in theman's incredible ignorance. In many respects his mind was like that of achild, and his horizon as narrow as McArthur's own, though his companiondid not suspect it. The little scientist saw life from the viewpoint of asmall college and a New England village; Tubbs knew only the sage-brushplains. 

McArthur now replied dryly, but without irritation:

"My real trade--'job, ' if you prefer--is anthropology. Strictly speaking, I might, I think, be called an anthropologist. "

"Gawd, feller!" ejaculated Smith in mock dismay. "Don't tip your hand likethat. I'm a killer myself, but I plays a lone game. I opens up to no manor woman livin'. "

Tubbs looked slightly ashamed of his employer. 

"Pardon me?"

"I say, never give nobody the cinch on you. Many a good man's tongue hashung him. "

McArthur studied Smith's unsmiling face in perplexity, not at all surethat he was not in earnest. 

They sat in silence after this, even Tubbs being too hungry to indulge inreminiscence. 

The odor of frying steak filled the room, and the warmth from the roundsheet-iron stove gave Smith, in particular, a delicious sense of comfort. He felt as a cat on a comfortable cushion must feel after days and nightsof prowling for food and shelter. The other two men, occupied with theirown thoughts, closed their eyes; but not so Smith. Nothing, to thesmallest detail, escaped him. He appraised everything with as perfect anappreciation of its value as an auctioneer. 

Through the dining-room door which opened into the kitchen, he could seethe kitchen range--a big one--the largest made for private houses. Smithliked that. He liked things on a big scale. Besides, it denotedgenerosity, and he had come to regard a woman's kitchen as an index to hercharacter. He distinctly approved of the big meat-platter upon which theChinese cook was piling steak. He eyed the mongrel dog lying at the Indianwoman's feet, and noted that its sides were distended with food. He wasprejudiced against, suspicious of, a woman who kept lean dogs. 

In the same impersonal way in which he eyed her belongings, he looked atthe woman who owned it all. She was far too stout to please his taste, buthe liked her square shoulders and the thickness of them; also her hair, which was long for an Indian woman's. She was too short in the body. Hewondered if she rode. He had a peculiar aversion for women short in thebody who rode on horseback. This woman could love--all Indian women can dothat, as Smith well knew--love to the end, faithfully, like dogs. 

In the general analysis of his surroundings, Smith looked at Tubbs, openlysneering as he eyed him. He was like a sheep-dog that never had beentrained. And McArthur? Innocent as a yearling calf, and honest as somesky-pilots. 

"Glub's piled!" yelled the cook from the kitchen door. "Come an' git it. "

Tubbs all but fell off his chair. 

At the back door the cook hammered on a huge iron triangle with a poker, in response to which sound a motley half-dozen men filed from a nearbybunk-house at a gait very nearly resembling a trot. 

The long dining-table was covered with a red table-cloth, and at each endpiles of bread and fried steak rose like monuments. At each place therewas a platter, and beside it a steel knife, a fork, and a tin spoon. 

The bunk-house crowd wasted no time in ceremony. Poising their forks abovethe meat-platter in a candid search for the most desirable piece, theyalternately stabbed chunks of steak and bread. 

Their platters once loaded with a generous sample of all the food insight, they fell upon it with unconcealed relish. Eating, McArthurobserved, was a business; there was no time for the amenities of socialintercourse until the first pangs of hunger were appeased. The Chinesecook, too, interested him as he watched him shuffling over the hewn plankfloor in his straw sandals. A very different type, this swaggeringCelestial, from the furtive-eyed Chinamen of the east. His tightly coiledcue was as smooth and shining as a king-snake, his loose blouse wasimmaculate, and the flippant voice in which he demanded in each person'sear, "Coffee? Milk?" was like a challenge. Whatever the individual'schoice might be, he got it in a torrent in his stone-china cup. 

There was no attempt at conversation, and only the clatter and rattle ofknives, forks, and dishes was heard until a laugh from an adjoining roombroke the silence--a laugh that was mirthless, shrill, and horrible. 

McArthur sent a startled glance of inquiry about the table. The laugh wasrepeated, and the sound was even more wild and maniacal. The little manwas shocked at the grin which he noted upon each face. 

"She ought to take a feather and ile her voice, " observed a guest known as"Meeteetse Ed. "

McArthur could not resist saying indignantly:

"The unfortunate are to be pitied, my dear sir. "

"This is jest a mild spasm she's havin' now. You ought to hear her whenshe's warmed up. "

McArthur was about to administer a sharper rebuke when the door opened andSusie came out. 

"How's that for a screech?" she demanded triumphantly. 

"You'd sure make a bunch of coyotes take fer home, " Meeteetse Ed repliedflatteringly. 

"You have come in my way not once or twice, but thrice; and now you die!Ha! Ha!" Reaching for a spoon, Susie stabbed Meeteetse Ed on the secondchina button of his flannel shirt. 

"I'd rather die than have you laff in my ear like that, " declaredMeeteetse. 

"Next time I'm goin' to learn a comical piece. "

"Any of 'em's comical enough, " replied a husky voice from the far end ofthe table. "I broke somethin' inside of me laffin' at that one about yourdyin' child. "

"I don't care, " Susie answered, unabashed by criticism. "Teacher says I'vegot quite a strain of pathos in me. "

"You ought to do somethin' for it, " suggested a new voice. "Why don't youbile up some Oregon grape-root? That'll take most anything out of yourblood. "

"Or go to Warm Springs and get your head examined. " This voice wasSmith's. 

"Could they help _you_ any?" The girl's eyes narrowed and there wasnothing of the previous good-natured banter in her shrill tones. 

Smith flushed under the shout of mocking laughter which followed. He triedto join in it, but the glitter of his blue eyes betrayed his anger. 

The incident sobered the table-full, and silence fell once more, untilMcArthur, feeling that an effort toward conversation was a duty he owedhis hostess, cleared his throat and inquired pleasantly:

"Have any fragments ever been found in that red formation which I observedto the left of us, which would indicate that this vicinity was once thehome of the mammoth dinosaur?"

Too late he realized that the question was ill-advised. As might beexpected, it was Tubbs who broke the awkward silence. 

"Didn't look to me, as I rid along, that it ever were the home ofanybuddy. A homestid's no good if you can't git water on it. "

McArthur hesitated, then explained: "The dinosaur was a prehistoricreptile, " adding modestly, "I once had the pleasure of helping to restorean armored dinosaur. "

"If ever I gits a rope on one of them things, I'll box him up and ship himon to you, " said Tubbs generously. Then he inquired as an afterthought:"Would he snap or chaw me up a-tall?"

"What's a prehysteric reptile?" interrupted Susie. 

"This particular reptile was a big snake, with feet, that lived here whenthis country was a marsh, " McArthur explained simply, for Susie'sbenefit. 

The guests exchanged incredulous glances, but it was Meeteetse Ed wholaughed explosively and said:

"Why, Mister, they ain't been a sixteenth of an inch of standin' water onthis hull reserve in twenty year. "

"Better haul in your horns, feller, when you're talkin' to a real prairieman. " Smith's contemptuous tone nettled McArthur, but Susie retorted forhim. 

"Feller, " mocked Susie, "looks like you're mixed. You mean when he'stalkin' to a Yellow-back. No real prairie man packs a chip on his shoulderall the time. That buttermilk you was raised on back there in Missoury hassoured you some. "

Again an angry flush betrayed Smith's feeling. 

"A Yellow-back, " Susie explained with gusto in response to McArthur'spuzzled look, "is one of these ducks that reads books withbuckskin-colored covers, until he gets to thinkin' that he's a Bad Manhimself. This here country is all tunnelled over with the graves ofYellow-backs what couldn't make their bluffs stick; fellers that just knewenough to start rows and couldn't see 'em through. "

"Generally, " said Smith evenly, as he stared unblinkingly into Susie'seyes, "when I starts rows, I sees 'em through. "

"And any time, " Susie answered, staring back at him, "that you start a rowon _this_ ranch, you've _got_ to see it through. "

The grub-liners raised their eyes in surprise, for there was unmistakableill-feeling in her voice. It was unlike her, this antagonistic attitudetoward a stranger, for, as they all knew, her hospitality was unlimited, and every passer-by whose horse fed at the big hayrack was regarded andtreated as a welcome friend. 

There was rarely malice behind the sharp personalities which she flung atrandom about the table. Knowing no social distinctions, Susie was norespecter of persons. She chaffed and flouted the man who wintered athousand head of cattle with the same impartiality with which she gibedhis blushing cowpuncher. Her good-nature was a byword, as were hergenerosity and boyish daring. Susie MacDonald was a local celebrity in herway, and on the big hay-ranch her lightest word was law. 

But the mere presence of this new-comer seemed to fill her withresentment, making of her an irrepressible young shrew who gloated openlyin his angry confusion. 

"Speakin' of Yellow-backs, " said Meeteetse, with the candid intent ofbeing tactful, "reminds me of a song a pardner of mine wrote up about 'emonce. Comical? _T'--t'--t'--!_" He wagged his head as if he had no wordsin which to describe its incomparable humor. "He had another song that wasa reg'lar tear-starter: 'Whar the Silver Colorady Wends Its Way. ' Everhear it? It's about a feller that buried his wife by the silver Colorady, and turned outlaw. This pardner of mine used to beller every time he sungit. He cried like he was a Mormon, and he hadn't no more wife than a jackrabbit. "

"Some songs is touchin', " agreed Arkansaw Red. 

"This was, " declared Meeteetse. "How she faded day by day, till a pale, white corp' she lay! If I hadn't got this cold on me----"

"I hate to see you sufferin', Meeteetse, but if it keeps you fromwarblin'----"

He ignored Susie's implication, and went on serenely:

"Looks like it's settled on me for life, and it all comes of tryin' not tobe a hog. "

"I hope it'll be a lesson to you, " said Susie soberly. 

"That there Bar C cowpuncher, Babe, comes over the other night, and, thebunk-house bein' full, I offers him half my blankets. I never put in sucha night since I froze to death on South Pass. For fair, I'd ruther sleepwith a two-year-ole steer--couldn't kick no worse than that Babe. Why themblankets was in the air more'n half the time, with him pullin' his way, and me snatchin' of 'em back. Finally I gits a corner of a soogan in myteeth, and that way I manages a little sleep. I vows I'd ruther be a hogand git a night's rest than take in such a turrible bed-feller as him. "

Apropos of the restless Babe, one James Padden observed: "They say he'slicked more'n half the Bar C outfit. "

"Lick 'em!" exclaimed Meeteetse, with enthusiasm. "Why, he could eat 'em!He jest tapped me an easy one and nigh busted my jaw. If he ever reelyhit you with that fist of his'n, it ud sink in up to the elbow. I ast himonce: 'Babe, ' I says, 'how big are you anyhow?' 'Big?' he says surprised. 'I ain't big. I'm the runt of the family. Pa was thirty-two inches betweenthe eyes, and they fed him with a shovel. '"

Susie giggled at some thought, and then inquired:

"Did anybody ever see that horse he's huntin'? He says it's a two-year-oldfilly that he thinks the world of. It's brown, with a star in itsforehead, and one hip is knocked down. He never hunts anywhere except onthat road past the school-house, and he stops at the pump each way--goin'and comin'. I never saw anybody with such a thirst. He looks in the windowwhile he's drinkin', and swallows a gallon of water at a time, and don'tknow it. "

"Love is a turrible disease. " Tubbs spoke with the emphasis of conviction. "It's worse'n lump-jaw er blackleg. It's dum nigh as bad as glanders. It'sketchin', too, and I holds that anybody that's got it bad ought to bedipped and quarantined. I knowed a feller over in Judith Basin whatsuffered agonies with it for two months, then shot hisself. There wasseven of 'em tyin' their horses to the same Schoolmarm's hitchin'-post. "

"Take a long-geared Schoolmarm in a woolly Tam-o'-shanter, and she's areg'lar storm-centre, " vouchsafed the husky voice of "Banjo" Johnson. 

"They is! They is!" declared Meeteetse, with more feeling than theoccasion seemed to warrant. 

The knob of a door adjoining the dining-room turned, and the grub-linersstraightened in their chairs. Susie's eyes danced with mischief as sheleaned toward Meeteetse and asked innocently:

"They is _what_?"

But with the opening of the door the voluble Meeteetse seemed to bestricken dumb. 

As a young woman came out, Smith stared, and instinctively McArthur halfrose from his chair. Believing his employer contemplated flight, Tubbslaid a restraining hand upon his coat-tail, while inadvertently he turnedhis knife in his mouth with painful results. 

The young woman who seated herself in one of the two unoccupied chairs wasnot of the far West. Her complexion alone testified to this fact, for thefineness and whiteness of it were conspicuous in a country where thewinter's wind and burning suns of summer tan the skins of men and womenalike until they resemble leather in color and in texture. Had this youngwoman possessed no other good feature, her markedly fine complexion alonewould have saved her from plainness. But her thick brown hair, glossy, andgrowing prettily about her temples, was equally attractive to the men whohad been used to seeing only the straight, black hair of the Indian women, and Susie's sun-bleached pigtail, which, as Meeteetse took frequentoccasion to remind her, looked like a hair-cinch. Her eyes, set rather toofar apart for beauty, were round, with pupils which dilated until they allbut covered the blue iris; the eyes of an emotional nature, an imaginativemind. Her other features, though delicate, were not exceptional, but the_tout ensemble_ was such that her looks would have been considered abovethe average even in a country where pretty girls were plentiful. In herpresent surroundings, and by contrast with the womenfolk about her, shewas regarded as the most beautiful of her sex. Her manner, reserved to thepoint of stiffness, and paralyzing, as it did, the glibbest masculinetongue among them, was also looked upon as the acme of perfection and allthat was desirable in young ladyhood; each individual humbly admittingthat while he never before had met a real lady, he knew one when he sawher. 

The young woman returned McArthur's bow with a friendly smile, his actionhaving at once placed him as being "different. " Noting the fact, thegrub-liners resolved not to be outdone in future in a mere matter ofbows. 

While nearly every arm was outstretched with an offer of food, Susieleaned forward and whispered ostentatiously behind her hand to Smith:

"Don't you make any cracks. That's the Schoolmarm. "

"I've been around the world some, " Smith replied curtly. 

"The south side of Billings ain't the world. "

It was only a random shot, as she did not know Billings or any other townsave by hearsay, but it made a bull's-eye. Susie knew it by the startledlook which she surprised from him, and Smith could have throttled her asshe snickered. 

"Mister McArthur and Mister Tubbs, I'll make you acquainted with MissMarshall. "

With elaborate formality of tone and manner, Susie pointed at eachindividual with her fork while mentioning them by name. 

"Miss Marshall, " McArthur murmured, again half rising. 

"Much obliged to meet you, " said Tubbs heartily as, bowing in imitation ofhis employer, he caught the edge of his plate on the band of his trousersand upset it. 

Everybody stopped eating during this important ceremony, and now alllooked at Smith to see what form his acknowledgment of the covetedintroduction to the Schoolmarm would take. 

Smith in turn looked expectantly at Susie, who met his eyes with a mockinggrin. 

"Anything I can reach for you, Mister Smith?" she inquired. "Looks likeyou're waitin' for something. "

Smith's face and the red table-cloth were much the same shade as helooked annihilation at the little half-breed imp. 

Each time that Dora Marshall raised her eyes, they met those of Smith. There was nothing of impertinence in his stare; it was more of awe--a kindof fascinated wonder--and she found herself speculating as to who and whathe was. He was not a regular "grub-liner, " she was sure of that, for hewas as different in his way as McArthur. He had a personality, not exactlypleasant, but unique. Though he was not uncommonly tall, his shoulderswere thick and broad, giving the impression of great strength. His jaw wassquare, but it evidenced brutality rather than determination. His nose, incontrast to the intelligence denoted by his high, broad forehead, wasmediocre, inconsequential, the kind of a nose seldom seen on the personwho achieves. The two features were those of the man who conceives bigthings, yet lacks the force to execute them. 

His eyes were unpleasantly bloodshot, but whether from drink or the alkalidust of the desert, it was impossible to determine; and when Susie proddedhim they had in them all the vicious meanness of an outlaw bronco. Hisexpression then held nothing but sullen vindictiveness, while every traitof a surly nature was suggested by his voice and manner. 

During the Schoolmarm's covert study of him, he laughed unexpectedly atone of Meeteetse Ed's sallies. The effect was little short of marvellous;it completely transformed him. An unlooked-for dimple deepened in onecheek, his eyes sparkled, his entire countenance radiated for a moment akind of boyish good-nature which was indescribably winning. In the briefspace, whatever virtues he possessed were as vividly depicted upon hisface as were his unpleasant characteristics when he was displeased. Somarked, indeed, was his changed expression, that Susie burst out with herusual candor as she eyed him:

"Mister, you ought to laugh all the time. "

Contributing but little toward the conversation, and that little chieflyin the nature of flings at Susie, Smith was yet the dominant figure at thetable. While he antagonized, he interested, and although his insolence wasno match for Susie's self-assured impudence, he still impressed hisindividuality upon every person present. 

He was studied by other eyes than Dora's and Susie's. Not one of the lookswhich he had given the former had escaped the Indian woman. With theSchoolmarm's coming, she had seen herself ignored, and her face had grownas sullen as Smith's own, while the smouldering glow in her dark eyesbetrayed jealous resentment. 

"Have a cookie?" urged Susie hospitably, thrusting a plate toward Tubbs. "Ling makes these 'specially for White Antelope. "

"No, thanks, I've et hearty, " declared Tubbs, while McArthur shuddered. "I've had thousands. "

"Why, where is White Antelope?" Susie looked in surprise at the vacantchair, and asked the question of her mother. 

Involuntarily Smith's eyes and those of the Indian woman met. He readcorrectly all that they contained, but he did not remove his own until hereyelids slowly dropped, and with a peculiar doggedness she drawled:

"He go way for l'il visit; 'bout two, t'ree sleeps maybe. "

IV

A SWAP IN SADDLE BLANKETS

"Madam, " said McArthur, intercepting the Indian woman the next morningwhile she was on her way from the spring with a heavy pail, "I cannotpermit you to carry water when I am here to do it for you. "

In spite of her surprised protest, he gently took the bucket from herhand. 

"Look at that dude, " said Smith contemptuously, viewing the incidentthrough the living-room window. "Queerin' hisself right along. No more_sabe_ than a cotton-tail rabbit. That's the worse thing he could do. Feller"--turning to Tubbs--"if you want to make a winnin' with a woman, you never want to fetch and carry for her. "

"I knows it, " acquiesced Tubbs. "Onct I was a reg'lar doormat fer one, andI only got stomped on fer it. "

"I can wrangle Injuns to a fare-ye-well, " Smith continued. "Over on theBlackfoot I was the most notorious Injun wrangler that ever jumped up;and, feller, on the square, I never run an errant for one in my life. "

"It's wrong, " agreed Tubbs. 

"There's that dude tryin' to make a stand-in, and spilin' his own gameall the time by talkin'. You can't say he talks, neither; he just openshis mouth and lets it say what it damn pleases. Is them real words he getsoff, or does he make 'em up as he goes along?"

"Search me. "

"I'll tip you off, feller: if ever you want to make a strong play at anInjun woman, you don't want to shoot off your mouth none. Keep still andmove around just so, and pretty soon she'll throw you the sign. Did youever notice a dog trottin' down the street, passin' everybody up till allto once it takes a sniff, turns around, and follers some feller off?That's an Injun woman. "

"I never had no luck with squaws, and the likes o' that, " Tubbs confessed. "They're turrible hands to git off together and poke fun at you. "

As McArthur and the Indian woman came in from the kitchen, he was sayingearnestly to her:

"I feel sure that here, madam, I should entirely recover my health. Besides, this locality seems to me such a fertile field for research thatif you could possibly accommodate my man and me with board, you may not beconferring a favor only upon me, but indirectly, perhaps, upon the worldof science. I have with me my own bath-tub and pneumatic mattress. "

Tubbs, seeing the Indian woman's puzzled expression, explained:

"He means we'll sleep ourselves if you will eat us. "

The woman nodded. 

"Oh, you can stay. I no care. "

Smith frowned; but McArthur, much pleased by her assent, told Tubbs tosaddle a horse at once, that he might lose no time in beginning hisinvestigations. 

"If it were my good fortune to unearth a cranium of the Homo primogenus, Ishould be the happiest man in the world, " declared McArthur, clasping hisfingers in ecstasy at the thought of such unparalleled bliss. 

"What did I tell you?" said Smith, accompanying Tubbs to the corral. "He'stryin' to win himself a home. "

"Looks that way, " Tubbs agreed. "These here bug-hunters is deep. "

The saddle blanket which Tubbs pulled from their wagon and threw upon theground, with McArthur's saddle, caught Smith's eye instantly, because ofthe similarity in color and markings to that which he had folded socarefully inside his own. This was newer, it had no disfiguring holes, orblack stain in the corner. 

"What's the use of takin' chances?" he asked himself as he looked itover. 

While Tubbs was catching the horse in the corral, Smith deftly exchangedblankets, and Tubbs, to whom most saddle blankets looked alike, did notdetect the difference. 

Upon returning to the house, Smith found the Indian woman wiping breakfastdishes for the cook. She came into the living-room when he beckoned toher, with the towel in her hand. Taking it from her, he wadded it up andthrew it back into the kitchen. 

"Don't you know any better not to spoil a cook like that, woman?" heasked, smiling down upon her. "You never want to touch a dish for a cook. Row with 'em, work 'em over, keep 'em down--but don't humor 'em. You can'ttreat a cook like a real man. Ev'ry reg'lar cook has a screw loose or hewouldn't be a cook. Cookin' ain't no man's job. I never had no use forreg'lar cooks--me, Smith. 

"All you women need ribbing up once in awhile, " he added, as, laying hishand lightly on her arm, he let it slide its length until it touched herfingers. He gave them a gentle pressure and resumed his seat against thewall. 

The woman's eyes glowed as she looked at him. His authoritative attitudeappealed to her whose ancestors had dressed game, tanned hides, anddragged wood for their masters for countless generations. The growingpassion in her eyes did not escape Smith. 

In the long silence which followed he looked at her steadily; finally hesaid:

"Well, I guess I'll saddle up. You look 'just so' to me, woman--but I gotto go. "

She laid down the rags of her mat and "threw him the sign" for which hehad waited. It said:

"My heart is high; it is good toward you. Talk to me--talk straight. "

He shook his head sadly. 

"No, no, Singing Bird; I am headed for the Mexican border--many, manysleeps from here. "

She arose and walked to his side. 

He felt a sudden and violent dislike for her flabby, swaying hips, herheavy step, as she moved toward him. He knew that the game was won, andwon so easily it was a school-boy's play. 

"Why you go?" she demanded, and the disappointment in her eyes was sointense as to resemble fear. "What you do dere?"

He looked at her through half-closed eyes. 

"Did you ever hear of wet horses?"

She shook her head. 

"I deals in wet horses--me, Smith. "

The woman stared at him uncomprehendingly. 

"Down there on the border, " he explained, "you buy the horses on theMexico side. You buy 'em when the Mexican boss is asleep in his 'dobe, sothere's no kick about the price. You swim 'em across the Rio Grande andsell 'em to the Americano waitin' on the other side. "

"You buy de wet horse?"

"No, by Gawd, --I wet 'em!"

"Why you steal?"

He looked at her contemptuously. 

"Why does anybody steal? I need the dinero--me, Smith. "

"You want money?"

He laughed. 

"I always want money. I never had enough but once in my life, and then Ihad too much. Gold is hell to pack, " he added reminiscently. 

"I have de fine hay-ranch, white man, de best on de reservation. Two, fourt'ousand dollars I have when de hay is sold. De ranch is big"--her armsswept the horizon to show its extent. "You stay here and make de bargainwith de cattlemen, and I give you so much"--she measured a third of herhand with her forefinger. "If dat is not enough, I give you so much"--shemeasured the half of her hand with her forefinger. "If dat not enough, Igive you all. " She swept the palm of one hand with the other. 

Smith dropped his eyelids, that she might not see the triumph shiningbeneath them. 

"I must think, Prairie Flower. "

"No, white man, you no think. You stay!"

Smith, who had arisen, slipped his arm about her ample waist. She pulledaside his Mackinaw coat and laid her head upon his breast. 

"The white man's heart is strong, " she said softly. 

"It beats for you, Little Fawn;" and he ran out his tongue in derision. 

All the morning she sat on the floor at his feet, braiding the rags forher mat, content to hear him speak occasionally, and to look often intohis face with dog-like devotion. It was there Susie saw her when shereturned from school earlier in the afternoon than usual, and was beckonedinto the kitchen by Ling. 

"He's makin' a mash, " said Ling laconically, as he jerked his thumb towardthe open door of the living-room. 

All the girlish vivacity seemed to go out of Susie's face in her firstswift glance. It hardened in mingled shame and anger. 

"Mother, " she said sharply, "you promised me that you wouldn't sit on thefloor like an Injun. "

"We're gettin' sociable, " said Smith mockingly. 

The woman glanced at Smith, and hesitated, but finally got up and seatedherself on the bench. 

"Why don't you try bein' 'sociable' with the Schoolmarm?" Susie sneered. 

"Maybe I will. "

"And _maybe_ you won't get passed up like a white chip!"

"Oh, I dunno. I've made some winnings. "

"I can tell that by your eyes. You got 'em bloodshot, I reckon, hangin'over the fire in squaw camps. White men can't stand smoke like Injuns. "

This needle-tongued girl jabbed the truth into him in a way whichmaddened him, but he said conciliatingly:

"We don't want to quarrel, kid. "

"You mean _you_ don't. " Susie slammed the door behind her. 

The child's taunt reawakened his interest in the Schoolmarm. He thought ofher riding home alone, and grew restless. Besides, the dulness began tobore him. 

"I'll saddle up, Prairie Flower, and look over the ranch. When I come backI'll let you know if it's worth my while to stay. "

Tubbs was sitting on the wagon-tongue, mending harness, when Smith wentout, "Aimin' to quit the flat?" inquired Tubbs. 

"Feller, didn't that habit of askin' questions ever git you in trouble?"

"Well I guess _so_, " Tubbs replied candidly. "See that scar under myeye?"

"I'd invite you along to tell me about it, " said Smith sardonically, "only, the fact is, feller, I'm goin' down the road to make medicine withthe Schoolmarm. "

Tubbs's eyes widened. 

"Gosh!" he ejaculated enviously. "I wisht I had your gall. "

Before Smith swung into the saddle he pulled out a heavy silver watchattached to a hair watch-chain. 

"Just the right time, " he nodded. 

"Huh?"

"I say, if it was only two o'clock, or three, I wouldn't go. "

"You wouldn't? I'll tell you about me: I'd go if it was twelve o'clock atnight and twenty below zero to ride home with that lady. "

"Feller, " said Smith, in a paternal tone, "you never want to make a breakat a woman before four o'clock in the afternoon. You might just as well goand lay down under a bush in the shade from a little after daylight untilabout this time. You wouldn't hunt deer or elk in the middle of the day, would you? No, nor women--all same kind of huntin'. They'll turn you downsure; white or red--no difference. "

"Is that so?" said Tubbs, in the awed voice of one who sits at the feet ofa master. 

"When the moon's out and the lamps are lit, they'll empty their sack andtell you the story of their lives. I don't want to toot my horn none, butI've wrangled around some. I've hunted big game and humans. Their habits, feller, is much the same. "

While Smith was galloping down the road toward the school-house, Susie wasreturning from a survey of the surrounding country, which was to be hadfrom a knoll near the house. 

"Mother, " she said abruptly, "I feel queer here. " She laid both hands onher flat, childish breast and hunched her shoulders. "I feel likesomething is goin' to happen. "

"What happen, you think?" her mother asked listlessly. 

"It's something about White Antelope, I know. "

The woman looked up quickly. 

"He go visit Bear Chief, maybe. " There was an odd note in her voice. 

"He wouldn't go away and stay like this without telling you or me. Henever did before. He knows I would worry; besides, he didn't take a horse, and he never would walk ten miles when there are horses to ride. His gunisn't here, so he must have gone hunting, but he wouldn't stay all nighthunting rabbits; and he couldn't be lost, when he knows the country aswell as you or me. "

"He go to visit, " the Indian woman insisted doggedly. 

"If he isn't home to-morrow, I'm goin' to hunt him, but I know something'swrong. "

V

SMITH MAKES MEDICINE WITH THE SCHOOLMARM

Once out of sight of the house, Smith let his horse take its own gait, while he viewed the surrounding country with the thoughtful considerationof a prospective purchaser. As he gazed, its possibilities grew upon him. If water was to be found somewhere in the Bad Lands the location of theranch was ideal for--certain purposes. 

The Bar C cattle-range bounded the reservation on the west; the MacDonaldranch, as it was still called, after the astute Scotch squawman who hadbuilt it, was close to the reservation line; and beyond the sheltering BadLands to the northeast was a ranch where lived certain friendly personswith whom he had had most satisfactory business relations in the past. 

A plan began to take definite shape in his active brain, but the head of asleepy white pony appearing above the next rise temporarily changed thecourse of his thoughts, and with his recognition of its rider life took onan added zest. 

Dora Marshall, engrossed in thought, did not see Smith until he pulled hishat-brim in salutation and said:

"You're a thinker, I take it. "

"I find my work here absorbing, " she replied, coloring under his steadylook. 

He turned his horse and swung it into the road beside her. 

"I was just millin' around and thought I'd ride down the road and meetyou. " Further than this brief explanation, he did not seem to feel itincumbent upon him to make conversation. Apparently entirely at his easein the silence which followed, he turned his head often and stared at herwith a frank interest which he made no effort to conceal. Finally heshifted his weight to one stirrup and, turning in his saddle so that hefaced her, he asked bluntly:

"That look in your eyes--that look as if you hadn't nothin' to hide--is ittrue? Is it natural, as you might say, or do you just put it on?"

Her astonished expression led him to explain. 

"It's like lookin' down deep into water that's so clear you can see thesand shinin' in the bottom; one of these places where there's no mud orblack spots; nothin' you can't see or understand. _Sabe_ what I mean?"

Since she did not answer, he continued:

"I've met up with women before now that had that same look, but only atfirst. It didn't last; they could put it on and take it off like they didtheir hats. "

"I don't know that I am quite sure what you mean, " the girl replied, embarrassed by the personal nature of his questions and comments; "but ifyou mean to imply that I affect this or that expression, for a purpose, you misjudge me. "

"I was just askin', " said Smith. 

"I think I am always honest of purpose, " the girl went on slowly, "andwhen one is that, I think it shows in one's eyes. To be sure, I often fallshort of my intentions. I mean to do right, and almost as frequently dowrong. "

"You do?" He eyed her with quick intentness. 

"Yes, don't you? Don't all of us?"

"I does what I aims to do, " he replied ambiguously. 

So she--this girl with eyes like two deep springs--did wrong--frequently. He pondered the admission for a long time. Smith's exact ideas of rightand wrong would have been difficult to define; the dividing line, if therewere any, was so vague that it had never served as the slightestrestraint. "To do what you aim to do, and make a clean get-away"--that wasthe successful life. 

He had seen things, it is true; there had been incidents and situationswhich had repelled him, but why, he had never asked himself. There was onesituation in particular to which his mind frequently reverted, as it didnow. He had known worse women than the one who had figured in it, but forsome reason this single scene was impressed upon his mind with a vividnesswhich seemed never to grow less. 

He saw a woman seated at an old-fashioned organ in a country parlor. Therewas a rag-carpet on the floor--he remembered how springy it was with thefreshly laid straw underneath it. Her husband held a lamp that she mightsee the notes, while his other hand was upon her shoulder, his adoringeyes upon her silly face. He, Smith, was rocking in the blue plush chairfor which the fool with the calloused hands had done extra work that hemight give it to the woman upon her birthday. Each time that she screechedthe refrain, "Love, I will love you always, " she lifted her chin to singit to the man beaming down upon her, while upstairs her trunk was packedto desert him. 

Smith always remembered with satisfaction that he had left her in RedLodge with only the price of a telegram to her husband, in her shabbypurse. 

"I like your style, girl. " His eyes swept Dora Marshall's figure as hespoke. 

There was a difference in his tone, a familiarity in his glance, whichsent the color flying to the Schoolmarm's cheeks. 

"I think we could hit it off--you and me--if we got sociable. "

He leaned toward her and laid his gloved hand upon hers as it rested onthe saddle-horn. 

The pupils of her eyes dilated until they all but covered the iris as sheturned them, blazing, upon Smith. 

"Just what do you mean by that?"

There was no mistaking the genuineness nor the nature of the emotion whichmade her voice vibrate. But Smith considered. Was she deeper--"slicker, "as he phrased it to himself--than he had thought, or had he reallymisunderstood her? Surprising as was the feeling, he hoped some way, thatit was the latter. He looked at her again before he answered gently:

"I didn't mean to make you hot none, Miss. I'm ignorant in handlin' words. I only meant to say that I hoped you and me would be good friends. "

His explanation cleared her face instantly. 

"I am sorry if I misunderstood you; but one or two unpleasant experiencesin this country have made me quick--too quick, perhaps--to take offense. "

"There's lots just lookin' for game like you. No better nor brutes, " saidSmith virtuously, entirely sincere in his sudden indignation against theselicentious characters. 

Yes, the Schoolmarm had rebuffed him, as Susie had prophesied, but theeffect of it upon him was such as neither he nor she had reckoned. As theyrode along a swift, overpowering infatuation for Dora Marshall grew uponhim. He felt something like a flame rising within him, burning him, bewildering him with its intensity. She seemed all at once to possessevery attribute of the angels, from mere prettiness her face took on aradiant beauty which dazzled him, and when she spoke her lightest wordheld him breathless. As the mountain towers above the foothills, so, of asudden, she towered above all other women. He had known sensations--all, he had believed, that it was possible to experience; but this one, strange, overwhelming, dazed him with its violence. 

Love frequently comes like this to people in the wilds, to those who havefew interests and much time to think. The emotional side of their natureshas been held in check until a trifle is sometimes sufficient to loose atorrent which nothing can then divert or check. 

She asked him to loop her latigo, which was trailing, and his hand shookas he fumbled with the leather strap. 

"Gawd!" he swore in bewilderment as he returned to his own horse, wipinghis forehead with the back of his gauntlet, "what feelin' is this workin'on me? Am I gettin' locoed, me--Smith?"

"I'm glad I've found a friend like you, " said the Schoolmarm impulsively. "One needs friends in a country like this. "

"A friend!" It sounded like a jest to Smith. "A friend!" he repeated withan odd laugh. Then he raised his hand, as one takes an oath, and whateverof whiteness was left in Smith's soul illumined his face as he added:"Yes, to a killin' finish. "

If Smith had met Dora among many, the result might have been the same inthe end, but here, in the isolation, she seemed from the first the centreof everything, the alpha and omega of the universe, and his passion forher was as great as though it were the growth of many months instead ofless than twenty-four hours. The depth, the breadth, of it could notquickly be determined, nor the lengths to which it would take him. It wassomething new to be reckoned with. To what extent it would control him, neither Smith nor any one else could have told. He knew only that it nowseemed the most real, the most sincere, the best thing which had ever comeinto his life. 

Dora Marshall knew nothing of men like Smith, or of natures like those ofthe men of the mountains and ranges, who paid her homage. Her knowledge oflife and people was drawn from the limited experiences of a small, MiddleWest town, together with a year at a Middle West co-ed college, and as aresult of the latter the Schoolmarm cherished a fine belief in her worldlywisdom, whereas, in a measure, her lack of it was one of her charms. Susie, in her way, was wiser. 

The Schoolmarm's attitude toward her daily life was the natural outcome ofa romantic nature and an imaginative mind. She saw herself as the heroineof an absorbing story, the living of which story she enjoyed to theutmost, while every incident and every person contributed to its interest. Quite unconsciously, with unintentional egotism, the Schoolmarm had a wayof standing off and viewing herself, as it were, through the rosy glow ofromance. Yet she was not a complex character--this Schoolmarm. She had nosoaring ambitions, though her ideals for herself and for others were ofthe best. To do her duty, to help those about her, to win and retain theliking of her half-savage little pupils, were her chief desires. 

She had her share of the vanity of her sex, and of its natural liking foradmiration and attention, yet in the freedom of her unique environment shenever overstepped the bounds of the proprieties as she knew them, orviolated in the slightest degree the conventionalities to which she hadbeen accustomed in her rather narrow home life. It was this reserve whichinspired awe in the men with whom she came in contact, used as they wereto the greater camaraderie of Western women. 

In her unsophistication, her provincial innocence, Dora Marshall wasexactly the sort to misunderstand and to be misunderstood, a combinationsometimes quite as dangerous in its results, and as provocative oftrouble, as the intrigues of a designing woman. 

"I reckon you think I'm kind of a mounted bum, a grub-liner, or somethinglike that, " said Smith after a time. 

"To be frank, I _have_ wondered who you are. "

"Have you? Have you, honest?" asked Smith delightedly. 

"Well--you're different, you know. I can't explain just how, but you arenot like the others who come and go at the ranch. "

"No, " Smith replied with some irony; "I'm not like that there Tubbs. " Headded laconically, "I'm no angel, me--Smith. "

The Schoolmarm laughed. Smith's denial was so obviously superfluous. 

"There was a time when I'd do 'most any old thing, " he went on, unmindfulof her amusement. "It was only a few years ago that there was no law northof Cheyenne, and a feller got what he wanted with his gun. I got my share. I come from a country where they sleep between sheets, but I got a lickin'that wasn't comin' to me, and I quit the flat when I was thirteen. I'vebeen out amongst 'em since. "

The desire to reform somebody, which lies dormant in every woman's bosom, began to stir in the Schoolmarm's. 

"But you--you wouldn't 'do any old thing' now, would you?"

Smith hesitated, and a variety of expressions succeeded one another uponhis face. It was an awkward moment, for, under the uplifting influence ofthe feeling which possessed him, he had an odd desire to tell this girlonly the truth. 

"I wouldn't do some of the things I used to do, " he replied evasively. 

The Schoolmarm beamed encouragement. 

"I'm glad of that. "

"I used to kill Injuns for fifty dollars a head, but I wouldn't do itnow, " he said virtuously, adding: "I'd get my neck stretched. "

"You've killed people--Indians--for money!" The Schoolmarm looked at him, wide-eyed with horror. 

"They was clutterin' up the range, " Smith explained patiently, "and thecattlemen needed it for their stock. I'd 'a' killed 'em for nothin', butwhen 'twas offered, I might as well get the bounty. "

The Schoolmarm scarcely knew what to say; his explanation seemed soentirely satisfactory to himself. 

"I'm glad those dreadful days have gone. "

"They're gone all right, " Smith answered sourly. "They make dum near asmuch fuss over an Injun as a white man now, and what with jumpin' updeputies at every turn in the road, 'tain't safe. Why, I heard a judge saya while back that killin' an Injun was pure murder. "

"I appreciate your confidence--your telling me of your life, " said theSchoolmarm, in lieu of something better. 

She found him a difficult person with whom to converse. They seemed tohave no common meeting-ground, yet, while he constantly startled andshocked, he also fascinated her. In one of those illuminating flashes towhich the Schoolmarm was subject, she saw herself as Smith's guiding-star, leading him to the triumphant finish of the career which she believed hisunique but strong personality made possible. 

It was Smith's turn to look at her. Did she think he had told her of hislife? The unexpected dimple deepened in Smith's cheek, and as he laughedthe Schoolmarm, again noting the effect of it, could not in her heartbelieve that he was as black as he had painted himself. 

"I wisht our trails had crossed sooner, but, anyhow, I'm on the squarewith you, girl. And if ever you ketch me 'talkin' crooked, ' as the Injunssay, I'll give you my whole outfit--horse, saddle, blankets, guns, even mydog-gone shirt. Excuse me. "

The Schoolmarm glowed. Her woman's influence for good was having itseffect! This was a step in the right direction--a long step. He would be"on the square" with her--she liked the way he phrased it. Already hermind was busy with air-castles for Smith, which would have made thatperson stare, had he known of them. An inkling of their nature may be hadfrom her question:

"Would you like to study, to learn from books, if you had theopportunity?"

"I learned my letters spellin' out the brands on cattle, " he said frankly, "and that, with bein' able to write my name on the business end of acheck, and common, everyday words, has always been enough to see methrough. "

"But when one has naturally a good mind, like yours, don't you think it isalmost wicked not to use it?"

"I got a mind all right, " Smith replied complacently. "I'm kind of ahead-worker in my way, but steady thinkin' makes me sicker nor a pup. Igot a headache for two days spellin' out a description of myself that thesheriff of Choteau County spread around the country on handbills. It wasplumb insultin', as I figgered it out, callin' attention to my eyes andears and busted thumb. I sent word to him that I felt hos-tile over it. Sheriffs'll go too far if you don't tell 'em where to get off at once inawhile. "

The Schoolmarm ignored the handbill episode and went on:

"Besides, a lack of education is such a handicap in business. "

"The worst handicap I has to complain of, " said Smith grimly, "is thehabit people has got into of sending money-orders through the mail, instead of the cash. It keeps money out of circulation, besides bein'discouragin' and puttin' many a hard-workin' hold-up on the bum. "

"But, " she persisted, the real meaning of Smith's observations entirelyescaping her, "even the rudiments of an education would be such a help toyou, opening up many avenues that now are closed to you. What I want tosay is this: that if you intend to stop for a time at the ranch, I will beglad to teach you. Susie and I have an extra session in the evening, and Iwill be delighted to have you join us. "

It had not dawned upon Smith that she had questioned him with this end inview. He looked at her fixedly, then, from the depths of his experience, he said:

"Girl, you must like me some. "

Dora flushed hotly. 

"I am interested, " she replied. 

"That'll do for now;" and Smith wondered if the lump in his throat wasgoing to choke him. "Will I join that night-school of yours? _Will_ I?Watch me! Say, " he burst out with a kind of boyish impulsiveness, "if everyou see me doin' anything I oughtn't, like settin' down when I ought tostand up, or standin' up when I ought to set down, will you just rope meand take a turn around a snubbin'-post and jerk me off my feet?"

"We'll get along famously if you really want to improve yourself!"exclaimed the Schoolmarm, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. "If you reallyand truly want to learn. "

"Really and truly I do, " Smith echoed, feeling at the moment that hewould have done dressmaking or taken in washing, had she bid him. 

Once more the world looked big, alluring, and as full of untriedpossibilities as when he had "quit the flat" at thirteen. 

"Have you noticed me doin' anything that isn't manners?" he asked inhumble anxiety. "Don't be afraid of hurtin' my feelin's, " he urged, "for Iain't none. "

"If you honestly want me to tell you things, I will; but it seems so--soqueer upon such a very short acquaintance. "

"Shucks! What's the use of wastin' time pretendin' to get acquainted, whenyou're acquainted as soon as you look at each other? What's the use ofsashayin' around the bush when you meet up with somebody you like? Youjust cut loose on me, girl. "

"It's only a little thing, in a way, and not in itself important perhaps;yet it would be, too, if circumstances should take you into the world. Itmight make a bad impression upon strangers. "

Smith looked slightly alarmed. He wondered if she suspected anything aboutWhite Antelope. At the moment, he could think of nothing else he had donewithin the last twenty-four hours, which might prejudice strangers. 

"I noticed at the table, " the Schoolmarm went on in some embarrassment, "that you held your fork as though you were afraid it would get away fromyou. Like this"--she illustrated with her fist. 

"Like a ranch-hand holdin' onto a pitch-fork, " Smith suggested, relieved. 

"Something, " she laughed. "It should be like this. Anyway, " she declaredencouragingly, "you don't eat with your knife. "

Smith beamed. 

"Did you notice that?"

"Naturally, in a land of sword-swallowers, I would;" the Schoolmarm made awry face. 

"Once I run with a high-stepper from Bowlin' Green, Kentucky, and she toldme better nor that, " he explained. "She said nothin' give a feller awaylike his habit of handlin' tools at the table. She was a lady all right, but she got the dope habit and threw the lamp at me. The way I quit herdidn't trouble _me_. None of 'em ever had any holt on me when it come to ashow-down; but you, girl, _you_----"

"Look!"

Her sharp exclamation interrupted him, and, following her gesture, he sawa flying horseman in the distance, riding as for his life, while behindhim two other riders quirted their horses in hot pursuit. 

"Is it a race--for fun?"

"I don't think it, " Smith replied dryly, noting the direction from whichthey came. "It looks like business. "

He knew that the two behind were Indians. He could tell by the way theyused their quirts and sat their horses. Neither was there any mistakingthe bug-hunter on his ewe-necked sorrel, which, displaying unexpectedbursts of speed, was keeping in the lead and heading straight for theranch-house. With one hand McArthur was clinging to the saddle-horn, andwith the other was clinging quite as tightly to what at a distanceappeared to be a carbine. 

"He's pulled his gun--why don't he use it?" Smith quickened his horse'sgait. 

He knew that the Indians had learned White Antelope's fate. That was alucky swap Smith had made that morning. He congratulated himself that hehad not "taken chances. " He wondered how effective McArthur's denial wouldprove in the face of the evidence furnished by the saddle-blanket. Personally, Smith regarded the bug-hunter's chances as slim. 

"They'll get him in the corral, " he observed. 

"Oh, it's Mr. McArthur!" Dora cried in distress. 

Smith looked at her in quick jealousy. 

"Well, what of it?" In her excitement, the gruffness of his tone passedunobserved. 

"Come, " she urged. "The Indians are angry, and he may need us. "

Hatless, breathless, pale, McArthur rolled out of his saddle and thrust along, bleached bone into Tubbs's hand. 

"Keep it!" he gasped. "Protect it! It may be--I don't say it is, but it_may_ be--a portion of the paroccipital bone of an Ichthyopterygian!" Thenhe turned and faced his pursuers. 

Infuriated, they rode straight at him, but he did not flinch, and thehorses swerved of their own accord. 

Susie had run from the house, and her mother had followed, expectancy uponher stolid face, for, like Smith, she had guessed the situation. 

The Indians circled, and, returning, pointed accusing fingers atMcArthur. 

"He kill White Antelope!"

By this time, the grub-liners had reached the corral, among them fourIndians, all friends of the dead man. Their faces darkened. 

"White Antelope is dead in a gulch!" cried his accusers. "He is shot topieces--here, there, everywhere!"

A murmur of angry amazement arose. White Antelope, the kindly, peaceableCree, who had not an enemy on the reservation!

"This is dreadful!" declared McArthur. "Believe me"--he turned to themall--"I had but found the corpse myself when these men rode up. The Indianwas cold; he certainly had been dead for hours. Besides, " he demanded, "what possible motive could I have?"

"Them as likes lettin' blood don't need a motive. " The sneering voice wasSmith's. 

"But you, sir, met us on the hill. You know the direction from which wecame. "

"It's easy enough to circle. "

"But why should I go back?" cried McArthur. 

"They say there's that that draws folks back for another look. "

Smith's insinuations, the stand he took, had its effect upon the Indians, who, hot for revenge, needed only this to confirm their suspicions. One ofthe Indians on horseback began to uncoil his rawhide saddle-rope. All saveMcArthur understood the significance of the action. They meant to tie himhand and foot and take him to the Agency, with blows and insults plentifulen route. 

They edged closer to him, every savage instinct uppermost, their facesdark and menacing. McArthur, his eyes sweeping the circle, felt that hehad not one friend, not one, in the motley, threatening crowd fast closingin upon him; for Tubbs, hearing himself indirectly included in theaccusation, had discreetly, and with perceptible haste, withdrawn. 

The Indian swung from his saddle, rope in hand, and advanced upon McArthurwith unmistakable purpose; but he did not reach the little scientist, forSusie darted from the circle, her flashing gray eyes looking morecuriously at variance than ever with her tawny skin. 

"No, no, Running Rabbit!" She pushed him gently backward with herfinger-tips upon his chest. 

There was a murmur of protest from the crowd, and it seemed to sting herlike a spur. Susie was not accustomed to disapproval. She turned to wherethe murmurs came loudest--from the white grub-liners, who were eager forexcitement. 

"Who are you, " she cried, "that you should be so quick to accuse thisstranger? You, Arkansaw Red, that skipped from Kansas for killin' anigger! You, Jim Padden, that shot a sheep-herder in cold blood! You, Banjo Johnson, that's hidin' out this minute! Don't you all be so darnedanxious to hang another man, when there's a rope waitin' somewhere foryour own necks!

"And lemme tell you"--she took a step toward them. "The man that lifts afinger to take this bug-hunter to the Agency can take his blankets alongat the same time, for there'll never be a bunk or a seat at the table forhim on this ranch as long as he lives. Where's your proof against thisbug-hunter? You can't drag a man off without something against him--justbecause you want to _hang_ somebody!"

Some sound from Smith attracted her attention; she wheeled upon him, and, with her thin arm outstretched as she pointed at him in scorn, she criedshrilly:

"Why, I'd sooner think _you_ did it, than him!"

There was not so much as the flicker of an eyelid from Smith. 

"I know you'd _sooner_ think I did it than him, " he said, playing upon theword. "You'd like to see _me_ get my neck stretched. "

His bravado, his very insolence, was his protection. 

"And maybe I'll have the chanst!" she retorted furiously. 

Turning from him to the Indians, her voice dropped, the harsh languagetaking on the soft accent of the squaws as she spoke to them in their owntongue. Like many half-breeds, Susie seldom admitted that she eitherunderstood or could speak the Indian language. She had an amusing fashionof referring even to her relatives as "those Injuns"; but now, with handsoutstretched, she pleaded:

"We are all Indians together in this--friends of White Antelope! Ourhearts are down; they are heavy--so. You all know that he came from thegreat Cree country with my father, and he has told us many times storiesof the big north woods, where they hunted and trapped. You know how hewatched me when I was little, and sat with his hand upon my head when Ihad the big fever. He was like no one else to me except my father. He waswise and good. 

"I could kill with my own hand the man who killed White Antelope. I wanthis blood as much as you. I'd like to see a stake driven through hisblack heart on White Antelope's grave. But let us not be too quick becausethe hate is hot in us. My heart tells me that the white man talksstraight. Let us wait--wait until we find the right one, and when we do wewill punish in our own way. You hear? _In our own way!_"

Smith understood something of her plea, and for the second time he paidher courage tribute. 

"She's a game kid all right, " he said to himself, and a half-formed planfor utilizing her gameness began to take definite shape. 

That she had won, he knew before Running Rabbit recoiled his rope. After amoment's talk among themselves, the Indians went to hitch the horses tothe wagon, to bring White Antelope's body home. 

Smith was well aware that he had only to point to the saddle blanket, thebarest edge of which showed beneath the leather skirts of McArthur'ssaddle, to make Susie's impassioned defense in vain. Why he did not, hewas not himself sure. Perhaps it was because he liked the feeling ofpower, of knowing that he held the life of the despised bug-hunter in thehollow of his hand; or perhaps it was because it would serve his purposebetter to make the accusation later. One thing was certain, however, andthat was that he had not held his tongue through any consideration forMcArthur. 

VI

THE GREAT SECRET

It was the day they buried White Antelope that Smith approached YellowBird, a Piegan, who was among the Indians paying visits of indefinitelength to the MacDonald ranch. "Eddie" Yellow Bird, he was called at theBlackfoot mission where he had learned to read and write--though he wouldnever have been suspected of these accomplishments, since to allappearances he was a "blanket Indian. "

Smith spoke the Piegan tongue almost as fluently as his own, so he andYellow Bird quickly became _compadres_, relating to each other stories oftheir prowess, of horses they had run off, of cattle they had stolen, andhinting, Indian fashion, with significant intonations and pauses, atcrimes of greater magnitude. 

"How is your heart to-day, friend? Is it strong?"

"Weak, " replied Yellow Bird jestingly, touching his breast with afluttering hand. 

"It would be stronger if you had red meat in your stomach, " Smithsuggested significantly. 

"The bacon is not for Indians, " agreed Yellow Bird. 

"But the woman would have no cattle left if she killed only her ownbeef. "

"Many people stop here--strangers and friends, " Yellow Bird admitted. 

"There is plenty on the range. " Smith looked toward the Bar C ranch. 

"He is a dog on the trail, that white man, when his cattle are stolen, "Yellow Bird replied doubtfully. 

"I've killed dogs--me, Smith--when they got in my way. Yellow Bird, areyou a woman, that you are afraid?"

"Wolf Robe, who stole only a calf, sits like this"--Yellow Bird looked atSmith sullenly through his spread fingers. 

"You have talked with the forked tongue, Yellow Bird. You are not a Pieganbuck of the great Blackfoot nation; you are a woman. Your fathers killedmen; _you_ are afraid to kill cattle. " Smith turned from himcontemptuously. 

"My heart is as strong as yours. I am ready. "

It was dusk when Smith returned and held out a blood-stained flour sack tothe squaw. 

"Liver. A two-year ole. "

The squaw's eyes sparkled. Ah, this was as it should be! Her man providedfor her; he brought her meat to eat. He was clever and brave, for it wasother men's meat he brought her to eat. MacDonald had killed only his owncattle, and secretly it had shamed her, for she mistook his honesty forlack of courage. To steal was legitimate; it was brave; something to betold among friends at night, and laughed over. Susie, she had observedwith regret, was honest, like her father. She patted the back of Smith'shand, and looked at him with dog-like, adoring eyes as they stood in thelog meat-house, where fresh quarters hung. 

"I'd do more nor this for you, Prairie Flower;" and, laying his hand uponher shoulder, he pressed it with his finger-tips. 

"Say, but that's great liver!" Tubbs reached half the length of the tableand helped himself a third time. "That'd make a man fight his grandmother. Who butchered it?"

"Me, " Smith answered. 

"It tastes like slow elk, " said Susie. 

"Maybe you oughtn't to eat it till you're showed the hide, " Smithsuggested. 

"Maybe I oughtn't, " Susie retorted. "I didn't see any fresh hide a-hangin'on the fence. We _always_ hangs _our_ hides. "

"I _never_ hangs _my_ hides. I cuts 'em up in strips and braids 'em intothrow-ropes. It's safer. "

The grub-liners laughed at the inference which Smith so coolly implied. 

The finding of White Antelope's body, and its subsequent burial, haddelayed the opening of Dora's night-school, so Smith, for reasons of hisown, had spent much of his time in the bunk-house, covertly studying thegrub-liners, who passed the hours exchanging harrowing experiences oftheir varied careers. 

A strong friendship had sprung up between Susie and McArthur. While Susieliked and greatly admired the Schoolmarm, she never yet had opened herheart to her. Beyond their actual school-work, they seemed to have littlein common; and it was a real disappointment and regret to the Schoolmarmthat, for some reason which she could not reach, she had never been ableto break through the curious reserve of the little half-breed, who, superficially, seemed so transparently frank. Each time that she made theattempt, she found herself repulsed--gently, even tactfully, butrepulsed. 

Dora Marshall did not suspect that these rebuffs were due to an error ofher own. In the beginning, when Susie had questioned her naïvely of theoutside world, she had permitted amusement to show in her face and manner. She never fully recognized the fact that while Susie to all appearances, intents, and purposes was Anglo-Saxon, an equal quantity of Indian bloodflowed in her veins, and that this blood, with its accompanying traits andcharacteristics, must be reckoned with. 

As a matter of fact, Susie was suspicious, unforgiving, with all theIndians' sensitiveness to and fear of ridicule. She meant never again toentertain the Schoolmarm by her ignorant questions, although she yearnedwith all a young girl's yearning for some one in whom to confide--some onewith whom she could discuss the future which she often questioned andsecretly dreaded. 

With real adroitness Susie had tested McArthur, searching his face for theglimmer of amusement which would have destroyed irredeemably any chance ofreal comradeship between them. But invariably McArthur had answered herquestions gravely; and when her tears had fallen fast and hot at WhiteAntelope's grave, she had known, with an intuition both savage andchildish, that his sympathy was sincere. She had felt, too, thegenuineness of his interest when, later, she had repeated to him many ofthe stories White Antelope had told her of the days when he and her fatherhad trapped and hunted together in the big woods to the north. 

So to-night, when the living-room was deserted by all save her mother, atwork on her rugs in the corner, Susie confided to him her Great Secret, and McArthur, some way, felt strangely flattered by the confidence. He hadno desire to laugh; indeed, there were times when the tears wereperilously close to the surface. He had been a shy, lonely student, andquite as lonely as a man, yet through the promptings of a heartsympathetic and kind and with the fine instinct of gentle birth, heunderstood the bizarre little half-breed in a way which surprised himself. 

There was a settee on one side of the room, made of elk-horns andinterwoven buckskin thongs, and it was there, in the whisper which makes asecret doubly alluring, that Susie told him of her plans; but first shebrought from some hiding-place outside a long pasteboard box, carefullywrapped and tied. 

McArthur, puffing on the briar-wood pipe which he was seldom without, waited with interest, but without showing curiosity, for he felt that, ina way, this was a critical moment in their friendship. 

"If you didn't see me here on the reservation, would you know I wasInjun?" Susie demanded, facing him. 

McArthur regarded her critically. 

"You have certain characteristics--your rather high cheek-bones, forinstance--and your skin has a peculiar tint. "

"I got an awful complexion on me, " Susie agreed, "but I'm goin' to fixthat. "

"Then, your movements and gestures----"

"That's from talkin' signs, maybe. I can talk signs so fast that thefull-bloods themselves have to ask me to slow up. But, now, if you saw mewith my hair frizzled--all curled up, like, and pegged down on top of myhead--and a red silk dress on me with a long skirt, and shiny shoes comingto a point, and a white hat with birds and flowers staked out on it, andmaybe kid gloves on my hands--would you know right off it was me? Wouldyou say, 'Why, there's that Susie MacDonald--that breed young un from thereservation'?"

"No, " declared McArthur firmly; "I certainly never should say, 'Why, there's that Susie MacDonald--that breed young un from the reservation. 'As a matter of fact, " he went on gravely, "I should probably say, 'What apity that a young lady so intelligent and high-spirited should frizz herhair'!"

"Would you?" insisted Susie delightedly. 

"Undoubtedly, " McArthur replied, with satisfying emphasis. 

"And how long do you think it would take me to stop slingin' the buckskinand learn to talk like you?--to say big words without bitin' my tongue andgettin' red in the face?"

"Do I use large words frequently?" McArthur asked in real surprise. 

"Whoppers!" said Susie. 

"I do it unconsciously. " McArthur's tone was apologetic. 

"Sure, I know it. "

"I shrink from appearing pedantic, " said McArthur, half to himself. 

"So do I, " Susie declared mischievously. "I don't know what it is, but Ishrink from it. Do you think I could learn big words?"

"Of course. " McArthur wondered where all these questions led. 

"Did you ever notice that I'm kind of polite sometimes?"

"Frequently. "

"That I say 'If you please' and 'Thank you, ' and did you notice the othermorning when I asked Old Man Rulison how his ribs was getting along thatArkansaw Red kicked in, and said I was sorry the accident happened?"

McArthur nodded. 

"Well, I didn't mean it. " She giggled. "That was just my manners that Iwas practisin' on him. He was onery, and only got what was comin' to him;but if you're goin' to be polite, seems like you dassn't tell the truth. But Miss Marshall says that 'Thank you, ' 'If you please, ' and 'Goodmorning, how's your ribs?' are kind of pass-words out in the world thathelp you along. "

"Yes, Susie; that's true. "

"So I'm tryin' to catch onto all I can, because"--her eyes dilated, andshe lowered her voice--"I'm goin' out in the world pretty soon. "

"To school?"

She shook her head. 

"I'm goin' to hunt up Dad's relations; and when I find 'em, I don't want'em to be ashamed of me, and of him for marryin' into the Injuns. "

"They need never be ashamed of you, Susie. "

"Honest? Honest, don't you think so?" She looked at him wistfully. "I'dtry awful hard not to make breaks, " she went on, "and make 'em feel likecachin' me in the cellar when they saw company comin'. It's just plumbawful to be lonesome here, like I am sometimes; to be homesick forsomething or somebody--for other kind of folks besides Injuns andgrub-liners, and Schoolmarms that look at you as if you was a new, queerkind of bug, and laugh at you with their eyes. 

"Dad's got kin, I know; for lots of times when I would go with him to hunthorses, he would say, 'I'll take you back to see them some time, Susie, girl. ' But he never said where 'back' was, so I've got to find out myself. Wouldn't it be awful, though"--and her chin quivered--"if after I'd beenon the trail for days and days, and my ponies were foot-sore, they wasn'tglad to see me when I rode up to the house, but hinted around thathorse-feed was short and grub was scarce, and they couldn't well winterme?"

"They wouldn't do that, " said McArthur reassuringly. "Nobody namedMacDonald would do that. "

Susie began to untie the pasteboard box which contained her treasures. 

"Nearly ever since Dad died, I've been getting ready to go. I don't meanthat I would leave Mother for keeps--of course not; but after I've found'em, maybe I can coax 'em to come and live with us. I used to ask WhiteAntelope every question I could think of, but all he knew was that afterthey'd sold their furs to the Hudson Bay Company, they sometimes went to alodge in Canada called Selkirk, where almost everybody there was namedMacDonald or MacDougal or Mackenzie or Mac something. Lots of his friendsthere married Sioux and went to the Walla Walla valley, and maybe I'llhave to go there to find somebody who knew him; but first I'll go toSelkirk. 

"I'll take a good pack-outfit, and Running Rabbit to find trails andwrangle horses. See--I've got my trail all marked out on the map. "

She unfolded a worn leaf from a school geography. 

"It looks as if it was only a sleep or two away, but White Antelope saidit was the big ride--maybe a hundred sleeps. And lookee"--she unfoldedfashion plates of several periods. "I've even picked out the clothes I'llbuy to put on when I get nearly to the ranch where they live. I can makecamp, you know, and change my clothes, and then go walkin' down the roadcarryin' this here parasol and wearin' this here white hat and holdin' upthis here long skirt like Teacher on Sunday. 

"Won't they be surprised when they open the door and see me standin' onthe door-step? I'll say, 'How do you do? I'm Susie MacDonald, yourrelation what's come to visit you. ' I think this would be better thanshowin' up with Running Rabbit and the pack-outfit, until I'd kind ofbroke the news to 'em. I'd keep Running Rabbit cached in the brush till Isent for him. 

"You see, I've thought about it so much that it seems like it was as goodas done; but maybe when I start I won't find it so easy. I might have toride clear to this Minnesota country, or beyond the big waters to the NewYork or Connecticut country, mightn't I?"

"You might, " McArthur replied soberly. 

"But I'd take a lot of jerked elk, and everybody says grub's easy to getif you have money, I'd start with about nine ponies in my string, so itlooks like I ought to get through?"

She waited anxiously for McArthur to express his opinion. 

He wondered how he could disillusionize her, shatter the dream which hecould see had become a part of her life. Should he explain to her thatwhen she had crossed the mountains and left behind her the deserts whichconstituted the only world she knew, and by which, with its people, shejudged the country she meant to penetrate, she would find herself abewildered little savage in a callous, complex civilization where she hadno place--wondered at, gibed at, defeated of her purpose?

"Are you sure you have no other clues--no old letters, no photographs?"

She was about to answer when a tapping like the pecking of a snowbird ona window-sill was heard on the door. 

Susie opened it. 

In ludicrous contrast to the timid rap, a huge figure that all but filledit was framed in the doorway. 

It was "Babe" from the Bar C ranch; "Baby" Britt, curly-haired, pink-cheeked, with one innocent blue eye dark from recent impact with afist, which gave its owner the appearance of a dissipated cherub. 

"Evenin', " he said tremulously, his eyes roving as though in search ofsome one. 

"I lost a horse----" he began. 

"Brown?" interrupted Susie, with suspicious interest. "With a star in theforehead?"

"Yes. "

"One white stockin'?"

"Uh-huh. "

"Roached mane?"

"Ye-ah. "

"Kind of a rat-tail?"

"Yep. "

"Left hip knocked down?"

"Babe" nodded. 

"Saddle-sore?"

"That's it. Where did you see him?"

"I didn't see him. "

"Aw-w-w, " rumbled "Babe" in disgust. 

"Teacher!"

Dora Marshall's door opened in response to Susie's lusty call. 

"Have you seen a brown horse with a star in its forehead, roachedmane----"

"Aw, g'wan, Susie!" In confusion, "Babe" began to remove his spurs, thereby serving notice upon the Schoolmarm that he had "come to set aspell. "

So the Schoolmarm brought her needlework, and while she explained to Mr. Britt the exact shadings which she intended to give to each leaf andflower, that person sat with his entranced eyes upon her white hands, withtheir slender, tapering fingers--the smallest, the most beautiful hands, he firmly believed, in the whole world. 

It was not easy to carry on a spirited conversation with Mr. Britt. Atbest, his range of topics was limited, and in his present frame of mind hewas about as vivacious as a deaf mute. He was quite content to sit withthe high heels of his cowboy boots--from which a faint odor of the stableemanated--hung over the rung of his chair, and to watch the Schoolmarm'shand plying the needle on that almost sacred sofa-pillow. 

"Your work must be very interesting, Mr. Britt, " suggested Dora. 

"I dunno as 'tis, " replied Mr. Britt. 

"It's so--so picturesque. "

Mr. Britt considered. 

"I shouldn't say it was. "

"But you like it?"

"Not by a high-kick!"

If there was one thing upon which Mr. Britt prided himself more thananother, it was upon knowing how to temper his language to his company. 

"Why do you stick to it, then?"

"Don't know how to do anything else. "

"You don't get much time to read, do you?"

"Oh, yes; _P'lice Gazette_ comes reg'lar. "

"But you have no church or social privileges?"

"What's that?"

"I say, you have no entertainment, no time or opportunity for amusement, have you?"

"Oh, my, yes, " Mr. Britt declared heartily. "We has a game of stud pokernearly every Sunday mornin', and races in the afternoon. "

"Ain't he sparklin'?" whispered Susie across the room to Dora, whopretended not to hear. 

"You are fond of horses?" inquired the Schoolmarm, desperately. 

"Oh, I has nothin' agin 'em. " He qualified his statement by adding:"Leastways, unless they come from the Buffalo Basin country. Then I shorehates 'em. " At last Mr. Britt was upon a subject upon which he could talkfluently and for an indefinite length of time. "You take that thereBuffalo Basin stock, " he went on earnestly, "and they're nothin' butinbred cayuse outlaws. They're treach'rous. Oneriest horses that everwore hair. Can't gentle 'em--simply can't be done. They've piled me upmore times than any horses that run. Sunfishers--the hull of 'em; rare upand fall over backwards. 'Tain't pleasant ridin' a horse like that. Wheelon you quicker'n a weasel; shy clean acrost the road at nothin';kick--stand up and strike at you in the corral. It's irritatin'. Hardkeepers, too. Maybe you've noticed that blue roan I'm ridin'. Well, sir, the way I've throwed feed into that horse is a scandal, and the more heeats the worse he looks. Besides, it spoils them Buffalo Basinbuzzard-heads to eat. Give 'em three square meals, and you can't hardlyride 'em. They ain't stayers, neither; no bottom, seems-like. Forty miles, and that horse of mine is played out. What for a horse is that? Is that ahorse? Not by a high-kick! Gimme a buckskin with a black line down hisback, and zebra stripes on his legs--high back, square chest--say, thenyou got a _horse!_"

It was apparent enough that Mr. Britt had not commenced to exhaust thesubject of the Buffalo Basin stock. As a matter of fact, he had barelystarted; but the sound of horses coming up the path, and a whoop outside, caused a suspension of his conversation. 

Something heavy was thrown against the door, and when Susie opened it aroll of roped canvas rolled inside, while the lamplight fell upon thegrinning faces of two Bar C cowpunchers. 

"What's that?" The Schoolmarm looked wonderingly at the bundle. 

"Aw-w-w!" Mr. Britt replied, in angry confusion. "It's my bed. I'll put acrimp in them two for this. " He shouldered his blankets sheepishly andwent out. 

VII

CUPID "WINGS" A DEPUTY SHERIFF

Riding home next morning with his bed on a borrowed pack-horse, morose, his mind occupied with divers plans for punishing the cowpunchers who hadspoiled his evening and made him ridiculous before the Schoolmarm, "Babe"came upon something in a gulch which caused him to rein his horse sharplyand swing from the saddle. 

With an ejaculation of surprise, he pulled a fresh hide from under a pileof rock, it having been partially uncovered by coyotes. The brand had beencut out, and with the sight of this significant find, the two cowpunchers, their obnoxious joke, even the Schoolmarm, were forgotten; for there was anew thief on the range, and a new thief meant excitement and adventure. 

Colonel Tolman's deep-set eyes glittered when he heard the news. AsRunning Rabbit had said, on the trail of a cattle-thief he was asrelentless as a bloodhound. He could not eat or sleep in peace until theman who had robbed him was behind the bars. The Colonel was an old-timeTexas cattleman, and his herds had ranged from the Mexican border to theAlberta line. He had made and lost fortunes. Disease, droughts, andblizzards had cleaned him out at various times, and always he had takenhis medicine without a whimper; but the loss of so much as a yearling calfby theft threw him into a rage that was like hysteria. 

His hand shook as he sat down at his desk and wrote a note to theStockmen's Association, asking for the services of their best detective. It meant four days of hard riding to deliver the note, but the Colonel putit into "Babe's" hand as if he were asking him to drop it in the mail-boxaround the corner. 

"Go, and git back, " were his laconic instructions, and he turned to pacethe floor. 

When "Babe" returned some eight days later, with the deputy sheriff, hefound the Colonel striding to and fro, his wrath having in no wise abated. The cowboy wondered if his employer had been walking the floor all thattime. 

"My name is Ralston, " said the tall young deputy, as he stood before theold cattleman. 

"Ralston?" The Colonel rose on his toes a trifle to peer into his face. 

"Not Dick Ralston's boy?"

The six-foot deputy smiled. 

"The same, sir. "

The Colonel's hand shot out in greeting. 

"Anybody of that name is pretty near like kin to me. Many's the time yourdad and I have eaten out of the same frying-pan. "

"So I've heard him say. "

"Does he know you're down here on this job?"

The young man shook his head soberly. 

"No. "

The Colonel looked at him keenly. 

"Had a falling out?"

"No; scarcely that; but we couldn't agree exactly upon some things, so Istruck out for myself when I came home from college. "

"No future for you in this sleuthing business, " commented the old mantersely. "Why didn't you go into cattle with your dad?"

"That's where we disagreed, sir. I wanted to buy sheep, and he goesstraight into the air at the very word. "

The Colonel laughed. 

"I can believe that. "

"Over there the range is going fast, and it's fight and scrap and quarrelall the time to keep the sheep off what little there is left; and then youship and bottom drops out of the market as soon as your cattle are loaded. There's nothing in it; and while I don't like sheep any better than theGovernor, there's no use in hanging on and going broke in cattle becauseof a prejudice. "

"Dick's stubborn, "--the Colonel nodded knowingly--"and I don't believehe'll ever give in. "

"No; I don't think he will, and I'm sorry for his sake, because he'sgetting too old to worry. "

"Worry? Cattle's nothing but worry!--which reminds me of what you are herefor. "

"Have you any suspicions?"

"No. I don't believe I can help you any. The Injuns been good as pie sincewe sent Wolf Robe over the road. Don't hardly think it's Injuns. Don'tknow what to think. Might be some of these Mormon outfits going north. Might be some of these nesters off in the hills. Might be anybody!"

"Is he an old hand?"

"Looks like it. Cuts the brand out and buries the hide. " The Colonel beganpacing the floor. "Cattle-thieves are people that's got to be nipped inthe bud _muy pronto_. There ought to be a lynching on every cattle-rangeonce in seven years. It's the only way to hold 'em level. Down there onthe Rio Grande we rode away and left fourteen of 'em swinging over thebluff. It's got to be done in all cattle countries, and since they'vestarted in here--well, a hanging is overdue by two years. " The Colonelejected his words with the decisive click of a riot-gun. 

So Dick Ralston, Jr. , rode the range for the purpose of getting the lay ofthe country, and, on one pretext or another, visited the squalid homes ofthe nesters, but nowhere found anybody or anything in the leastsuspicious. He learned of the murder of White Antelope, and of the"queer-actin'" bug-hunter and his pal, who had been accused of it. It wasrather generally believed that McArthur was a desperado of a new andoriginal kind. While it was conceded that he seemed to have no way ofdisposing of the meat, and certainly could not kill a cow and eat ithimself, it was nevertheless declared that he was "worth watching. "

While the hangers-on at the MacDonald ranch were all known to haverecords, no particular suspicion had attached to them in this instance, because the squaw was known to kill her own beef, and no shadow of doubthad ever fallen upon the good name of the ranch. 

The trapping of cattle-thieves is not the work of a day or a week, butsometimes of months; and when evidence of another stolen beef was foundupon the range, Ralston realized that his efforts lay in that vicinity forsome time to come. He decided to ride over to the MacDonald ranch thatevening and have a look at the bad _hombre_ who masqueraded as abug-hunter--bug-hunter, it should be explained, being a Western term forany stranger engaged in scientific pursuits. 

While Ralston was riding over the lonely road in the moonlight, Dora wasarranging the dining-room table for her night-school, which had been insession several evenings. Smith was studying grammar, of which branch oflearning Dora had decided he stood most in need, while Susie groaned overcompound fractions. 

Tubbs, with his chair tilted against the wall, looked on with a tolerantsmile. In the kitchen, paring a huge pan of potatoes for breakfast, Linglistened with such an intensity of interest to what was being said thathis ears seemed fairly to quiver. From her bench in the living-room, theIndian woman braided rags and darted jealous glances at teacher and pupil. Smith, his hair looking like a bunch of tumble-weed in a high wind, hungover a book with a look of genuine misery upon his face. 

"I didn't have any notion there was so much in the world I didn't know, "he burst out. "I thought when I'd learnt that if you sprinkle yoursaddle-blanket you can hold the biggest steer that runs, without yoursaddle slippin', I'd learnt about all they was worth knowin'. "

"It's tedious, " Dora admitted. 

"Tedious?" echoed Smith in loud pathos. "It's hell! Say, I can tie a fancyknot in a bridle-rein that can't be beat by any puncher in the country, but _darn_ me if I can see the difference between a adjective and one ofthese here adverbs! Once I thought I knowed something--me, Smith--but say, I don't know enough to make a mark in the road!"

Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he repeated:

"'I have had, you have had, he has had. '"

"If you would have had about six drinks, I think you could git that, "observed Tubbs judicially, watching Smith's mental suffering with keeninterest. 

"Don't be discouraged, " said Dora cheerfully, seating herself beside him. "Let's take a little review. Do you remember what I told you about this?"

She pointed to the letter _a_ marked with the long sound. 

Smith ran both hands through his hair, while a wild, panic-stricken lookcame upon his face. 

"Dog-gone me! I know it's a _a_, but I plumb forget how you called it. "

Tubbs unhooked his toes from the chair-legs and walked around to look overSmith's shoulder. 

"Smith, you got a great forgitter, " he said sarcastically. "Why don't youuse your head a little? That there is a Bar A. You ought to have knowedthat. The Bar A stock run all over the Judith Basin. "

"Don't you remember I told you that whenever you saw that mark over aletter you should give it the long sound?" explained Dora patiently. 

"Like the _a_ in 'aig, '" elucidated Tubbs. 

"Like the _a_ in 'snake, '" corrected the Schoolmarm. 

"Or 'wake, ' or 'skate, ' or 'break, '" said Smith hopefully. 

"Fine!" declared the Schoolmarm. 

"I knowed that much myself, " said Tubbs enviously. 

"If you'll pardon me, Mr. Tubbs, " said Dora, in some irritation, "thereis no such word as 'knowed. '"

"Why don't you talk grammatical, Tubbs?" Smith demanded, with alacrity. 

"I talks what I knows, " said Tubbs, going back to his chair. 

"Have you forgotten all I told you about adjectives?"

"Adjectives is words describin' things. They's two kinds, comparative andsuperlative, " Smith replied promptly. He added. "Adjectives kind of stuckin my craw. "

"Can you give me examples?" Dora felt encouraged. 

"You got a horrible pretty hand, " Smith replied, without hesitation. "'Horrible pretty' is a adjective describin' your hand. "

Dora burst out laughing, and Tubbs, without knowing why, joined inheartily. 

"Tubbs, " continued Smith, glaring at that person, "has got the horriblestmug I ever seen, and if he opens it and laffs like that at me again, Iaims to break his head. 'Horriblest' is a superlative adjective describin'Tubbs's mug. "

To Smith's chagrin and Tubbs's delight, Dora explained that "horrible" wasa word which could not be used in conjunction with "pretty, " and that itssuperlative was not "horriblest. "

Smith buried his head in his hands despondently. 

"If I was where I could, I'd get drunk!"

"It's nothing to feel so badly about, " said Dora comfortingly. "Let's goback to prepositions. Can you define a preposition?"

Smith screwed up his face and groped for words, but before he found themTubbs broke in:

"A preposition is what a feller has to sell that nobody wants, " heexplained glibly. "They's copper prepositions, silver-lead prepositions, and onct I had a oil preposition up in the Swift Current country. "

Smith reached inside his coat and pulled out the carved, ivory-handledsix-shooter which he wore in a holster under his arm. He laid it on thetable beside his grammar, and looked at Tubbs. 

"Feller, " he said, "I hates to make a gun-play before the Schoolmarm, butif you jump into this here game again, I aims to try a chunk of lead onyou. "

"If book-learnin' ud ever make me as peevish as it does you, " declaredTubbs, rising hastily, "I hopes I never knows nothin'. "

Tubbs slammed the door behind him as he went to seek more amiable companyin the bunk-house. 

Save for the Indian woman, Smith and Dora were now practically alone; forLing had gone to bed, and Susie was oblivious to everything exceptfractions. Smith continued to struggle with prepositions, adjectives, andadverbs, but he found it difficult to concentrate his thoughts on themwith Dora so close beside him. He knew that his slightest glance, everyexpression which crossed his face, was observed by the Indian woman; andalthough he did his utmost not to betray his feelings, he saw the sullen, jealous resentment rising within her. 

She read aright the light in his eyes; besides, her intuitions weregreater than his powers of concealment. When she could no longer endurethe sight of Smith and the Schoolmarm sitting side by side, she laid downher work and slipped out into the star-lit night, closing the door softlybehind her. 

Smith's judgment told him that he should end the lesson and go after her, but the spell of love was upon him, overwhelming him, holding him fast indelicious thraldom. He had not the strength of will just then to breakit. 

Dora had been reading "Hiawatha" aloud each evening to Susie, Tubbs, andSmith, so when she finally closed the grammar, she asked if he would liketo hear more of the Indian story, as he called it, to which he noddedassent. 

Dora read well, with intelligence and sympathy; her trained voice wasflexible. Then, too, she loved this greatest of American legends. Itappealed to her audience as perhaps no other poem would have done. It wasreal to them, it was "life, " their life in a little different environmentand told in a musical rhythm which held them breathless, enchanted. 

Dora had reached the story of "The Famine. " She knew the refrain by heart, and the wail of old Nokomis was in her voice as she repeated from memory:

 "Wahonowin! Wahonowin! Would that I had perished for you! Would that I were dead as you are! Wahonowin! Wahonowin!

 "Then they buried Minnehaha; In the snow a grave they made her, In the forest deep and darksome, Underneath the moaning hemlocks; Clothed her in her richest garments, Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, Covered her with snow, like ermine; So they buried Minnehaha. "

The pathos of the lines never failed to touch Dora anew. Her voice broke, and, pausing to recover herself, she glanced at Smith. There were tears inhis eyes. The brutal chin was quivering like that of a tender-heartedchild. 

"The man that wrote that was a _chief_, " he said huskily. "It hurts mehere--in my neck. " He rubbed the contracted muscles of his throat. "I'dfeel like that, girl, if you should die. "

He repeated softly, and choked:

 "All my heart is buried with you, All my thoughts go onward with you!"

The impression which the poem made upon Smith was deep. It was a constantsurprise to him also. The thoughts it expressed, the sensations itdescribed, he had believed were entirely original with himself. He had notconceived it possible that any one else could feel toward a woman as hefelt toward Dora. Therefore, when the poet put many of his heart-throbsinto words, they startled him, as though, somehow, his own heart werephotographed and held up to view. 

Susie had finished her lesson, and, cramped from sitting, was walkingabout the living-room to rest herself, while this conversation was takingplace. Her glance fell upon a gaudy vase on a shelf, and some thought cameto her which made her laugh mischievously. She emptied the contents of thevase into the palm of her hand and, closing the other over it, tiptoedinto the dining-room and stood behind Smith. 

Dora and he, engrossed in conversation, paid no attention to her. She puther cupped palms close to Smith's ear and, shaking them vigorously, shouted:

"Snakes!"

The result was such as Susie had not anticipated. 

With a shriek which was womanish in its shrillness, Smith sprang to hisfeet, all but upsetting the lamp in his violence. Unmixed horror waswritten upon his face. 

The girl herself shrank back at what she had done; then, holding outseveral rattles for inspection, she said:

"Looks like you don't care for snakes. "

"You--you little----"

Only Susie guessed the unspeakable epithet he meant to use. Her eyeswarned him, and, too, he remembered Dora in time. He said instead, with aslight laugh of confusion:

"Snakes scares me, and rat-traps goin' off. "

The color had not yet returned to his face when a knock came upon thedoor. 

In response to Susie's call, a tall stranger stepped inside--a strangerwide of shoulder, and with a kind of grim strength in his young face. 

From the unnatural brightness of the eyes of Susie and of Smith, and theirstill tense attitudes, Ralston sensed the fact that something hadhappened. He returned Smith's unpleasant look with a gaze as steady as hisown. Then his eyes fell upon Dora and lingered there. 

She had sprung to her feet and was still standing. Her cheeks wereflushed, her eyes luminous, and the soft lamplight burnishing her brownhair made the moment one of her best. Smith saw the frank admiration inthe stranger's look. 

"May I stop here to-night?" He addressed Dora. 

He had the characteristic Western gravity of manner and expression, thedistinguishing definiteness of purpose. Though the quality of his voice, its modulation, bespoke the man of poise and education, the accent wasunmistakably of the West. 

"There's a bunk-house. " It was Smith who answered. 

His unuttered epithet still rankled; Susie turned upon him with insultingemphasis:

"And you'd better get out to it!"

"Are you the boss here?" The stranger put the question to Smith with coolpoliteness. 

"What I say _goes!_"

Smith looked marvellously ugly. 

Susie leaned toward him, and her childish face was distorted with anger asshe shrieked:

"_Not yet, Mister Smith!_"

Involuntarily, Dora and the stranger exchanged glances in the awkwardsilence which followed. Then, more to relieve her embarrassment than forany other reason, Ralston said quietly, "Very well, I will do asthis--gentleman suggests, " and withdrew. 

"Good-night, " said Dora, gathering up her books; but neither Smith norSusie answered. 

With both hands deep in his trousers' pockets, Smith was smiling at Susie, with a smile which was little short of devilish; and the girl, throwing alast look of defiance at him, also left the room, violently slammingbehind her the door of the bed-chamber occupied by her mother andherself. 

For a full minute Smith stood as they had left him--motionless, hiseyelids drooping. Rousing himself, he went to the window and looked intothe moonlight-flooded world outside. Huddled in a blanket, a squat figuresat on a fallen cottonwood tree. 

Smith eyed it, then asked himself contemptuously:

"Ain't that pure Injun?"

Taking his hat, he too stepped into the moonlight. 

The woman did not look up at his approach, so he stooped until his cheektouched hers. 

"What's the matter, Prairie Flower?"

"My heart is under my feet. " Her voice was harsh. 

In the tone one uses to a sulky child, he said:

"Come into the house. "

"You no like me, white man. You like de white woman. "

Smith reached under the blanket and took her hand. 

"Why don't you marry de white woman?"

He pressed her hand tightly against his heart. 

"Come into the house, Prairie Flower. "

Her face relaxed like that of a child when it smiles through its tears. And Smith, in the hour when the first real love of his life was at itszenith, when his heart was so full of it that it seemed well nighbursting, walked back to the house with the squaw clinging tightly to hisfingers. 

VIII

THE BUG-HUNTER ELUCIDATES

The same instinct which made Ralston recognize Susie as his friend toldhim that Smith was his enemy; though, verily, that person who would haveconstrued as evidences of esteem and budding friendship Smith's blacklooks when Ralston presumed to talk with Dora, even upon the most ordinarytopics, would have been dull of comprehension indeed. 

While no reason for remaining appeared to be necessary at the MacDonaldranch, Ralston hinted at hunting stray horses; and casually expressed ahope that he might be able to pick up a bunch of good ponies at areasonable figure--which explanation was entirely satisfactory to all saveSmith. The latter frequently voiced the opinion that Ralston lingeredsolely for the purpose of courting the Schoolmarm, an opinion which thegrub-liners agreed was logical, since they too, along with the majority ofunmarried males for fifty miles around, cherished a similar ambition. 

Dora had long since ceased to consider as extraordinary the extendedvisits which strangers paid to the ranch; therefore, she saw nothingunusual in the fact that Ralston stayed on. 

If furtive-eyed and restless passers-by arrived after dark, slept in thehay near their unsaddled horses, and departed at dawn, assuredly no personat the MacDonald ranch was rude enough to ask reasons for their haste. Itshospitality was as boundless, as free, as the range itself; and if uponleaving any guest had happened to express gratitude for food and shelter, it is doubtful if any incident could more have surprised Susie and hermother, unless, mayhap, it might have been an offer of payment for thesame. 

Ralston told himself that, since he could remain without comment, theranch was much better situated for his purpose than Colonel Tolman's home;but the really convincing point in its favor, though one which he refusedto recognize as influencing him in the least, was that he was nearer Doraby something like eight miles than he would have been at the Bar C. Then, too, though there was nothing tangible to justify his suspicions, Ralstonbelieved that his work lay close at hand. 

Like Colonel Tolman, he had come to think that it was not the Indians whowere killing; and the nesters, though a spiritless, shiftless lot, hadalways been honest enough. But the bunk-house on the MacDonald ranch wasoften filled with the material of which horse and cattle thieves are made, and Ralston hoped that he might get a clue from some word inadvertentlydropped there. 

He often thought that he never had seen a more heterogeneous gatheringthan that which assembled at times around the table. And with Longfellowin the dining-room, ethnological dissertations in one end of thebunk-house, and personal reminiscences and experiences in gun-fights andaffairs of the heart in the other end, there was afforded a sufficientvariety of mental diversion to suit nearly any taste. 

McArthur in the rôle of desperado seemed preposterous to Ralston; yet heremembered that Ben Reed, a graduate of a theological seminary, who couldtalk tears into the eyes of an Apache, was the slickest stock thief westof the Mississippi. He was well aware that a pair of mild eyes and gentle, ingenuous manners are many a rogue's most valuable asset, and though thebug-hunter talked frankly of his pilgrimages into the hills, there wasalways a chance that his pursuit was a pose, his zeal counterfeit. 

One evening which was typical of others, Ralston sat on the edge of hisbunk, rolling an occasional cigarette and listening with huge enjoyment tothe conversation of a group around the sheet-iron stove, of which McArthurwas the central figure. 

McArthur, riding his hobby enthusiastically, quite forgot the character ofhis listeners, and laid his theories regarding the interchange ofmammalian life between America and Asia during the early Pleistoceneperiod, before Meeteetse Ed, Old Man Rulison, Tubbs, and others, in thesame language in which he would have argued moot questions withcolleagues engaged in similar research. The language of learning was asnatural to McArthur as the vernacular of the West was to Tubbs, and inmoments of excitement he lapsed into it as a foreigner does into hisnative tongue under stress of feeling. 

"I maintain, " asserted McArthur, with a gesture of emphasis, "that thePaleolithic man of Europe followed the mastodon to North America and hereremained. "

Meeteetse Ed, whose cheeks were flushed, laid his hot hand upon hisforehead and declared plaintively as he blinked at McArthur:

"Pardner, I'm gittin' a headache from tryin' to see what you're talkin'about. "

"Air you sayin' anything a-tall, " demanded Old Man Rulison, suspiciously, "or air you joshin'?"

"Them's words all right, " said Tubbs. "Onct I worked under a section bossover on the Great Northern what talked words like them. He believed wesprung up from tuds and lizards--and the likes o' that. Yes, he did--onthe square. "

"There are many believers in the theory of evolution, " observed McArthur. 

"That's it--that's the word. That's what he was. " Then, in the tone of onewho hands out a clincher, Tubbs demanded: "Look here, Doc, if that's sowhy ain't all these ponds and cricks around here a-hatchin' out children?"

"Guess that'll hold him for a minute, " Meeteetse Ed whispered to hisneighbor. 

But instead of being covered with confusion by this seemingly unanswerableargument, McArthur gazed at Tubbs in genuine pity. 

"Let me consider how I can make it quite clear to you. Perhaps, " he saidthoughtfully, "I cannot do better than to give you Herbert Spencer'sdefinition. Spencer defines evolution, as nearly as I can remember hisexact words, as an integration of matter and concomita, dissipation ofmotion; during which the matter passes from an indefinite heterogeneity toa definite, incoherent heterogeneity, and during which the retained motionundergoes a parallel transformation. Materialistic, agnostic, and theisticevolution----"

Meeteetse Ed fell off his chair in a mock faint and crashed to the floor. 

Susie, who had entered, saw McArthur's embarrassment, and refused to joinin the shout of laughter, though her eyes danced. 

"Don't mind him, " she said comfortingly, as she eyed Meeteetse, sprawledon his back with his eyes closed. "He's afraid he'll learn something. Heused to be a sheep-herder, and I don't reckon he's got more'n two hundredand fifty words in his whole vocabulary. Why, I'll bet he never _heard_ aword of more'n three syllables before. Get up, Meeteetse. Go out in thefresh air and build yourself a couple of them sheep-herder's monuments. It'll make you feel better. "

The prostrate humorist revived. Susie's jeers had the effect of a bucketof ice-water, for he had not been aware that this blot upon hisescutcheon--the disgraceful epoch in his life when he had earned honestmoney herding sheep--was known. 

"My enthusiasm runs away with me when I get upon this subject, " saidMcArthur, in blushing apology to the group. "I am sorry that I have boredyou. "

"No bore a-tall, " declared Old Man Rulison magnanimously. "You cut loosewhenever you feel like it: we kin stand it as long as you kin. "

After McArthur had gone to his pneumatic mattress in the patent tentpitched near the bunk-house, Ralston said to Susie:

"You and the bug-hunter are great friends, aren't you?"

"You bet! We're pardners. Anybody that gets funny with him has got me tofight. "

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" Ralston laughed. 

"We've got secrets--the bug-hunter and me. "

"You're rather young for secrets, Susie. "

"Nobody's too young for secrets, " she declared. "Haven't you any?"

"Sure, " Ralston nodded. 

"I like you, " Susie whispered impulsively. "Let's swap secrets. "

He looked at her and wished he dared. He would have liked to tell her ofhis mission, to ask her help; for he realized that, if she chose, no onecould help him more. Like Smith, he recognized that quality in her theyeach called "gameness, " and even more than Smith he appreciated thecommingling of Scotch shrewdness and Indian craft. He believed Susie to behonest; but he had believed many things in the past which time had notdemonstrated to be facts. No, the chance was too great to take; for shouldshe prove untrustworthy or indiscreet, his mission would be a failure. Sohe answered jestingly:

"My secrets are not for little girls to know. "

Susie gave him a quick glance. 

"Oh, you don't look as though you had that kind, " and turned away. 

Ralston felt somehow that he had lost an opportunity. He could not ridhimself of the feeling the entire evening; and he made up his mind tocultivate Susie's friendship. But it was too late; he had made a mistakenot unlike Dora's. Susie had felt herself rebuffed, and, like theSchoolmarm, Ralston had laughed at her with his eyes. It was a greatthing--a really sacred thing to Susie--this secret that she had offeredhim. The telling of it to McArthur had been so delightful an experiencethat she yearned to repeat it, but now she meant never to tell any oneelse. Any way, McArthur was her "pardner, " and it was enough that heshould know. So it came about that afterwards, when Ralston sought hercompany and endeavored to learn something of the workings of her mind, hefound the same barrier of childish reserve which had balked Dora, and noamount of tact or patience seemed able to break it down. 

The young deputy sheriff's interest in Dora increased in leaps and bounds. He experienced an odd but delightful agitation when he saw the sleepywhite pony plodding down the hill, and the sensation became one easilydefined each time that he observed Smith's horse ambling in the roadbeside hers. The feeling which inspired Tubbs's disgruntled comment, "Smith rides herd on the Schoolmarm like a cow outfit in a bad wolfcountry, " found an echo in Ralston's own breast. Truly, Smith guarded theSchoolmarm with the vigilance of a sheep-dog. 

He saw a possible rival in every new-comer, but most of all he fearedRalston; for Smith was not too blinded by prejudice to appreciate the factthat Ralston was handsome in a strong, man's way, younger than himself, and possessed of the advantages of education which enabled him to talkwith Dora upon subjects that left him, Smith, dumb. Such times werewormwood and gall to Smith; yet in his heart he never doubted but that hewould have Dora and her love in the end. Smith's faith in himself and hisability to get what he really desired was sublime. The chasm betweenhimself and Dora--the difference of birth and education--meant nothing tohim. It is doubtful if he recognized it. He would have considered himselfa king's equal; indeed, it would have gone hard with royalty, had royaltyby any chance ordered Smith to saddle his horse. He judged by thestandards of the plains: namely, gameness, skill, resourcefulness; to him, there _were_ no other standards. After all, Dora Marshall was only awoman--the superior of other women, to be sure, but a woman; and if hewanted her--why not?

He would have been amazed, enraged through wounded vanity, if it had beenpossible for him to see himself from Dora's point of view: a subject forreformation; a test for many trite theories; an erring human to bereclaimed by a woman's benign influence. Naturally, these thoughts had notsuggested themselves to Smith. 

Ralston looked forward eagerly to the evening meal, since it was almostthe only time at which he could exchange a word with Dora. Breakfast was ahurried affair, while both she and Susie were absent from the middaydinner. The shy, fluttering glances which he occasionally surprised fromher, the look of mutual appreciation which sometimes passed between themat a quaint bit of philosophy or naïve remark, started his pulses dancingand set the whole world singing a wordless song of joy. 

Somehow, eating seemed a vulgar function in the Schoolmarm's presence, and he wished with all his heart that the abominable grammar lessons whichfilled her evenings might some time end; in which case he would be able toconverse with her when not engaged in rushing bread and meat to and fro. 

His most carefully laid plans to obtain a few minutes alone with her wereinvariably thwarted by Smith. And from the heights to which he had beentransported by some more than passing friendly glance at the table, he wasdragged each evening to the depths by the sight of Dora and Smith withtheir heads together over that accursed grammar. 

He commenced to feel a distaste for his bunk-house associates, and tookto wandering out of doors, pausing most frequently in his meanderingsjust outside the circle of light thrown through the window by thedining-room lamp. Dora's guilelessness in believing that Smith's interestin his lessons was due to a desire for knowledge did not make thetableau less tantalizing to Ralston, but it would have been against everytenet in his code to suggest to Dora that Smith was not the misguideddiamond-in-the-rough which she believed him. 

Smith, on the contrary, had no such scruples. He lost no opportunity tosneer at Ralston. When he discovered Dora wearing one of the first flowersof spring, which Ralston had brought her, Smith said darkly:

"That fresh guy is a dead ringer for a feller that quit his wife and fivekids in Livingston and run off with a biscuit-shooter. "

Dora laughed aloud. The clean-cut and youthful Ralston deserting a wifeand five children for a "biscuit-shooter" was not a convincing picture. That she did not receive his insinuation seriously but added fuel to theunreasoning jealousy beginning to flame in Smith's breast. 

Yet Smith treated Ralston with a consideration which was surprising inview of the wanton insults he frequently inflicted upon those whom hedisliked. Susie guessed the reason for his superficial courtesy, andRalston, perhaps, suspected it also. In his heart, Smith was afraid. Firstand always, he was a judge of men--rather, of certain qualities in men. Heknew that should he give intentional offense to Ralston, he would beobliged either to retract or to back up his insult with a gun. Ralstonwould be the last man to accept an affront with meekness. 

Smith did not wish affairs to reach this crisis. He did not want to forcean issue until he had demonstrated to his own satisfaction that he was thebetter man of the two with words or fists or weapons. But once he foundthe flaw in Ralston's armor, he would speedily become the aggressor. Suchwere Smith's tactics. He was reckless with caution; daring when it wassafe. 

The rôle he was playing gave him no concern. Though the Indian woman'sspells of sullenness irritated him, he conciliated her with endearingwords, caresses, and the promise of a speedy marriage. He appeased herjealousy of Dora by telling her that he studied the foolish book-wordsonly that he might the better work for her interests; that he was fittinghimself to cope with the shrewd cattlemen with whom there were constantdealings, and that when they were married, the Schoolmarm should liveelsewhere. Like others of her sex, regardless of race or color, the Indianwoman believed because she wanted to believe. 

Just where his actions were leading him, Smith did not stop to consider. He had no fear of results. With an overweening confidence arising frompast successes, he believed that matters would adjust themselves as theyalways had. Smith wanted a home, and the MacDonald cattle, horses, andhay; but more than any of them he wanted Dora Marshall. How he was goingto obtain them all was not then clear to him, but that when the time camehe could make a way, he never for a moment doubted. 

Smith's confidence in himself was supreme. If he could have expressed hisbelief in words, he might have said that he could control Destiny, shapeevents and his own life as he liked. He had been shot at, pursued byposses, all but lynched upon an occasion, and always he had escaped insome unlooked-for manner little short of miraculous. As a result, he hadcome to cherish a superstitious belief that he bore a charmed life, thatno real harm could come to him. So he courted each woman according to hernature as he read it, and waited blindly for success. 

IX

SPEAKING OF GRASSHOPPERS----

It was Saturday, and, there being no school, both Susie and Dora were athome. Ralston was considering in which direction he should ride that daywhen Susie came to him and after saying to Smith with elaboratepoliteness, "Excuse me, Mr. Smith, for whispering, but I have somethingvery private and confidential to say to Mr. Ralston, " she shielded hermouth with her hand and said:

"Teacher and I are going fishing. We are going up on the side-hill now tocatch grasshoppers for bait, and I thought maybe you'd like to help, andto fish with us this afternoon. " She tittered in his ear. 

Susie's action conveyed two things to Ralston's mind: first, that he hadnot been so clever as he had supposed in dissembling his feelings; andsecond, that Susie, recognizing them, was disposed to render him friendlyaid. 

Smith noted Ralston's brightening eye with suspicion, jumping to the verynatural conclusion that only some pleasing information concerning theSchoolmarm would account for it. When, a few minutes later, he saw thethree starting away together, each with a tin or pasteboard box, herealized that his surmise was correct. 

Glowering, Smith walked restlessly about the house, ignoring the Indianwoman's inquiring, wistful eyes, cursing to himself as he wandered throughthe corrals and stables, hating with a personal hatred everything whichbelonged to Ralston: his gentle-eyed brown mare; his expensive Navajosaddle-blanket; his single-rigged saddle; his bridle with the wide cheekpieces and the hand-forged bit. It would have been a satisfaction todestroy them all. He hated particularly the little brown mare whichRalston brushed with such care each morning. Smith's mood was blackindeed. 

But Ralston, as he walked between Dora and Susie to the side-hill wherethe first grasshoppers of spring were always found, felt at peace with allthe world--even Smith--and it was in his heart to hug the elfishhalf-breed child as she skipped beside him. Dora's frequent, bubblinglaughter made him thrill; he longed to shout aloud like a schoolboy givenan unexpected holiday. 

Each time that his eyes sought Dora's, shadowed by the wide brim of herhat, her eyelids drooped, slowly, reluctantly, as though they fell againsther will, while the color came and went under her clear skin in a fashionwhich filled him with delighted wonder. 

It may be said that there are few things in life so absorbing as catchinggrasshoppers. While Ralston previously had recognized this fact, he neverhad supposed that it contained any element of pleasure akin to thedelights of Paradise. To chase grasshoppers by oneself is one thing; topursue them in the company of a fascinating schoolmarm is another; andwhen one has in his mind the thought that ultimately he and the schoolmarmmay chance to fall upon the same grasshopper, the chase becomes a sportfor the gods to envy. 

Anent grasshoppers. While the first grasshopper of early spring has notthe devilish agility of his August descendant, he is sufficiently alert tomake his capture no mean feat. It must be borne in mind that thegrasshopper is not a fool, and that he appears to see best from the rear. Though he remains motionless while the enemy is slipping stealthily uponhim, it by no means follows that he is not aware of said enemy's approach. The grasshopper has a more highly developed sense of humor than any otherknown insect. It is an established fact that after a person has fallenupon his face and clawed at the earth where the grasshopper was but isnot, the grasshopper will be seen distinctly to laugh from his coign ofvantage beyond reach. 

Furthermore, it is quite impossible to fathom the mind of the grasshopper, his intentions or habits; particularly those of the small, gray-pinkvariety. He is as erratic in his flight as a clay pigeon, though it istolerably safe to assume that he will not jump backward. He may not jumpat all, but, with a deceptive movement, merely sidle under a sage-leaf. Where questions concerning his personal safety are concerned, he showsrare judgment, appearing to recognize exactly the psychological moment inwhich to fly, jump, or sit still. 

No sluggard, be it known, can hope to catch grasshoppers with any degreeof success. It requires an individual nimble of mind and body, whosenerves are keyed to a tension, who is dominated by a mood which refuses torecognize the perils of snakes, cactus, and prairie-dog holes; forgetfulof self and dignity, inured to ridicule. Such a one is justified in makingthe attempt. 

The large, brownish-black, grandfatherly-looking grasshopper is the mosteasily captured, though not so satisfactory for bait as the pea-green orthe gray-pink. It was to the first variety that Dora and Ralston devotedthemselves, while Susie followed the smaller and more sprightly around thehill till she was out of sight. 

Ralston became aware that no matter in which direction the grasshopper hehad marked for his own took him, singularly enough he always ended inpursuit of Dora's. As a matter of fact, her grasshopper looked so muchmore desirable than his, that he could not well do otherwise than abandonthe pursuit of his own for hers. 

Her low "Oh, thank you so much!" was so heartfelt and sincere when hepushed the insect through the slit in her pasteboard box that he trulybelieved he would have run one all the way to the Middle Fork of PowderRiver only to hear her say it again. And then her womanly aversion toinflicting pain, her appealing femininity when she brought a bulky-bodied, tobacco-chewing grasshopper for him to pinch its head into insensibility!He liked this best of all, for, of necessity, their fingers touched in theexchange, and he wondered a little at his strength of will in refrainingfrom catching her hand in his and refusing to let go. 

Finally a grasshopper of abnormal size went up with a whir. Big he was, incomparison with his kind, as the monster steer in the side-show, theCardiff giant, or Jumbo the mammoth. 

"Oh!" cried Dora; "we must have him!" and they ran side by side in wild, determined pursuit. 

The insect sailed far and fast, but they could not lose sight of him, forhe was like an aeroplane in flight, and when in an ill-advised moment helit to gather himself, they fell upon him tooth and nail--to use a phrase. Dora's hand closed over the grasshopper, and Ralston's closed over Dora's, holding it tight in one confused moment of delicious, tongue-tiedsilence. 

Her shoulder touched his, her hair brushed his cheek. He wished that theymight go on holding down that grasshopper until the end of time. She waspanting with the exertion, her nose was moist like a baby's when itsleeps, and he noticed in a swift, sidelong glance that the pupils of hereyes all but covered the iris. 

"He--he's wiggling!" she said tremulously. 

"Is he?" Ralston asked fatuously, at a loss for words, but making no moveto lift his hand. 

"And there's a cactus in my finger. "

"Let me see it. " Immediately his face was full of deep concern. 

He held her fingers, turning the small pink palm upward. 

"We must get it out, " he declared firmly. "They poison some people. "

He wondered if it was imagination, or did her hand tremble a little inhis? His relief was not unmixed with disappointment when the cactus spinecame out easily. 

"They hurt--those needles. " He continued to regard the tiny puncture withunabated interest. 

"Tra! la! la!" sang Susie from the brow of the hill. "Old Smith iscomin'. "

Ralston dropped Dora's hand, and they both reddened, each wondering howlong Susie had been doing picket duty. 

"Out for your failin' health, Mister Smith?" inquired Susie, withsolicitude. 

"I'm huntin' horses, and hopin' to pick up a bunch of ponies cheap, " hereplied with ugly significance as he rode by. 

And while the soft light faded from Ralston's eyes, the color leaped tohis face; unconsciously his fists clenched as he looked after Smith'svanishing back. It was the latter's first overt act of hostility; Ralstonknew, and perhaps Smith intended it so, that the clash between them mustnow come soon. 

X

MOTHER LOVE AND SAVAGE PASSION CONFLICT

It was Sunday, a day later, when Susie came into the living-room andnoticed her mother sewing muskrat around the top of a moccasin. It was aman's moccasin. The woman had made no men's moccasins since her husband'sdeath. The sight chilled the girl. 

"Mother, " she asked abruptly, "what do you let that hold-up hang aroundhere for?"

"Who you mean?" the woman asked quickly. 

"That Smith!" Susie spat out the word like something offensive. 

The Indian woman avoided the girl's eyes. 

"I like him, " she answered. 

"Mother!"

"Maybe he stay all time. " Her tone was stubborn, as though she expectedand was prepared to resist an attack. 

"You don't--you _can't_--mean it!". Susie's thin face flushed scarlet withshame. 

"Sa-ah, " the woman nodded, "I mean it;" and Susie, staring at her in akind of terror, saw that she did. 

"Oh, Mother! Mother!" she cried passionately, dropping on the floor at thewoman's feet and clasping her arms convulsively about the Indian woman'sknees. "Don't--don't say that! We've always been a little different fromthe rest. We've always held our heads up. People like us and respectus--both Injuns and white. We've never been talked about--you and me--andnow you are going to spoil it all!"

"I get tied up to him right, " defended the woman sullenly. 

"Oh, Mother!" wailed the child. 

"We need good white man to run de ranch. "

"But _Smith_--do you think _he's_ good? Good! Is a rattlesnake good? Can'tyou see what he is, Mother?--you who are smarter than me in seeing throughpeople? He's mean--onery to the marrow--and some day sure--_sure_--he'llturn, and strike his fangs into you. "

"He no onery, " the woman replied, in something like anger. 

"It's his nature, " Susie went on, without heeding her. "He can't help it. All his thoughts and talk and schemes are about something crooked. Can'tyou tell by the things he lets drop that he ought to be in the 'pen'? He'streacherous, ungrateful, a born thief. I saw him take Tubbs's halter, andthere was the regular thief look in his eyes when he cut his own name onit. I saw him kick a dog, and he kicked it like a brute. He kicked it inthe ribs with his toe. Men--decent men--kick a dog with the side of theirfoot. I saw his horse fall with him, and he held it down and beat it onthe neck with a chain, where it wouldn't show. He'd hold up a bank or roba woman; he'd kill a man or a prairie-dog, and think no more of the onethan the other. 

"I tell you, Mother, as sure as I sit here on the floor at your feet, begging you, he's going to bring us trouble; he's going to deal us misery!I feel it! I _know_ it!"

"You no like de white man. "

"That's right; I don't like the white man. He wants a good place to stay;he wants your horses and cattle and hay; and--he wants the Schoolmarm. He's making a fool of you, Mother. "

"He no make fool of me, " she answered complacently. "He make fool of dewhite woman, maybe. "

"Look out of the window and see for yourself. "

They arose together, and the girl pointed to Smith and Dora, seated sideby side on the cottonwood log. 

"Did he ever look at you like that, Mother?"

"He make fool of de white woman, " she reiterated stubbornly, but her faceclouded. 

"He makes a fool of himself, but not of her, " declared Susie. "He's crazyabout her--locoed. Everybody sees it except her. Believe me, Mother, listen to Susie just this once. "

"He like me. I stick to him;" but she went back to her bench. Theunfamiliar softness of Smith's face hurt her. 

The tears filled Susie's eyes and ran down her cheeks. Her mother'spassion for this hateful stranger was stronger than her mother-love, thatsilent, undemonstrative love in which Susie had believed as she believedthat the sun would rise each morning over there in the Bad Lands, to warmher when she was cold. She buried her face in her mother's lap and sobbedaloud. 

The woman had not seen Susie cry since she was a tiny child, save when herfather and White Antelope died, and the numbed maternal instinct stirredin her breast. She laid her dark, ringed fingers upon Susie's hair andstroked it gently. 

"Don't cry, " she said slowly. "If he make fool of me, if he lie when hesay he tie up to me right, if he like de white woman better den me, I killhim. I kill him, Susie. " She pointed to a bunch of roots and short driedstalks which hung from the rafters in one corner of the room. "See--thatis the love-charm of the Sioux. It was gifted to me by Little Coyote'swoman--a Mandan. It bring de love, and too much--it kill. If he make foolof me, if he not like me better den de white woman, I give him delove-charm of de Sioux. I fix him! _I fix him right!_"

Out on the cottonwood log Smith and the Schoolmarm had been speaking ofmany things; for the man could talk fluently in his peculiar vernacular, upon any subject which interested him or with which he was familiar. 

The best of his nature, whatever of good there was in him, was uppermostwhen with Dora. He really believed at such times that he was what shethought him, and he condemned the shortcomings of others like one speakingfrom the lofty pinnacle of unimpeachable virtue. 

In her presence, new ambitions, new desires, awakened, and sentimentswhich he never had suspected he possessed revealed themselves. He washappy in being near her; content when he felt the touch of her loose capeon his arm. 

It never before had occurred to Smith that the world through which he hadgone his tumultuous way was a beautiful place, or that there was joy inthe simple fact of being strongly alive. When the sage-brush commenced toturn green and the many brilliant flowers of the desert bloomed, when theair was stimulating like wine and fragrant with the scents of spring, ithad meant little to Smith beyond the facts that horse-feed would soon beplentiful and that he could lay aside his Mackinaw coat. The mountainssuggested nothing but that they held big game and were awkward places toget through on horseback, while the deserts brought no thoughts save ofthirst and loneliness and choking alkali dust. Upon a time a stranger hadmentioned the scenery, and Smith had replied ironically that there wasplenty of it and for him to help himself!

But this spring was different--so different that he asked himselfwonderingly if other springs had been like it; and to-day, as he sat inthe sunshine and looked about him, he saw for the first time grandeur inthe saw-toothed, snow-covered peaks outlined against the dazzling blue ofthe western sky. For the first time he saw the awing vastness of thedesert, and the soft pastel shades which made their desolation beautiful. He breathed deep of the odorous air and stared about him like a blind manwho suddenly sees. 

During a silence, Smith looked at Dora with his curiously intent gaze; hischaracteristic stare which held nothing of impertinence--only interest, intense, absorbing interest--and as he looked a thought came to him, athought so unexpected, so startling, that he blinked as if some one hadstruck him in the face. It sent a bright red rushing over him, coloringhis neck, his ears, his white, broad forehead. 

He thought of her as the mother of children--his children--bearing hisname, miniatures of himself and of her. He never had thought of thisbefore. He never had met a woman who inspired in him any such desire. Hefollowed the thought further. What if he should have a permanent home--aranch that belonged to him exclusively--"Smith's Ranch"--where there werewhite curtains at the windows, and little ones who came tumbling throughthe door to greet him when he rode into the yard? A place where peoplecame to visit, people who reckoned him a person of consequence because hestood for something. He must have seen a place like it somewhere, thepicture was so vivid in his mind. 

The thought of living like others never before had entered into the schemeof his calculations. Since the time when he had "quit the flat" back inthe country where they slept between sheets, the world had been lined upagainst him in its own defense. Life had been a constant game of hare andhounds, with the pack frequently close at his heels. He had been ever onthe move, both for reasons of safety and as a matter of taste. His pointof view was the abnormal one of the professional law-breaker: the worldwas his legitimate prey; the business of his life was to do as he pleasedand keep his liberty; to outwit sheriffs and make a clean get-away. To beknown among his kind as "game" and "slick, " was the only distinction hecraved. His chiefest ambition had been to live up to his title of "BadMan. " In this he had found glory which satisfied him. 

"Well, " Dora asked at last, smiling up at him, "what is it?"

Smith hesitated; then he burst out:

"Girl, do I stack up different to you nor anybody else? Have you anyfeelin' for me at all?"

"Why, I think I've shown my interest in trying to teach you, " she replied, a little abashed by his vehemence. 

"What do you want to teach me for?" he demanded. 

"Because, " Dora declared, "you have possibilities. "

"Why don't you teach Meeteetse Ed and Tubbs?"

Dora laughed aloud. 

"Candidly, I think it would be a waste of time. They could never hope tobe much more than we see them here. And they are content as they are. "

"So was I, girl, until our trails crossed. I could ride without grub allday, and sing. I could sleep on a saddle-blanket like a tired pup, withonly a rock for a wind-break and my saddle for a pillow. Now I can't sleepin a bed. It's horrible--this mixed up feelin'--half the time wantin' toholler and laugh and the other half wantin' to cry. "

"I don't see why you should feel like that, " said Dora gravely. "You aregetting along. It's slow, but you're learning. "

"Oh, yes, I'm learnin', " Smith answered grimly--"fast. "

He saw her wondering look and went on fiercely. 

"Girl, don't you see what I mean? Don't you _sabe_? My feelin' for you ismore nor friendship. I can't tell you how I feel. It's nothin' I ever hadbefore, but I've heard of it a-plenty. It's love--that's what it is! I'veseen it, too, a-plenty. 

"There's two things in the world a feller'll go through hell for--justtwo: love and gold. I don't mean money, but gold--the pure stuff. They'llwaller through snow-drifts, they'll swim rivers with the ice runnin', they'll crawl through canyons and over trails on their hands and knees, they'll starve and they'll freeze, they'll work till the blood runs fromtheir blistered hands, they'll kill their horses and their pardners, forgold! And they'll do it for love. Yes, I've seen it a-plenty, me--Smith. 

"Things I've done, I've done, and they don't worry me none, " he went on, "but lately I've thought of Dutch Joe. I worked him over for singin' alove-song, and I wisht I hadn't. He'd held up a stage, and was cached inmy camp till things simmered down. It was lonesome, and I'd want to talk;but he'd sit back in the dark, away from the camp-fire, and sing tohimself about 'ridin' to Annie. ' How the miles wasn't long or the trailrough if only he was 'ridin' to Annie. ' Sittin' back there in the brush, he sounded like a sick coyote a-hollerin'. It hadn't no tune, and Ithought it was the damnedest fool song I ever heard. After he'd sung itmore'n five hundred times, I hit him on the head with a six-shooter, andwe mixed. He quit singin', but he held that gretch against me as long ashe lived. 

"I thought it was because he was Dutch, but it wasn't. 'Twas love. Why, girl, I'd ride as long as my horse could stand up under me, and then I'dhoof it, just to hear you say, 'Smith, do you think it will rain?'"

"Oh, I never thought of this!" cried Dora, as Smith paused. 

Her face was full of distress, and her hands lay tightly clenched in herlap. 

"Do you mean I haven't any show--no show at all?" The color fading fromSmith's face left it a peculiar yellow. 

"It never occurred to me that you would misunderstand, or think anythingbut that I wanted to help you. I thought that you wanted to learn so thatyou would have a better chance in life. "

"Did you--honest? Are you as innocent as that, girl?" he asked in savagescepticism. "Did you believe that I'd set and study them damned verbs justso I'd have a better chanct in life?"

"You said so. "

"Oh, yes, maybe I _said_ so. "

"Surely, _surely_, you don't think I would intentionally mislead you?"

"When a woman wants a man to dress or act or talk different, she generallycares some. "

"And I do 'care some'!" Dora cried impulsively. "I believe that you arenot making the best of yourself, of your life; that you are better thanyour surroundings; and because I do believe in you, I want to help you. Don't you understand?"

Her explanation was not convincing to Smith. 

"Is it because I don't talk grammar, and you think you'd have to live in alog-house and hang out your own wash?"

Dora considered. 

"Even if I cared for you, those things would have weight, " she answeredtruthfully. "I am content out here now, and like it because it is noveland I know it is temporary; but if I were asked to live here always, asyou suggest, in a log-house and hang out my own wash, I should have tocare a great deal. "

"It's because I haven't a stake, then, " he said bitterly. 

"No, not because you haven't a stake. I merely say that extreme povertywould be an objection. "

"But if I should get the _dinero_--me, Smith--plenty of it? Tell me, " hedemanded fiercely--"it's the time to talk now--is there any one else? It'sme for the devil straight if you throw me! You'd better take this gunhere, plant it on my heart, and pull the trigger. Because if I live--I'mtalkin' straight--what I have done will be just a kid's play to what I'lldo, if I ever cut loose for fair. Don't throw me, girl! Give me a show--ifthere ain't any one else! If there is, I'm quittin' the flat to-day. "

Dora was silent, panic-stricken with the responsibility which he seemedto have thrust upon her, almost terrified by the thought that he wasleaving his future in her hands--a malleable object, to be shapedaccording to her will for good or evil. 

A certain self-contained, spectacled youth, whose weekly letters arrivedwith regularity, rose before her mental vision, and as quickly vanished, leaving in his stead a man of a different type, a man at once unyieldingand gentle, both shy and bold; a man who seemed to typify in himself thefaults and virtues of the raw but vigorous West. Though she hesitated, shereplied:

"No, there is no one. "

And Ralston, fording the stream, lifted his eyes midway and saw Smithraise Dora's hand to his lips. 

XI

THE BEST HORSE

There was a subtle change in Ralston, which Dora was quick to feel. He wasdeferential, as always, and as eager to please; but he no longer soughther company, and she missed the quick exchange of sympathetic glances atthe table. It seemed to her, also, that the grimness in his face wasaccentuated of late. She found herself crying one night, and called ithomesickness, yet the small items of news contained in the latest letterfrom the spectacled youth had irritated her, and she had realized that sheno longer regarded church fairs, choir practice, and oyster suppers as"events. "

She wondered how she had offended Ralston, if at all; or was it that hethought her bold, a brazen creature, because she had let him keep her handso long upon the memorable occasion of the grasshopper hunt? She blushedin the darkness at the thought, and the tears slipped down her cheeksagain as she decided that this must be so, since there could be no otherexplanation. Before she finally slept, she had fully made up her mind thatshe would show him by added reserve and dignity of manner that she was notthe forward hoyden he undoubtedly believed her. And as a result of thismidnight decision, the Schoolmarm's "Good-morning, Mr. Ralston, " chilledthat person like a draught from cold storage. 

Susie noticed the absence of their former cordiality toward each other;and the obvious lack of warmth filled Smith with keen satisfaction. He hadno notion of its cause; it was sufficient that it was so. 

As their conversation daily became more forced, the estrangement moremarked, Ralston's wretchedness increased in proportion. He broodedmiserably over the scene he had witnessed; troubled, aside from his owninterest in Dora, that she should be misled by a man of Smith's moralcalibre. While he had delighted in her unworldly, childlike belief inpeople and things, in this instance he deeply regretted it. 

Ralston understood perfectly the part which Smith desired to play in hereyes. He had heard through Dora the stories Smith had told her of wildadventures in which he figured to advantage, of reckless deeds which hehinted would be impossible since falling under her influence. He posed asa brand snatched from the burning, and conveyed the impression that hissalvation was a duty which had fallen in her path for her to perform. Thatshe applied herself to the task of elevating Smith with such combinedpatience and ardor, was the grievance of which Ralston had most tocomplain. 

In his darker moments he told himself that she must have a liking for theman far stronger than he had believed, to have permitted the liberty whichhe had witnessed, one which, coming from Smith, seemed little short ofsacrilege. His unhappiness was not lessened by the instances he recalledwhere women had married beneath them through this mistaken sense of duty, pity, or less commendable emotions. 

Upon one thing he was determined, and that was never again to force hisattentions upon her, to take advantage of her helplessness as he had whenhe had held her hand so tightly and, as he now believed, against herwishes. Although she did not show it, she must have thought him a bumpkin, an oaf, an underbred cur. He groaned as he ransacked his vocabulary forfitting words. 

If only something would arise to reveal Smith's character to her in itstrue light! But this was too much to hope. In his depression, it seemed toRalston that the sun would never shine for him again, that failure waswritten on him like an I. D. Brand, that sorrow everlasting would eat andsleep with him. In this mood, after a brief exchange of breakfastcivilities, far worse than none, he walked slowly to the corral to saddle, cursing Smith for the braggart he knew he was and for the scoundrel hebelieved him to be. 

Smith, it seemed, was riding that morning also, for when Ralston led hisbrown mare saddled and bridled from the stable, Smith was tightening thecinch on his long-legged gray--the horse he had taken from the Englishman. The Schoolmarm, in her riding clothes, ran down the trail, callingimpartially:

"Will one of you please get my horse for me? He broke loose last night andis over there in the pasture. "

For reply, both Ralston and Smith swung into their saddles. 

"I aims to get that horse. There's no call for you to go, feller. "

Above all else, it was odious to Ralston to be addressed by Smith"feller. "

"If you happen to get to him first, " he answered curtly. "And I'd like tosuggest that my name is Ralston. "

By way of answer, Smith dug the spurs cruelly into the thin-skinnedblooded gray. Ralston loosened the reins on his brown mare, and it was arun from the jump. 

Each realized that the inevitable clash had come, that no pretense offriendliness would longer be possible between them, that from now on theywould be avowed enemies. As for Ralston, he was glad that the crisis hadarrived; glad of anything which would divert him for ever so short a timefrom his own bitter thoughts; glad of the test which he could meet in theopen, like a man. 

The corral gate was open, and this led into a lane something likethree-quarters of a mile in length, at the end of which was another gate, opening into the pasture where the runaway pony had crawled through theloose wire fence. 

The brown mare had responded to Ralston's signal like the loyal, honestlittle brute she was. The gravel flew behind them, and the rat-a-tat-tatof the horses' hoofs on the hard road was like the roll of a drum. Theywere running neck and neck, but Ralston had little fear of the result, unless the gray had phenomenal speed. 

Ralston knew that whoever reached the gate first must open it. If he couldget far enough in the lead, he could afford to do so; if not, he meant to"pull" his horse and leave it to Smith. The real race would be from thegate to the pony. 

The gray horse could run--his build showed that, and his stride bore outhis appearance. Yet Ralston felt no uneasiness, for the mare had stillseveral links of speed to let out--"and then some, " as he phrased it. Thepace was furious even to the gate; they ran neck and neck, like a team, and the face of each rider was set in lines of determination. Ralstonquickly saw that in the short stretch he would be unable to getsufficiently in the lead to open the gate in safety. So he pulled hishorse a little, wondering if Smith would do the same. But he did not. Instead, he spurred viciously, and, to Ralston's amazement, he went at thegate hard. Lifting the gray horse's head, he went over and on without abreak!

It was a chance, but Smith had taken it! He never had tried the horse, butit was from the English ranch, where he knew they were bred and trained tojump. His mocking laugh floated back to Ralston while he tore at thefastenings of the gate and hurled it from him. 

Ralston measured the gap between them and his heart sank. It lookedhopeless. The only thing in his favor was that it was a long run, and thegray might not have the wind or the endurance. The little mare stoodstill, her nose out, her soft eyes shining. As he lifted the reins, hepatted her neck and cried, breathing hard:

"Molly, old girl, if you win, it's oats and a rest all your life!"

He could have sworn the mare shared his humiliation. 

The saddle-leathers creaked beneath him at the leap she gave. She lay downto her work like a hound, running low, her neck outstretched, her taillying out on the breeze. Game, graceful, reaching out with her slim legsand tiny hoofs, she ate up the distance between herself and the gray in away that made even Ralston gasp. And still she gained--and gained! Hermuscles seemed like steel springs, and the unfaltering courage in herbrave heart made Ralston choke with pride and tenderness and gratitude. Even if she lost, the race she was making was something to rememberalways. But she was gaining inch by inch. The sage-brush and cactus swamunder her feet. When Ralston thought she had done her best, given allthat was in her, she did a little more. 

Smith knew, too, that she was gaining, though he would not turn his headto look. When her nose was at his horse's rump, he had it in his heart toturn and shoot her as she ran. She crept up and up, and both Smith andRalston knew that the straining, pounding gray had done its best. The workwas too rough for its feet. There was too much thoroughbred in it forlava-rock and sage-brush hummocks. Blind rage consumed Smith as he feltthe increasing effort of each stride and knew that it was going "dead"under him. He used his spurs with savage brutality, but the brown mare'sbreath was coming hot on his leg. The gray horse stumbled; its breath cameand went in sobs. Now they were neck and neck again. Then it was over, thelittle brown mare swept by, and Ralston's rope, cutting the air, droppedabout the neck of the insignificant, white "digger" that had caused itall. 

"I guess you're ridin' the best horse to-day, " said Smith, as he droppedfrom the saddle to retie his latigo. 

He gave the words a peculiar emphasis and inflection which made the otherman look at him. 

"Molly and I have a prejudice against taking dust, " Ralston answeredquietly. 

"It happens frequent that a feller has to get over his prejudices out inthis country. "

"That depends a little upon the fellow;" and he turned Molly's head towardthe ranch, with the pony in tow. 

Smith said nothing more, but rode off across the hills with all the evilin his nature showing in his lowering countenance. 

Dora's eyes were brilliant as they always were under excitement; and whenRalston dismounted she stroked Molly's nose, saying in a voice which wasmore natural than it had been for days when addressing him, "It wassplendid! _She_ is splendid!" and he glowed, feeling that perhaps he wasincluded a little in her praise. 

"You want to watch out now, " said Susie soberly. "Smith'll never rest tillhe's 'hunks. '"

Ralston thought the Schoolmarm hesitated, as if she were waiting for himto join them, or were going to ask him to do so; but she did not, and, although it was some satisfaction to feel that he had drawn first blood, he felt his despondency returning as soon as Dora and Susie had riddenaway. 

He walked aimlessly about, waiting for Molly to cool a bit before he lether drink preparatory to starting on his tiresome ride over the range. Both he and the Colonel believed that the thieves would soon grow bolder, and his strongest hope lay in coming upon them at work. He had noted thatthere were no fresh hides among those which hung on the fence, and hesauntered down to have another look at the old ones. With his foot heturned over something which lay close against a fence-post, half concealedin a sage-brush. Stooping, he unrolled it and shook it out; then hewhistled softly. It was a fresh hide with the brand cut out!

Ralston nodded his head in mingled satisfaction and regret. So the thiefwas working from the MacDonald ranch! Did the Indian woman know, hewondered. Was it possible that Susie was in ignorance? With all his heart, he hoped she was. He walked leisurely to the house and leaned against thejamb of the kitchen door. 

"Have the makings, Ling?" He passed his tobacco-sack and paper to thecook. 

"Sure!" said Ling jauntily. "I like 'em cigilette. "

And as they smoked fraternally together, they talked of food and itspreparation--subjects from which Ling's thoughts seldom wandered far. Whenthe advantages of soda and sour milk over baking powder were thoroughlyexhausted as a topic, Ralston asked casually:

"Who killed your last beef, Ling? It's hard to beat. "

"Yellow Bird, " he replied. "Him good butcher. "

"Yes, " Ralston agreed; "I should say that Yellow Bird was an uncommonlygood butcher. "

So, after all, it was the Indians who were killing. Ralston sauntered onto the bunk-house to think it over. 

"Tubbs, " McArthur was saying, as he eyed that person with an interestwhich he seldom bestowed upon his hireling, "you really have a mostremarkable skull. "

Tubbs, visibly flattered, smirked. 

"It's claimed that it's double by people what have tried to work me over. Onct I crawled in a winder and et up a batch of 'son-of-a-gun-in-a-sack'that the feller who lived there had jest made. He come in upon me suddent, and the way he hammered me over the head with the stove-lifter didn'ttrouble _him_, but, " declared Tubbs proudly, "he never even knocked me tomy knees. "

"It is of the type of dolichocephalic, " mused McArthur. 

"A barber told me that same thing the last time I had a hair-cut, "observed Tubbs blandly. "'Tubbs, ' says he, 'you ought to have a massajevery week, and lay the b'ar-ile on a-plenty. '"

"It is remarkably suggestive of the skulls found in the ancient paraderosof Patagonia. Very similar in contour--very similar. "

"There's no Irish in me, " Tubbs declared with a touch of resentment. "I'mpure mungrel--English and Dutch. "

"It is an extremely curious skull--most peculiar. " He felt of Tubbs's headwith growing interest. "This bump behind the ear, if the system ofphrenology has any value, would indicate unusual pugnacity. "

"That's where a mule kicked me and put his laig out of joint, " said Tubbshumorously. 

"Ah, that renders the skull pathological; but, even so, it is aninteresting skull to an anthropologist--a really valuable skull, it wouldbe to me, illustrating as it does certain features in dispute, for which Ihave stubbornly contended in controversies with the Preparator ofAnthropology at the École des Haute Études in Paris. "

"Why don't you sell it to him, Tubbs?" suggested Ralston, who had listenedin unfeigned amusement. 

Tubbs, startled, clasped both hands over the top of his head and backedoff. 

"Why, I need it myself. "

"Certainly--we understand that; but supposing you were to die--supposingsomething happened to you, as is liable to happen out here--you wouldn'tcare what became of your skull, once you were good and dead. If it weresold, you'd be just that much in, besides making an invaluablecontribution to science, " Ralston urged persuasively. 

"It not infrequently happens that paupers, and prisoners sentenced tosuffer capital punishment, dispose of their bodies for anatomicalpurposes, for which they are paid in advance. As a matter of fact, Tubbs, " declared McArthur earnestly, "my superficial examination of yourhead has so impressed me that upon the chance of some day adding it to mycollection I am willing to offer you a reasonable sum for it. "

"It's on bi-products that the money is made, " declared Ralston soberly, "and I advise you not to let this chance pass. You can raise money on therest of your anatomy any time; but selling your head separately likethis--don't miss it, Tubbs!"

"Don't I git the money till you git my head?" Tubbs demandedsuspiciously. 

"I could make a first payment to you, and the remainder could be paid toyour heirs. "

"My heirs! Say, all that I'll ever git for my head wouldn't be a smellamongst my heirs. A round-up of my heirs would take in the hull of NorthDakoty. Not aimin' to brag, I got mavericks runnin' on that range whatmust be twelve-year-old. "

McArthur looked the disgust he felt at Tubbs's ribald humor. 

"Your jests are exceedingly distasteful to me, Tubbs. "

"That ain't no jest. Onct I----"

"Let's get down to business, " interrupted Ralston. "What do you consideryour skull worth?"

"It's wuth considerable to me. I don't know as I'm so turrible anxious tosell. I can eat with it, and it gits me around. " Tubbs's tone took on theassumed indifference of an astute horse trader. "I've always held my headhigh, as you might say, and it looks to me like it ought to bring ahunderd dollars in the open market. No, I couldn't think of lettin' it gofor less than a hundred--cash. "

McArthur considered. 

"If you will agree to my conditions, I will give you my check for onehundred dollars, " he said at last. 

"That sounds reasonable, " Tubbs assented. 

"I should want you to carry constantly upon your person my name, address, and written instructions as to the care of and disposal of your skull, inthe event of your demise. I shall also insist that you do not voluntarilyplace your head where your skull may be injured; because, as you canreadily see, if it were badly crushed, it would be worthless for mypurpose, or that of the scientific body to whom I intend to bequeath myinterest in it, should I die before yourself. "

"I wasn't aimin' to lay it in a vise, " remarked Tubbs. 

While McArthur was drawing up the agreement between them, Tubbs's facebrightened with a unique thought. 

"Say, " he suggested, "why don't you leave word in them instructions for meto be mounted? I know a taxidermist over there near the Yellowstone Parkwhat can put up a b'ar or a timber wolf so natural you wouldn't know 'twasdead. Wouldn't it be kinda nice to see me settin' around the house with myteeth showin' and an ear of corn in my mouth? I'll tell you what I'll do:I'll sell you my hull hide for a hundred more. It might cost two dollarsto have me tanned, and with a nice felt linin' you could have a good rugout of me for a very little money. "

McArthur replied ironically:

"I never have regarded you as an ornament, Tubbs. "

Tubbs looked at the check McArthur handed him, with satisfaction. 

"That's what I call clear velvet!" he declared, and went off chuckling toshow it to his friends. 

"When you think of it, this is a very singular transaction, " observedMcArthur, wiping his fountain-pen carefully. 

"Yes, " and Ralston, no longer able to contain himself, shouted withlaughter; "it is. "

XII

SMITH GETS "HUNKS"

Smith's ugly mood was still upon him when he picked up his grammar thatevening. Jealous, humiliated by the loss of the morning's race, fullof revengeful thoughts and evil feelings, he wanted to hurtsomebody--something--even Dora. He had a vague, sullen notion that shewas to blame because Ralston was in love with her. She could havediscouraged him in the beginning, he told himself; she could havestopped it. 

Unaccustomed as Smith was to self-restraint, he quickly showed his frameof mind to Dora. He had no _savoir faire_ with which to conceal his mood;besides, he entertained a feeling of proprietorship over her whichjustified his resentment to himself. Was she not to be his? Would he noteventually control her, her actions, choose her friends?

Dora found him a dense and disagreeable pupil, and one who seemingly hadforgotten everything he had learned during previous lessons. His repliesat times were so curt as to be uncivil, and a feeling of indignationgradually rose within her. She was at a loss to understand his mood, unless it was due to the result of the morning's race; yet she couldscarcely believe that his disappointment, perhaps chagrin, could accountfor his rudeness to her. 

When the useless lesson was finished, she closed the book and asked:

"You are not yourself to-night. What is wrong?"

With an expression upon his face which both startled and shocked her hesnarled:

"I'm sick of seein' that lady-killer hangin' around here!"

"You mean----?"

"Ralston!"

Dora had never looked at Smith as she looked at him now. 

"I beg to be excused from your criticisms of Mr. Ralston. "

Smith had not dreamed that the gentle, girlish voice could take on such aquality. It cut him, stung him, until he felt hot and cold by turns. 

"Oh, I didn't know he was such a friend, " he sneered. 

"Yes"--her eyes did not quail before the look that flamed in his--"he is_just_ such a friend!"

They had risen; and Smith, looking at her as she stood erect, her headhigh in defiance, could have choked her in his jealous rage. 

He stumbled rather than walked toward the door. 

"Good-night, " he said in a strained, throaty voice. 

"Good-night. "

She stared at the door as it closed behind him. She had something of thefeeling of one who, making a pet of a tiger, feels its claws for the firsttime, sees the first indication of its ferocious nature. This new phase ofSmith's character, while it angered, also filled her with uneasiness. 

It was later than usual when Smith came in to say a word to the Indianwoman, after Dora and Susie had retired. He did not bring with him thefumes of tobacco, the smoke of which rose in clouds in the bunk-house, making it all but impossible to see the length of the building; hebrought, rather, an odor of freshness, a feeling of coolness, as though hehad been long in the night air. 

The Indian woman sniffed imperceptibly. 

"Where you been?"

His look was evil as he answered:

"Me? I've been payin' my debts, me--Smith. "

He took her impassive hand in both of his and pressed it against hisheart. 

"Prairie Flower, " he said, "I want you to tell Ralston to go. _I hatehim_. "

The woman looked at him, but did not answer. 

"Will you?"

"Yes, I tell him. "

"When?"

She raised her narrowing eyes to his. 

"_When you tell de white woman to go_. "

 * * * * *

Ralston had felt that the old Colonel was growing impatient with hisseeming inactivity, so he decided, the next morning, to ride to the Bar Cand tell him that he believed he had a clue. It would not be necessary tokeep Running Rabbit under close surveillance until the beef in themeat-house was getting low. Then the deputy sheriff meant not to let himout of his sight. 

Smith had not spoken to the man whom he had come to regard as his rivalsince he had ridden away from him the morning before. He had ignoredRalston's conversation at the table and avoided him in the bunk-house. Now, engaged in trimming his horse's fetlocks, Smith did not look up asthe other man passed, but his eyes followed him with a triumphant gleam ashe went into the stable to saddle Molly. 

Ralston backed the mare to turn her in the stall, and she all but felldown. He felt a little surprise at her clumsiness, but did not grasp itsmeaning until he led her to the door, where she stepped painfully over thelow door-sill and all but fell again. He led her a step or two further, and she went almost to her knees. The mare was lame in every leg--shecould barely stand; yet there was not a mark on her--not ever so slight abruise! Her slender legs were as free from swellings as when they hadcarried her past Smith's gray; her feet looked to be in perfect condition;yet, save for the fact that she could stand up, she was as crippled as ifthe bones of every leg were shattered. 

It is doubtful if any but steel-colored eyes can take on the look whichRalston's contained as they met Smith's. His skin was gray as hestraightened himself and drew a hand which shook noticeably the length ofhis cheek and across his mouth. 

In great anger, anger which precedes some quick and desperate act, almostevery person has some gesture peculiar to himself, and this wasRalston's. 

A less guilty man than Smith might have flinched at that moment. Thehalf-grin on his face faded, and he waited for a torrent of accusationsand oaths. But Ralston, in a voice so low that it barely reached him, avoice so ominous, so fraught with meaning, that the dullest could not havemisunderstood, said:

"I'll borrow your horse, Smith. "

Smith, like one hypnotized, heard himself saying:

"Sure! Take him. "

Ralston knew as well as though he had witnessed the act that Smith hadhammered the frogs of Molly's feet until they were bruised and sore asboils. Her lameness would not be permanent--she would recover in a week ortwo; but the abuse of, the cruelty to, the little mare he loved filledRalston with a hatred for Smith as relentless and deep as Smith's own. 

"A man who could do a thing like that, " said Ralston through his setteeth, "is no common cur! He's wolf--all wolf! He isn't staying here forlove, alone. There's something else. And I swear before the God that mademe, I'll find out what it is, and land him, before I quit!"

XIII

SUSIE'S INDIAN BLOOD

Coming leisurely up the path from the corrals, Smith saw Susie sitting onthe cottonwood log, wrapped in her mother's blanket. She was huddled in asquaw's attitude. He eyed her; he never had seen her like that before. But, knowing Indians better, possibly, than he knew his own race, Smithunderstood. He recognized the mood. Her Indian blood was uppermost. Itrose in most half-breeds upon occasion. Sometimes under the influence ofliquor it cropped out, sometimes anger brought it to the surface. He hadseen it often--this heavy, smouldering sullenness. 

Smith stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at her. He felt more atease with her than ever before. 

"What are you sullin' about, Susie?"

She did not answer. Her pertness, her Anglo-Saxon vivacity, were gone; herface was wooden, expressionless; her restless eyes slow-moving and dull;her cheek-bones, always noticeably high, looked higher, and her skin wasmurky and dark. 

"You look like a squaw with that sull on, " he ventured again, and therewas satisfaction in his face. 

It was something to know that, after all, Susie was "Injun"--"pureInjun. " The scheme which had lain dormant in his brain now took activeshape. He had wanted Susie's help, but each time that he had tried toconciliate her, his overtures had ended in a fresh rupture. Now herstinging tongue was dumb, and there was no aggressiveness in her manner. 

Smith, laying his hand heavily upon her shoulder, sat down beside her, anda flash, a transitory gleam, shone for an instant in her dull eyes; butshe did not move or change expression. 

He said in a low voice:

"What you need is stirrin' up, Susie. "

He watched her narrowly, and continued:

"You ought to get into a game that has some ginger in it. This here lifeis too tame for a girl like you. "

Without looking at him she asked:

"What kind of a game?" Her voice was lifeless, guttural. 

"It's agin my principles to empty my sack to a woman; but you'rediff'rent--you're game--you are, Susie. " His voice dropped to a whisper, and the weight of his hand made her shoulder sag. "Let's you and me rustlea bunch of horses. "

Susie did not betray surprise at the startling proposition by so much asthe twitching of an eyelid. 

"What for?"

Smith replied:

"Just for the hell of it!"

She grunted, but neither in assent nor dissent; so Smith went on in aneager, persuasive whisper:

"There's Injun enough in you, girl, to make horse-stealin' all the same asbreathin'. You jump in with me on this deal and see how easy you lose thatsull. Don't you ever have a feelin' take holt of you that you want to dosomething onery--steal something, mix with somebody? I do. I've had thatnotorious feelin' workin' on me strong for days now, and I've got to getrid of it. If you'll come in on this, we'll have the excitement and make astake, too. Talk up, girl--show your sand! Be game!"

"What horses do you aim to steal?"

"Reservation horses. Say, the way I can burn their brands and fan 'em overthe line won't trouble _me_. I'll come back with a wad--me, Smith--andI'll whack up even. What do you say?"

"What for a hand do I take in it?"

A smile of triumph lifted the corners of Smith's mouth. 

"You gather 'em up and run 'em into a coulee, that's all. I'll do therest. "

"What do you want _me_ to do it for?"

"Nobody'd think anything of it if they saw you runnin' horses, becauseyou're always doin' it; but they'd notice me. "

"Where's the coulee?"

"I've picked it. I located my plant long ago. I've found the best spot inthe State to make a plant. "

"Where are you goin' to sell?"

Smith eyed her inscrutable face suspiciously. 

"You're askin' lots of questions, girl. I tips my hand too far to nopetticoat. You trusts me or you don't. Will you come in?"

"All right, " said Susie after a silence; "I'll come in--'just for the hellof it. '"

"Shake!"

She looked at his extended hand and wrapped her own in her blanket. 

"There's no call to shake. "

"Is your heart mixed, Susie?" he demanded. "Ain't it right toward me?"

"It'll be right enough when the time comes, " she answered. 

The reply did not satisfy Smith, but he told himself that, once she wascommitted, he could manage her, for, after all, Susie was little more thana child. Smith felt uncommonly pleased with himself for his bold stroke. 

The new intimacy between Smith and Susie, the sudden cessation ofhostilities, caused surprise on the ranch, but the Indian woman was theonly one to whom it gave pleasure. She viewed the altered relations withsatisfaction, since it removed the only obstacle, as she believed, to aspeedy marriage with Smith. 

"Didn't I tell you he smart white man?" she asked complacently of Susie. 

"Oh, yes, he's awful smart, " Susie answered with sarcasm. 

Ralston, more than any one else, was puzzled by their apparent friendship. He had believed that Susie's antipathy for Smith was as deep as his own, and he wondered what could have happened to bring about such a sudden andcomplete revulsion of feeling. He was disappointed in her. He felt thatshe had weakly gone over to the enemy; and it shook his confidence in hersturdy honesty more than anything she could have done. He believed that noperson who understood Smith, as Susie undoubtedly did, could make a friendand confidant of him and be "right. " But sometimes he caught Susie's eyesfixed upon him in a kind of wistful, inquiring scrutiny, which left theimpression that something was troubling her, something that she longed toconfide in some one upon whom she could rely; but his past experience hadtaught him the futility of attempting to force her confidence, of tryingto learn more than she volunteered. 

Smith and Susie rode the surrounding country and selected horses from thevarious bands. Three or four bore Bear Chief's brand, there were a pintoand a black buckskin in Running Rabbit's herd, and a sorrel or two thatbelonged to Yellow Bird. A couple of bays here were singled out, a brownand black there, until they had the pick of the range. 

"We don't want to get more nor you can cut out alone and handle, " warnedSmith. "We don't want no slip-up on the start. "

"I don't aim to make no slip-up. "

"We've got lookers, we have, " declared Smith. "And them chunky ones go offquickest at a forced sale. I know a horse when I meet up with it, me--Smith. "

"But where you goin' to cache 'em?" insisted Susie. 

"Girl, I ain't been ridin' this range for my health. I'll show you a blindcanyon where a regiment of soldiers couldn't find a hundred head of horsesin a year; and over there in the Bad Lands there's a spring breakin' outwhere a man dyin' of thirst would never think of lookin' for it. We're allright. You're a head-worker, and so am I. " Smith chuckled. "We'll set someof these Injuns afoot, and make a clean-get-away. "

Smith was more than satisfied with the zest with which Susie now enteredinto the plot, and the shrewdness which she showed in planning detailsthat he himself had overlooked. 

"You work along with me, kid, and I'll make a dead-game one out of you!"he declared with enthusiasm. "When we make a stake, we'll go to Billingsand rip up the sod!"

"I'll like that, " said Susie dryly. 

"When the right time comes, I'll know it, " Smith went on. "When I wakes upsome mornin' with a feelin' that it's the day to get action on, I alwaysfollows that feelin'--if it takes holt of me anyways strong. I has to docertain things on certain days. I hates a chilly day worse nor anything. Iwants to hole up, and I feels mean enough to bite myself. But when the sunshines, it thaws me; it draws the frost out of my heart, like. I hates tolet anybody's blood when the sun shines. I likes to lie out on a rock likea lizard, and I feels kind. I'm cur'ous that way, about sun, me--Smith. "

XIV

THE SLAYER OF MASTODONS

Dora and Susie had planned to botanize one fine Saturday morning, andSusie, dressed for a tramp in the hills, was playing with a pup in thedooryard, waiting for Dora, when she saw Smith coming toward her with theshort, quick step which, she had learned, with him denoted mentalactivity. 

"This is the day for it, " he said decisively. "I had that notoriousfeelin' take holt of me when I got awake. How's your heart, girl?"

It had given a thump at Smith's approach, and Susie's tawny skin had paledunder its tan, but by way of reply she gave the suggestive Indian sign ofstrength. 

"Good!" he nodded. "You'll need a strong heart for the ridin' you've gotto do to-day; but I'm not a worryin' that you can't do it, kid, for I'vewatched you close. "

"Guess I could ride a flyin' squirrel if I had to, " Susie replied shortly, "but Teacher wanted me to go with her to get flowers. She doesn't like togo alone. "

"There's no call for her to go alone. I'll go with her. It's no use for meto get to the plant before afternoon. I'll go on this flower-pickin'spree, and be at the mouth of the canyon in time to hold the first bunchof horses you bring in. They're pretty much scattered, you know. What foran outfit you goin' to wear? You don't want no flappin' skirts toadvertise you. "

Susie answered curtly:

"I got some sense. "

"You're a sassy side-kicker, " he observed good-humoredly. 

She pouted. 

"I don't care, I wanted to pick flowers. "

Smith said mockingly, "So do I, angel child. I jest worships flowers!"

"From pickin' flowers to stealin' horses is some of a jump. "

"I holds a record for long jumps. " As a final warning Smith said: "Now, don't make no mistake in cuttin' out, for we've picked the top horses ofthe range. And remember, once you get 'em strung out, haze 'em along--forthere'll be hell a-poppin' on the reservation when they're missed. "

Susie had disappeared when the Schoolmarm came out with her basket andknife, prepared to start, and Smith gave some plausible excuse for herchange of plan. 

"She told me to go in her place, " said Smith eagerly, "and I know a gulchwhere there's a barrel of them Mormon lilies, and rock-roses, and areg'lar carpet of these here durn little blue flowers that look so niceand smell like a Chinese laundry. I can dig like a badger, too. "

Dora laughed, and, looking at him, noticed, as she often had before, thewonderful vividness with which his varying moods were reflected in hisface, completely altering his expression. 

He looked boyish, brimming with the buoyant spirits of youth. His skin hadunwonted clearness, his eyes were bright, his face was animated; he seemedto radiate exuberant good-humor. Even his voice was different and hislaugh was less hard. As he walked away with the Schoolmarm's basketswinging on his arm, he was for the time what he should have been always. He had long since made ample apology to Dora for his offense and there hadbeen no further outbreak from him of which to complain. 

The day's work was cut out for Ralston also, when he saw Yellow Bird andanother Indian ride away, each leading a pack-horse, and learned from Lingthat they had gone to butcher. They started off over the reservation, inthe direction in which the MacDonald cattle ranged; with the intention, Ralston supposed, of circling and coming out on the Bar C range. Hethought that by keeping well to the draws and gulches he could remainfairly well hidden and yet keep them in sight. 

He heard voices, and turned a hill just in time to see Smith take a flowergently from Dora's hand and, with some significant word, lay it with carebetween the leaves of a pocket note-book. 

Though it looked more to Ralston, all that Smith had said was, "It mightbring me luck. " And Dora had smiled at his superstition. 

Ralston would have turned back had it not been too late: his horse's feetamong the rocks had caused them to look up. As he passed Dora replied tosome commonplace, with heightened color, and Smith stared in silenttriumph. 

Ralston cursed himself and the mischance which had taken him to thatspot. 

"She'll think I was spying upon her, like some ignorant, jealous fool!" hetold himself savagely. "Why, why, is it that I must always blunder uponsuch scenes, to make me miserable for days! Can it be--can it possiblybe, " he asked himself--"that she cares for the man; that she encourageshim; that she has a foolish, Quixotic notion that she can raise him to herown level?"

Was there really good in the man which he, Ralston, was unable to see? Washe too much in love with Dora himself to be just to Smith, he wondered. 

"No, no!" he reiterated vehemently. "No man who would abuse a horse is fitfor a good woman to marry. I'm right about him--I know I am. But can Iprove it in time to save her?--not for myself, for I guess I've no show;but from him?"

With a heartache which seemed to have become chronic of late, Ralstonfollowed the Indians' lead up hill and down, through sand coulees andbetween cut-banks, at a leisurely pace. They seemed in no hurry, nor didthey make any apparent effort to conceal themselves. They rode throughseveral herds of cattle, and passed on, drifting gradually toward thecreek bottom close to the reservation line, where both Bar C and I. D. Cattle came to drink. 

Ralston wondered if they would attempt to stand him off; but his heart wastoo heavy for the possibility of a coming fight to quicken his pulse toany great extent. He believed that he would be rather glad than otherwiseif they should make a stand. The thought that the tedious waiting gamewhich he had played so long might be ended did not elate him. The ambitionseemed to have gone out of him. He had little heart in his work, and smallinterest in the glory resulting from success. 

He thought only of Dora as he lay full length on the ground, pluckingdisconsolately at spears of bunch-grass within reach, while he waited forthe sound of a shot in the creek bottom, or the reappearance of theIndians. 

He had not long to wait before a shot, a bellow, and another shot told himthat the time for action had come. He pulled his rifle from its scabbard, and laid it in front of him on his saddle. It was curious, he thought, ashe rode closer, that one Indian was not on guard. Still, it was probablethat they had grown careless through past successes. He was within ahundred yards of the butchers before they saw him. 

"Hello!" Yellow Bird's voice was friendly. 

"Hello!" Ralston answered. 

"Fat cow. Fine beef, " vouchsafed the Indian. 

"Fine beef, " agreed Ralston. "Can I help you?"

The MacDonald brand stood out boldly on the cow's flank!

Ralston watched them until they had loaded their meat upon the pack-horsesand started homeward. One thing was certain: if Running Rabbit hadbutchered the Bar C cattle, he had done so under a white man'ssupervision. In this instance, with an Indian's usual economy in thematter of meat, he had left little but the horns and hoofs. The Bar Ccattle had been butchered with the white man's indifference to waste. 

Any one of the bunk-house crowd, except McArthur, Ralston believed to bequite capable of stealing cattle for beef purposes. But if they had beenstealing systematically, as it would appear, why had they killed MacDonaldcattle to-day? Ralston still regarded the affair of the fresh hide as toosuspicious a circumstance to be overlooked, and he meant to learn which ofthe white grub-liners had been absent. He reasoned that the Indians had awholesome fear of Colonel Tolman, and that it was unlikely they wouldventure upon his range for such a purpose without a white man's moralsupport. 

Smith had been missing frequently of late and for so long as two days ata time, but this could not be regarded as peculiar, since the habits ofall the grub-liners were more or less erratic. They disappeared andreappeared, with no explanation of their absence. 

In his present frame of mind, Ralston had no desire to return immediatelyto the ranch. He wanted to be alone; to harden his heart against Dora; toprepare his mind for more shocks such as he had had of late. It was not aneasy task he had set himself. 

After a time he dismounted, and, throwing down his bridle-reins, droppedto the ground to rest, while his horse nibbled contentedly at the sparsebunch-grass. As he lay in the sunshine, his hands clasped behind his head, the stillness acted like a sedative, and something of the tranquillityabout him crept into his soul. 

Upon one thing he was determined, and that was, come what might, to be a_man_--a gentleman. If in his conceit and eagerness he had misunderstoodthe softness of Dora's eyes, her shy tremulousness, as he now believed hehad, he could take his medicine like a man, and go when the time came, without whimpering, without protest or reproach. He wanted to go awayfeeling that he had her respect, at least; go knowing that there was not asingle word or action of his upon which she could look back with contempt. Yes, he wanted greatly her respect. She inspired in him this desire. 

Ralston felt very humble, very conscious of his own shortcomings, as helay there while the afternoon waned; but, humble as he was, resigned as hebelieved himself to be, he could not think of Smith with anything butresentment and contempt. It hurt his pride, his self-respect, to regardSmith in the light of a rival--a successful rival. 

"By Gad!" he cried aloud, and with a heat which belied hisself-abnegation. "If he were only a _decent_ white man! But to be let downand out by the only woman I ever gave a whoop for in all my life, for afellow like that! Say, it's tough!"

Ralston's newly acquired serenity, the depth of which he had reason todoubt, was further disturbed by a distant clatter of hoofs. He sat up andwatched the oncoming of the angriest-looking Indian that ever quirted acayuse over a reservation. It was Bear Chief, whom he knew slightly. Seeing Ralston's saddled horse, the Indian pulled up a little, which wasas well, since the white man was immediately in his path. 

As the Indian came back, Ralston, who had rolled over to let him pass, remarked dryly:

"The country is getting so crowded, it's hardly safe for a man to sitaround like this. What's the excitement, Bear Chief?"

"Horse-thief steal Indian horses!" he cried, pointing toward the BadLands. 

Ralston was instantly alert. 

"Him ridin' my race-pony--fastest pony on de reservation. Got big bunch. Runnin' 'em off!"

Fast moving specks that rose and fell among the hills of the Bad Landsbore out the Indian's words. 

"Did you see him?"

Ralston was slipping the bit back in his horse's mouth and tightening thecinch. 

"Yas, I see him. Long way off, but I see him. "

"Did you know him?"

"Yas, I know him. "

"Who was it?" Ralston was in the saddle now. 

"Little white man--what you call him 'bug-hunter'--at de MacDonaldranch. "

"McArthur!" Their horses were gathering speed as they turned them towardthe Bad Lands. 

"Yas. Little; hair on face--so; wear what you call dem sawed-off pants. "

From the description, Ralston recognized McArthur's Englishriding-breeches, which had added zest to life for the bunk-house crowdwhen he had appeared in them. The deputy-sheriff was bewildered. It seemedincredible, yet there, still in sight, was the flying band of horses, andBear Chief's positiveness seemed to leave no room for doubt. 

"Oh, him one heap good thief, " panted Bear Chief, in unwilling admiration, as their horses ran side by side. "He work fast. No 'fraid. Cut 'emout--head 'em off--turn 'em--ride through big brush--jump de gulch--yelland swing de quirt, and do him all 'lone! Dat no easy work--cut out horsesall 'lone. Him heap good horse-thief!"

What did it mean, anyhow? Ralston asked himself the question again andagain. Was it possible that he had been deceived in McArthur? That, afterall, he was a criminal of an extraordinary type? He found no answer to hisquestions, but both he and Bear Chief soon realized that they wereexhausting their horses in a useless pursuit. It was growing dark; thethief had too much start, and, with the experience of an old hand, hedrove the horses over rocks, where they left no blabbing tracks behind. Once well into the Bad Lands, he was as effectually lost as if the earthhad opened and swallowed him. 

So they turned their tired horses back, reaching the ranch long aftersundown. Ralston was still unconvinced that it was not a case of mistakenidentity, and, hoping against hope, he asked some one loafing about whilehe and Bear Chief unsaddled if McArthur had returned. 

"He's been off prowlin' all day, and ain't in yet, " was the answer; andBear Chief grunted at this confirmation of his accusation. 

The Indian woman was waiting in the doorway when they came up the path. 

"You see Susie?" There was uneasiness in her voice. 

It was an unheard-of thing for Susie not to return from her rides andvisits before dark. 

"Not since morning, " Ralston replied. "Has any one gone to look for her?Is Smith here?"

"Smith no come home for supper. "

"There seems to have been a general exodus to-day, " Ralston observed. "Areyou feeling worried about Susie?"

"I no like. Yas, I feel worry for Susie. "

It was the first evidence of maternal interest that Ralston ever had seenthe stoical woman show. 

"If Ling will give me a bite to eat, I'll saddle another horse and ridedown below. She may be spending the night with some of her friends. "

"She no do that without tell me, " declared the woman positively. "Susie nodo that. "

She brought the food from the kitchen herself, and padded uneasily fromwindow to window while they ate. 

What was in the wind, Ralston asked himself, that Susie, McArthur, andSmith should disappear in this fashion on the same day? It was a singularcoincidence. Like her mother, Ralston had no notion that Susie wasstopping the night at any ranch or lodge below. He, too, shared the Indianwoman's misgivings. 

He had finished and was reaching for his hat when footsteps were heard onthe hard-beaten dooryard. They were slow, lagging, unfamiliar to thelisteners, who looked at each other inquiringly. Then the Indian womanthrew open the door, and Susie, like the ghost of herself, staggered fromthe darkness outside into the light. 

No ordinary fatigue could make her look as she looked now. Every stepshowed complete and utter exhaustion. Her dishevelled hair was hanging instrands over her face, her eyes were dark-circled, she was streaked withdust and grime, and her thin shoulders drooped wearily. 

"Where you been, Susie?" her mother asked sharply. 

"Teacher said, " she made a pitiful attempt to laugh, to speaklightly--"Teacher said ridin' horseback would keep you from gettin' fat. I--I've been reducin' my hips. "

"Don't you do dis no more!"

"Don't worry--I shan't!" And as if her mother's reproach was the laststraw, Susie covered her face with the crook of her elbow and criedhysterically. 

Ralston was convinced that the day had held something out of the ordinaryfor Susie. He knew that it would take an extraordinary ride so completelyto exhaust a girl who was all but born in the saddle. But it was evidentfrom her reply that she did not mean to tell where she had been or whatshe had been doing. 

Although Ralston soon retired, he was awake long after his numerousroom-mates were snoring in their bunks. There was much to be done on themorrow, yet he could not sleep. He was not able to rid himself of thethought that there was something peculiar in the absence of Smith just atthis time, nor could he entirely abandon the belief that McArthur wouldyet come straggling in, with an explanation of the whole affair. He couldnot think of any that would be satisfactory, but an underlying faith inthe little scientist's honesty persisted. 

Toward morning he slept, and day was breaking when a step on the door-sillof the bunk-house awakened him. He raised himself slightly on his elbowand stared at McArthur, looming large in the gray dawn, with a skullcarried carefully in both hands. 

"Ah, I'm glad to find you awake!" He tiptoed across the floor. 

His clothing was wrinkled with the damp, night air, and his face lookedhaggard in the cold light, but the fire of enthusiasm burned undimmedbehind his spectacles. 

"Congratulate me!"

"I do--what for?"

"My dear sir, if I can prove to the satisfaction of scientific scepticsthat this cranium is not pathological, I shall have bounded in a singleday--night--bounded from comparative obscurity to the pinnacle of fame!Undoubtedly--beyond question--a race of giants existed in NorthAmerica----"

"Pardon me, " Ralston interrupted his husky eloquence; "but where have youbeen all night?"

"Ah, where have I _not_ been? Walking--walking under the stars! Under thestimulus of success, I have covered miles with no feeling of fatigue. Haveyou ever experienced, my dear sir, the sensation which comes from therealization of a life-dream?"

"Not yet, " Ralston replied prosaically. "Where was your horse?"

"Ah, yes, my horse. Where _is_ my horse? I asked myself that question eachtime that I stopped to remove one of the poisonous spines of the cactusfrom my feet. Whether my horse lost me or I lost my horse, I am unable tosay. I left him grazing in a gulch, and was not again able to locate thegulch. I wandered all night--or until Fate guided me into a barbed wirefence, where, as you will observe, I tore my trousers. I followed thefence, and here I am--I and my companion"--McArthur patted the skulllovingly--"this giant--the slayer of mastodons--whose history liesconcealed in 'the dark backward and abysm of time'!"

As he looked into Ralston's non-committal eyes with his own burning orbs, he realized that great joy, like great sorrow, is something which cannotwell be shared. 

"Forgive me, " he said with hurt dignity; "I have again forgotten that youhave no interest in such things. "

"You are mistaken. I wanted to hear. "

After McArthur had retired to his pneumatic mattress, Ralston laywide-eyed, more mystified than before. Had Bear Chief's eyes deceived him, or was McArthur the cleverest of rogues?

Breakfast was done when Ralston said:

"Will you be good enough to step into the bunk-house, Mr. McArthur?"

Something in his voice chilled the sensitive man. Ralston, whom he greatlyadmired, always had been most friendly. He followed him now in wonder. 

"You are sure this is the man, Bear Chief?"

The Indian had stepped forward at their entrance. 

"Yas, I know him, " he reiterated. 

McArthur looked from one to the other. 

"Bear Chief accuses you of stealing his horses, Mr. McArthur, " explainedRalston bluntly. 

"What!"

"You slick little horse-thief, but I see you good. Where you cache myrace-pony?" The Indian's demand was a threat. 

For reply, McArthur walked over and sat down on the edge of a bunk, as ifhis legs of a sudden were too weak to support him. 

"Bear Chief swears he saw you, McArthur. " Ralston's tone was notunfriendly now, for something within him pleaded the bug-hunter's causewith irritating persistence. 

"Me a horse-thief? Running off race-ponies?" McArthur found himself ableto exclaim at last: "But I had no horse of my own!"

"Have you any credentials--anything at all by which we can identify you?"

"Not with me; but certainly I can furnish them. The name of McArthur isnot unknown in Connecticut, " he answered with a tinge of pride. 

"Where are your riding-breeches? Bear Chief says you were wearing themyesterday. Can you produce them now?"

McArthur, with hauteur, walked to the nails where his wardrobe hung andfumbled among the clothing. 

They were gone!

His jaw dropped, and a slight pallor overspread his face. 

Susie, who had been listening from the doorway, flung a flour-sack at hisfeet. 

"Search my trunk, pardner, " she said with her old-time impish grin. 

McArthur mechanically did as she bade him, and his riding-breeches droppedfrom the sack. 

"I hope you'll 'scuse me for makin' so free with your clothes, like, " shesaid, "but I just naturally had to have them yesterday. "

A light broke in upon Ralston. 

"You!"

"Yep, I did it, me--Susie. " Her tone and manner were a ludicrous imitationof Smith's. She added: "I saw you all pikin' in here, so I tagged. "

"But why"--Ralston stared at her in incredulity--"why should _you_ stealhorses?"

"It's this way, " Susie explained, in a loud, confidential whisper: "I'vebeen playin' a little game of my own. When the right time came, I meant tolet Mr. Ralston in on it, but when Bear Chief saw me, I knew I'd have totell, to keep my pardner here from gettin' the blame. "

"But the beard, "--Ralston still looked sceptical. 

"Shucks! That's easy. I saw Bear Chief before he saw me, and I just tookthe black silk hankerchief from my neck and tied it hold-up fashion aroundthe lower part of my face. Bear Chief was excited when he saw his runninghorse travelling out of the country at the gait we was goin' then. "

"I don't see yet, Susie?"

She turned upon Ralston in good-natured contempt. 

"Goodness, but you're slow! Don't you understand? Smith's my pal; we'reworkin' together. He cooked this up--him takin' the safe and easy end ofit himself. He sprung it on me that day I had a sull on. Don't you see hisgame? He thinks if he can get me mixed up in something crooked, he canmanage me. He's noticed, maybe, that I'm not halter-broke. So I pretendedto fall right in with his plans, once I had promised, meanin' all the timeto turn state's evidence, or whatever you call it, and send him over theroad. I wanted to show Mother and everybody else what kind of a man heis. I don't want no step-papa named Smith. "

The three men stared in amazement at the intrepid little creature with hercanny Scotch eyes. 

"And do you mean to say, " Ralston asked, "that you've held your tongue andplayed your part so well that Smith has no suspicions?"

"Hatin' makes you smart, " she answered, "and I hate Smith so hard I can'tsleep nights. No, I don't think he is suspicious; because I'm to pack grubto him this morning, and if he was afraid of me, he'd never let me knowwhere he was camped. He's holdin' the horses over there in a blind canyon, and when I go over I'm to help him blotch the brands. "

"We want to get the drop on him when he's using the branding-iron. "

"And you want to see that he shoves up his hands and keeps them there, "suggested Susie further, "for he'll take big chances rather than have theSchoolmarm see him ridin' to the Agency with his wrists tied to thesaddle-horn. "

"I know. " Ralston knew even better than Susie that Smith would fight likea rat in a corner to avoid this possibility. 

"My!" and Susie gave an explosive sigh, "but it's an awful relief not tohave that secret to pack around any longer, and to feel that I've gotsomebody to back me up. "

A lump rose in Ralston's throat, and, taking her brown little paws in bothof his, he said:

"To the limit, Susie--to the end of the road. "

"And my pardner's in on it, too, if he wants to be, " she declared loyally, slipping her arm through McArthur's. 

"To be sure, " Ralston seconded cordially. "It will be an adventure foryour diary. " He added, laying his hand upon McArthur's shoulder: "I'm morethan sorry about the mistake this morning, old man. Will you forgive BearChief and me?"

In all McArthur's studious, lonely life, no person ever had put his handupon his shoulder and called him "old man. " The quick tears filled hiseyes, and a glow, tingling in its warmth, rushed over him. The simple, manly act made him Ralston's slave for life, but he answered in his quietvoice:

"The mistake was natural, my dear sir. "

"Smith will be gettin' restless, " Susie suggested, "for his breakfast musthave been pretty slim. We'd better be startin'. 

"Now, I'll take straight across the hills in a bee-line, and the rest ofyou keep me in sight, but follow the draws. When I drop into the canyon, you cache yourselves until I come up and swing my hat. I'll do my best toseparate Smith from his gun, but if I can't, I'll throw you the sign tojump him. "

"I shall arm myself with a pistol, and, if the occasion demands, I shallnot hesitate to use it, " said McArthur, closing his lips with greatfirmness. 

Bear Chief was given a rifle, and then there was a scurrying about forcartridges. When they were saddled, each rode in a different direction, tomeet again when out of sight of the ranch. With varied emotions, they soonwere following Susie's lead, and it was no easy task to keep the flyingfigure in sight. 

McArthur, panting, perspiring, choking his saddle-horn to death, wonderedif any person of his acquaintance ever had participated in such a recklessride. The instructor in Dead Languages, it is true, frequently hadthrilled his colleagues with his recital of a night spent in a sapling, owing to the proximity of a she-bear, and McArthur always had mildlyenvied him the adventure, but now, he felt, if he lived to tell the tale, he had no further cause for envy. 

Bear Chief's eyes were gleaming with the fires of other days, while thefaded overalls and flannel shirt of civilization seemed to take on a lookof savagery. 

Only Ralston's eyes were sombre. He had no thought of weakening, but hehad no feeling of elation; though, for the sake of his own self-respect, he was glad to know that his suspicions of Smith were not inspired byjealousy or malice. Now that the opportunity for which he had hoped andwaited had come, his strongest feeling was one of sorrow for Dora. Withthe tenderness of real love, he shrank from hurting her, from mortifyingher by the exposé of Smith. 

In no other way were the natures of the two men more strongly contrastedthan in this. When Smith flamed with jealousy he wanted to hurt Dora andRalston alike, and when he had the advantage he shoved the hot iron home. Ralston could be just, generous even, and, though he believed she hadunreservedly given her preference to Smith, he still yearned to shieldher, to spare her pain and humiliation. 

Susie finally disappeared, and when she did not come in sight again theyknew she had reached the rendezvous. Dismounting, they tied their horsesin a deep draw, and crawled to the top, where they could watch for hersignal. 

"She'll give him plenty of time, " said Ralston. 

He had barely finished speaking when they saw Susie at the top of thecanyon wall waving her hat. 

"Something's gone wrong, " said Ralston quickly. 

With rifles ready for action, the three of them ran toward Susie. 

Ralston and Bear Chief reached her together. Without a word she pointedinto the empty canyon, where a dying camp-fire told the story. Smith hadbeen gone for hours. 

XV

WHERE A MAN GETS A THIRST

While the four stood staring blankly at the trampled earth and the thinthread of smoke rising from a smouldering stick on a bed of ashes, Smith, miles away, was watching the skyline in the direction from which he hadcome, and gulping coffee from a tin can. He had slept--the print of hisbody was still in the sand--but his sleep had been broken and brief. Hehad ridden fast and all night long, but he was not yet far enough away tofeel secure. There was always a danger, too, that the horses would breakfor their home range, although he kept the mare who led the band on thepicket rope when they were not travelling. His own horse, always saddled, was picketed close. 

"I'll never make a turn like this alone again, " he muttereddiscontentedly. "It's too much like work to suit me, and I ain't in shapeto make a hard ride. I've got soft layin' around the ranch. " He stretchedhis stiff muscles and made a wry face. Then he smiled. "I'd like to seethat brat's face when she comes with my grub this mornin'. " He looked offagain to the skyline. 

"I ketched her eyein' me once or twice in a way that didn't look good tome; and I had that notorious strong feelin' take holt of me that shewasn't on the square. I'd better be sure nor sorry;--that's no josh. Itakes no chances, me--Smith; I tips my hand to no petticoat. "

He noted with relief that the wind was rising. He was glad, for it wouldobliterate every print and make tracking impossible. He had kept to therocks, as the unshod and now foot-sore horses bore evidence, but, even so, there was always a chance of tell-tale prints. 

"I can take it easy after I get to water, " he told himself. "This waterbusiness is ser'ous"--he looked uneasily at the stretch of desolationahead of him--"but unless the Injuns lied, they's _some_. 

"I hope the boys are to home, " he went on, "for if they are it won't takeus long to work these brands over. When they take 'em off my hands and Igets my wad, I'll soak it away, me--Smith. I'll hand it in at the bank, and I'll say to the dude at the winder, 'Feller, ' I'll say, 'me and alittle Schoolmarm are goin' to housekeepin' after while, so just hang onto that till I calls. '" Smith grinned appreciatively at the picture. 

"His eyes will stick out till you could snare 'em with a log-chain, for Iain't known as a marryin' man. " His face sobered. "I've got to get to workand get a wad--she shot that into me straight; and she's right. I couldn'task no woman like her to hang out her own wash in front of a two-roomedshack. I got to get the _dinero_, and between man and man, Smith, like youand me, I'm nowise particular how I gets it, so long as she don't know. I'll take any old chance, me--Smith. And dead men's eyes hasn't got thehabit of follerin' me around in the dark, like some I've knowed. She'dthink I was a horrible feller if--but shucks! What's done's done. "

He lifted his arms and stretched them toward the skyline, and his voicevibrated:

"I love you, girl! I love you, and I couldn't hurt you no more nor ababy!"

Before he coiled the picket-ropes and started the horses moving, he gotdown on his knees and took a mouthful of water from a lukewarm pool. Hespat it upon the ground in disgust. 

"That's worse nor pizen, " he declared with a grimace. "You bet I've got tostrike water to-day somehow. The horses won't hardly touch this, andthey're all ga'nted up for the want of it. There ought to be water overthere in some of them gulches, seems-like"--he looked anxiously at theexpanse stretching interminably to the northeast--"and I'll have to haze'em along until we hit it. "

His tired horse seemed to sag beneath his weight as he landed heavily inthe saddle; and the band of foot-sore horses, the hair of their necks andlegs stiff with sweat and dust, bore little resemblance to the spiritedanimals that Susie had driven from the reservation. It was now no effortto keep up with them, and Smith herded them in front of him like a flockof sheep. He wondered what another day, perhaps two days more, ofconstant travel would do, if fifty miles or so had used them up. There wasnot now the fear of capture to urge him forward, but the need of reachingwater was an equally great incentive to haste. 

Smith travelled until late in the afternoon without an audible complaintat the intense discomforts of the day. He found no water, and he ate onlya handful of sugar as he rode. He journeyed constantly toward thenortheast, in which direction, he thought, must be the ranch which was hisdestination. At each intervening gulch a hope arose that it might containwater, but always he was disappointed. Between the alkali dust and theheat of the midday sun, which was unusually hot for the time of year, hislips were cracked and his throat dry. 

"Ain't this hell!" he finally muttered fretfully. "And no more jump inthis horse nor a cow. I can do without grub, but water! Oh, Lord! I couldlap up a gallon. "

The slight motion of his lips started them bleeding. He wiped the bloodaway on the back of his hand and continued:

"This is a reg'lar stretch of Bad Lands. If them blamed Injuns hadn'tlied, I could have packed water easy enough. They don't seem to be no endto it, and I must have come forty mile. You're in for it, Smith. It'sgoin' to be worse before it's better. If I could only lay in a crick--rollin it--douse my face in it--soak my clothes in it! God! I'm dry!"

He spurred his horse, but there was no response from it. It was dead onits feet, between the hard travel of the previous day and night andanother day without water. He cursed the horses ahead as they lagged andnecessitated extra steps. 

He rode for awhile longer, until he realized that at the snail's pace theywere moving he was making little headway. A rest would pay better in thelong run, although there was some two hours of daylight left. 

The dull-eyed horses stood with drooping heads, too thirsty and too tiredto hunt for the straggling spears of grass and salt sage which grewsparsely in the alkali soil. 

After Smith had unsaddled, he opened the grain-sack which contained hisprovisions. Spreading them out, he stood and eyed them with contempt. 

"And I calls myself a prairie man, " he said aloud, in self-disgust. "Swine-buzzom--when I'm perishin' of thirst! If only I'd put in a coupleof air-tights. Pears is better nor anything; they ain't so blamed sweet, they're kind of cool, and they has juice you can drink. And tomaters--ifonly I had tomaters! This here dude-food, this strawberry jam, is goin' tomake me thirstier than ever. No water to mix the flour with, nothing tocook in but salt grease. Smith, you're up against it, you are. "

He built a little sage-brush fire, over which he cooked his bacon, andwith it he ate a dry biscuit, but his thirst was so great that itovershadowed his hunger. Chewing grains of coffee stimulated him somewhat, but the bacon and glucose jam increased his thirst tenfold, if such athing were possible. His thoughts of Dora, and his dreams of the future, which had helped him through the afternoon, were no longer potent. Hecould now think only of his thirst--of his overpowering desire for water. It filled his whole mental horizon. Water! Water! Water! Was thereanything in the world to be compared with it!

His face was deep-lined with distress as he sat by the camp-fire, tryingin vain to moisten his lips with his dry tongue. One picture after anotherarose before him: streams of crystal water which he had forded; icymountain springs at which he had knelt and drank; deep wells from which hehad thrown whole bucketfuls away after he had quenched what he then calledthirst. Thirst! He never had known thirst. What he had called thirst waslaughable in comparison with this awful longing, this madness, this desirebeside which all else paled. 

In any other than an alkali country, the lack of water for the same lengthof time would have meant little more than discomfort, but the parching, drying effect of the deadly white dust entailed untold suffering upon thetraveller caught unprepared as was Smith. 

He rolled and smoked innumerable cigarettes, rising at intervals to pacerestlessly to and fro. His lips and tongue were so parched that both tasteand feeling seemed deadened. Had he not seen the smoke, it is doubtful ifhe could have been sure he was smoking. 

He wandered away from the fire after a time, walking aimlessly, having noobjective point. He desired only to be moving. Something like a half-milefrom his camp he came into a shallow cut which appeared to have been madeduring bygone rainy seasons, but which now bore no evidence of havingcarried water for many years. He followed it mechanically, stumblingawkwardly in his high-heeled cowboy boots over the rocks which had washedinto its bed from the alkali-coated sides. Suddenly he cried aloud, with ashrill, penetrating cry that was peculiar to him when surprised orstartled. He had inadvertently kicked up a rock which showed moisturebeneath it!

He began to run, with his mouth open, his bloodshot eyes wide and staring. There was a bare chance that it might come from one of those desertsprings which appear and disappear at irregular intervals in the sand. Ashe ran, he saw hoof-tracks in what had once been mud, and his heart beathigher with hope. He had a thought in his half-crazed brain that the watermight disappear before he could reach it, and he ran like one frenziedwith fear. The world was swimming around him, his heart was pounding inhis breast, yet still he stumbled on at top speed. 

[Illustration: IT MEANT DEATH--BUT IT WAS WET!--IT WAS WATER!]

The cut grew deeper, and indications of moisture increased. He saw agrowth of large sage-brush, then a clump or two of rank, saw-edged grass. These things meant water! He turned a bend and there, beneath a high bank, was a pool crusted to the edge with alkali!

Smith knew that it was strongly alkali; that it meant certainillness--enough of it, death. But it was wet!--it was water!--and he mustdrink. He fell, rather than knelt, in it. When taste came back he realizedthat it was flat and lukewarm, but he continued to gulp it down. At anyother time it would have nauseated him, but now he drank to his capacity. When he could drink no more, he sat up--realizing what he had done. He hadswallowed liquid poison--nothing less. The result was inevitable. He wasgoing to be ill--excruciatingly, terribly ill, alone in the Bad Lands!This was as certain as was the fact that night had come. 

"I was so dry, " he whimpered, "I couldn't help it! I was so dry!" Hescrambled to his feet. 

"I gotta get back to camp. This water's goin' to raise thunder when itbegins to get in its work. I gotta get back to my blankets and lay down. "

Before he reached the heap of ashes which he called camp, the firstsymptoms of his coming agony began to show themselves. He felt slightlynauseated; then a quick, griping pain which was a forerunner of otherswhich were to make him sweat blood. 

Many of these springs and stagnant pools carry arsenic in largequantities, and of such was the water of which Smith had drunk. In hisexhaustion, the poison and accompanying impurities took hold of him with afierceness which it might not have done had he been in perfect physicalcondition; but his stomach, already disordered from irregular and improperfood, absorbed the poison with avidity, and the result was an agonyindescribable. 

As he writhed on his saddle-blankets under the stars, he groaned andcursed that unknown God above him. His face and hands were covered with acold sweat; his forehead and finger-tips were icy. The night air waschill, but he was burning with an inward fever, and his thirst now wasakin to madness. With all his strength of will, he fought against hisdesire to return to the pool. 

Smith did not expect to die. He felt that if he could keep his senses andnot crawl back to drink again, he would pull through somehow. The livinghell he now endured would pass. 

He wallowed and threshed about like a suffering animal, beating the earthwith his clenched fists, during the paroxysms of cutting, wrenching pain. His suffering was supreme. All else in the world shrank intoinsignificance beside it. No thoughts of Dora fortified him; no mother'sface came to comfort him; nor that of any human being he had ever known. He was just Smith--self-centred--alone; just Smith, fighting and sufferingand struggling for his life. His anguish found expression in the singlesentence:

"I'm sick! I'm sick! Oh, God! I'm sick!" He repeated it in every key withevery inflection, and his moans lost themselves in the silence of thedesert. 

Yet underneath it all, when his agony was at its height, he still believedin himself. In a kind of subconscious arrogance, he believed that he wasstronger than Fate, more powerful than Death. He would not die; he wouldlive because he wanted to live. Death was not for him--Smith. For others, but not for him. 

At last the paroxysms became less frequent and lost their violence. Whenthey ceased altogether, he lay limp and half-conscious. He was content toremain motionless until the flies and insects of the sand roused him tothe fact that another day had come. 

He was incredibly weak, and it took all his remaining strength to throwhis forty-pound cow-saddle upon his horse's back. His knees shook underhim, and he had to rest before he could lift his foot to the stirrup andpull himself into the seat. 

Before he rode away he turned and looked at the hollow in the sand wherehis blankets had been. 

"That was a close squeak, Smith, " was all he said. 

He had no desire for breakfast; in fact, he could not have eaten, for histongue was swollen, and his throat felt too dry to swallow. His skin wasthe color of his saddle-leather, and his inflamed eye-balls had theredness of live coals. Smith was far from handsome that morning. 

His own recent sufferings had in nowise made him more merciful: he spurredhis stiff and lifeless horse without pity, but he spurred uselessly. Itstumbled under him as he drove the spiritless band toward the hopelesswaste ahead of him. 

"Unless I'm turned around, we ought to get out of this to-day, " hethought. The effort of speaking aloud was too great to be made. "UnlessI'm lost, or fall off my horse, we ought to make it sure. "

Distance had meant nothing to him during the first evening and night ofhis ride. He had fixed his eye upon the furthermost object within hisrange of vision and ridden for it--buoyant, confident, as his horse'sflying feet ate up the intervening miles. Now he shrank from lookingahead. He dreaded to lift his eyes to the interminable desolationstretching before him. The minutes seemed hours long; time was protractedas though he had been eating hasheesh. He felt as if he had ridden for aweek, before his horse's shadow told him that noon had come. The jar ofhis horse hurt him, and it all seemed unreal at times, like a torturingnightmare from which he must soon awake. He rode long distances withclosed eyes as the day wore on. The world, red and wavering, swung aroundhim, and he gripped his saddle-horn hard. The only real thing, the agonyof which was too great to be mistaken for anything else, was his thirst. This was superlatively intense. There were moments when he had a desire toslide easily from his horse into the sand and lie still--just to be ridfor a time of that jar that hurt him so. He viewed the distance to theground contemplatively. It was not great. He would merely crumple up likea drunken person and go to sleep. 

But these moments soon passed: the instinct of self-preservation was quickto assert itself. Each time, he took a fresh grip on the slack reins andkept his horse plodding onward, ever onward, through the heavy sand andblistering alkali dust, and always to the northeast, where somewhere therewas relief which somehow he must reach. 

Mile after mile crept under his horse's lagging feet. The midday sun beatdown upon him, drying the very blood in his veins, scorching him, shrivelling him, and yet there seemed no end to the waterless gulches, tothe sand, the cactuses, the stunted sage-brush. His horse was stumblingoftener, but he felt no pity--only irritation that it had not morestamina. A sort of numbness, the lethargy of great weakness, was creepingover him; his heart was sagging with a dull despair. He believed that hemust be lost, yet he was past cursing or complaining aloud. Only anoccasional gasp or a fretful, inarticulate sound came when his horsestumbled badly. 

He thought he saw a barbed wire fence. A barbed wire fence meantcivilization! He swung his horse and rode toward it. The dark spots he hadthought were posts were only sage-brush. The smarting of his eye-balls andeyelids aroused him to an astonishing fact: he was crying in his weakness, crying of disappointment like a child! But he was astonished most that hehad tears to shed--that they had not dried up like his blood. 

Tears! He remembered his last tears, and they kept on sliding down hischeek now as he recalled the occasion. His father had given him a coltback there where they slept between sheets. He had broken it himself, andtaught it tricks. It whinnied to him when he passed the stable. The otherboys envied him his colt, and he meant to show it at the fair. He camehome one day and the colt was gone. His father handed him a silver dollar. He had thrown the money at his father and struck him in the face, andwhile the tears streamed from his eyes he had cursed his father with theoaths with which his father had so frequently cursed him; and he had kepton cursing until he was beaten into unconsciousness. There had been nolove between them, ever, but he had not expected that. Since then therehad been no time or inclination for tears, for it was then he had "quitthe flat. " The rage of his boyhood came back to Smith as he thought of itnow. He swore, though it hurt him to speak. 

His eyes were still smarting when he raised them to see a horseman on adistant ridge. The sight roused him like a stimulant. Was he friend orfoe? He reined his horse, and, drawing his rifle from its scabbard, waited; for the stranger had seen him and was riding toward him down theridge. 

"If he ain't my kind, I'll have to stop him, " Smith muttered. 

The strength of excitement came to him, and once more he sat erect in thesaddle, fingering the trigger as the horseman came steadily on. 

"He rides like a Texican, " Smith thought. There was something familiar inthe stranger's outlines, the way he threw his weight in one stirrup, butSmith was taking no chances. He put out a hand in warning, and the otherman stopped. 

The swarthy face of the stranger wore a comprehending grin. No honest mandrove horses across the Bad Lands. He threw the Indian sign of friendshipto Smith, and they each advanced. 

"How far to water, Clayt?"

"Well, dog-gone me! Smith!"

"How far to water?" Smith yelled the words in hoarse ferocity. 

The stranger glanced at the barebacked horses, and then at the shimmeringheat waves of the desert. 

"Just around the ridge, " he answered. "My God, man, didn't you packwater?"

But Smith was already out of hearing. 

XVI

TINHORN FRANK SMELLS MONEY

Smith did not care for money in itself; that is, he did not care for itenough to work for it, or to hoard it when he had it. Yet perhaps evenmore than most persons he loved the feel of it in his fingers, thesensation of having it in his pocket. Smith was vain, in his way, andmoney satisfied his vanity. It gave him prestige, power, the attention hecraved. He could call any flashy talker's bluff when his pockets were fullof money. It imparted self-assurance. He could the better indulge hispropensity for resenting slights, either real or fancied. Money would buyhim out of trouble. Yes, Smith liked the feel of money. He took a roll ofbanknotes from the belt pocket of his leather chaps and counted them forthe third time. 

"I'll buy a few drinks, flash this wad on them pinheads in town, and thenI'll soak it away. " He returned the roll to his pocket with an expressionof satisfaction upon his face. 

He had done well with the horses. The "boys" had paid him a third morethan he had expected; they had done so, he knew, as an incentive tofurther transactions. And Smith had outlined a plan to them which had madetheir eyes sparkle. 

"It's risky, but if you can do it----" they had said. 

"Sure, I can do it, and I'll start as soon as it's safe after I get backto the ranch. I gotta get to work and make a stake--_me_, " he haddeclared. 

They had looked at him quizzically. 

"The fact is, I'm tired of livin' under my hat. I aims to settle down. "

"And reform?" They had laughed uproariously. 

"Not to notice. "

Smith sincerely believed that nothing stood between him and Dora but hislack of money. Once she saw it, the actual money, when he could go to herand throw it in her lap, a hatful, and say, "Come on, girl"--well, womenwere like that, he told himself. 

Ahead of Smith, on the dusty flat, was the little cow-town, looking, inthe distance, like a scattered herd of dingy sheep. He was glad his ridewas ended for the day. He was thirsty, hot, and a bit tired. 

Tinhorn Frank, resting the small of his back against a monument of elk andbuffalo horns in front of his log saloon, was the first to spy Smithambling leisurely into town. 

"There's Smithy!" he exclaimed to the man who loafed beside him, "and he'sgot a roll!"

His fellow lounger looked at him curiously. 

"Tinhorn, I b'lieve you kin _smell_ money; and I swear they's kind of ascum comes over your eyes when you see it. How do you know he's carryin' aroll?"

Tinhorn Frank laughed. 

"I know Smithy as well as if I had made him. I kin tell by the way herides. I always could. When he's broke he's slouchy-like. He don't take nopride in coilin' his rope, and he jams his hat over his eyes--tough. Lookat him now--settin' square in the saddle, his rope coiled like a topCaliforny cowboy on a Fourth of July. That's how I know. Hello, Smithy!Fall off and arrigate. "

"Hullo!" Smith answered deliberately. 

"How's she comin'?"

"Slow. " He swung his leg over the cantle of the saddle. 

"What'll you have?" Tinhorn slapped Smith's back so hard that the dustrose. 

"Get me out somethin' stimulating, somethin' fur-reachin', somethin' thatyou can tell where it stops. I want a drink that feels like a yard ofbarb-wire goin' down. " Smith was tying his horse. 

"Here's somethin' special, " said Tinhorn, when Smith went inside. "I keepsit for my friends. "

Smith swallowed nearly a tumblerful. 

"When I drinks, I drinks, and I likes somethin' I can notice. " He wipedthe tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand. 

"I guarantee you kin notice that in about five minutes. It's a neverfailing remedy for man and beast--not meaning to claim that its horseliniment at all. Put it back, Smithy; your money ain't good here!"

Tinhorn Frank's dark eyes gleamed with an avaricious light at sight of theroll of yellow banknotes which Smith flung carelessly upon the bar, but hehad earned his living by his wits too long to betray eagerness. He maskedthe adamantine hardness of his grasping nature beneath an air of generousand bluff good-fellowship. 

He was a dark man, with a skin of oily sallowness; thickset, withsomething of the slow ungainliness of a toad. His head was set low betweenstooped shoulders, and his crafty eyes had in them a look of scheming, scheming always for his own interests. Smith knew his record as well as heknew his own: a dance-hall hanger-on in his youth, despised of men; ablackmailer; the keeper of a notorious road-house; a petty grafter in asmall political office in the little cow-town. Smith understood perfectlythe source of his present interest, yet it flattered him almost as much asif it had been sincere, it pleased him as if he had been the object of agentleman's attentions. When he had money, Smith demanded satellites, sycophants who would laugh boisterously at his jokes, praise him in broadcompliments, and follow him like a paid retinue from saloon to saloon. This was enjoying life! And upon this weakness, the least clever, themost insignificant and unimportant person could play if he understoodSmith. 

The word had gone down the line that Smith was in town with money. Theyrallied around him with loud protestations of joy at the sight of him. Smith held the centre of the stage, he was the conspicuous figure, themagnet which drew them all. He gloried in it, revelled in his popularity;and the "special brand" was beginning to sizzle in his veins. 

"I'm feelin' lucky to-day, me--Smith!" he cried exultantly. "I has anotorious idea that I can buck the wheel and win!"

He had not meant to gamble--he had told himself that he would not; but hisadmiring friends urged him on, his blood was running fast and hot, hisheart beat high with confidence and hope. Big prospects loomed ahead ofhim; success looked easy. He flung his money recklessly upon the red andblack, and with throbbing pulses watched the wheel go round. 

Again and again he won. It seemed as if he could not lose. 

"I told you!" he cried. "I'm feelin' lucky!"

When he finally stopped, his winnings were the envy of many eyes. 

"Set 'em up, Tinhorn! Everybody drink! Bring in the horses!"

Bedlam reigned. It was "Smithy this" and "Smithy that, " and it was all asthe breath of life to Smith. 

"Tinhorn"--he leaned heavily on the bar--"when I feels lucky like this, Imakes it a rule to crowd my luck. Are you game for stud?"

The film which the lounger had mentioned seemed to cover Tinhorn's eyes. 

"I'm locoed to set agin such luck as yours, but I like to be sociable, andyou don't come often. "

"I likes a swift game, " said Smith, as he pulled a chair from the pinetable. "Draw is good enough for kids and dudes, but stud's the only playfor men. "

"Now you've talked!" declared the admiring throng. 

"Keep 'em movin', Tinhorn! Deal 'em out fast. "

"Smithy, you're a cyclone!"

A hundred of Smith's money went for chips. 

"Dough is jest like mud to some fellers, " said a voice enviously. 

"I likes a game where you make or break on a hand. I've lost thousandswhile you could spit, me--Smith!"

"It's like a chinook in winter just to see you in town agin, Smithy. "

The "hole" card was not promising--it was only a six-spot; but, backinghis luck, Smith bet high on it. Tinhorn came back at him strong. He wantedSmith's money, and he wanted it quick. 

Smith's next card was a jack, and he bet three times its value. WhenTinhorn dealt him another jack he bought more chips and backed his pair, for Tinhorn, as yet, had none in sight. The next turn showed up a queenfor Tinhorn and a three-spot for Smith. And they bet and raised, andraised again. On the last turn Smith drew another three and Tinhornanother queen. With two pairs in sight, Smith had him beaten. When Smithbet, Tinhorn raised him. Was Tinhorn bluffing or did he have another queenin the "hole"? Smith believed he was bluffing, but there was an equalchance that he was not. While he hesitated, the other watched him like ahungry mountain lion. 

"Are you gettin' cold feet, Smithy?" There was the suspicion of a sneer inthe satellite's voice. "Did you say you liked to make or break on ahand?"

"I thought you liked a swift game, " gibed Tinhorn. 

The taunt settled it. 

"I can play as swift as most--and then, some. " He shoved a pile of chipsinto the centre of the table with both hands. "Come again!"

Tinhorn did come again; and again, and again, and again. He bet with theconfidence of knowledge--with a confidence that put the fear in Smith'sheart. But he could not, and he would not, quit now. His jaw was set as hepulled off banknote after banknote in the tense silence which had fallen. 

When the last of them fluttered to the table he asked:

"What you got?"

For answer, Tinhorn turned over a third queen. Encircling the pile ofmoney and chips with his arm, he swept them toward him. 

Smith rose and kicked the chair out of his way. 

"That's the end of my rope, " he said, with a hard laugh. "I'm done. "

"Have a drink, " urged Tinhorn. 

"Not to-day, " he answered shortly. 

The crowd parted to let him pass. Untying his horse, he sprang into thesaddle, and not much more than an hour from the time he had arrived herode down the main street, past the bank where he was to leave his roll, flat broke. 

At the end of the street he turned in his saddle and looked behind him. His satellites stood in the bar-room door, loungers loafed on thecurbstone, a woman or two drifted into the General Merchandise Store. ThePostmaster was eying him idly through his fly-specked window, and a groupof boys, who had been drawing pictures with their bare toes in the deepwhite dust of the street, scowled after him because his horse's feet hadspoiled their work. His advent had left no more impression than the tinywhirlwind in its erratic and momentary flurry. The money for which he hadsweat blood was gone. Mechanically he jambed his hands into his emptypockets. 

"Hell!" he said bitterly. "Hell!"

XVII

SUSIE HUMBLES HERSELF TO SMITH

Smith's return to the ranch was awaited with keen interest by severalpersons, though for different reasons. 

Bear Chief wanted to learn the whereabouts of his race-horse, and seemedto find small comfort in Ralston's assurance that the proper authoritieshad been notified and that every effort would be made to locate the stolenponies. 

Dora was troubled that Smith's educational progress should have come tosuch an abrupt stop; and she felt not a little hurt that he shoulddisappear for such a length of time without having told her of his going, and disappointed in him, also, that he would permit anything to interferewith the improvement of his mind. 

Susie's impatience for his return increased daily. Her chagrin over beingoutwitted by Smith was almost comical. She considered it a reflection uponher own intelligence, and tears of mortification came to her eyes eachtime she discussed it with Ralston. He urged her to be patient, and triedto comfort her by saying:

"We have only to wait, Susie. "

"Yes, I thought that before, and look what happened. "

"The situation is different now. "

"But maybe he'll reform and we'll never get another crack at him, " shesaid dolefully. 

Ralston shook his head. 

"Don't let that disturb you. Take certain natures under givencircumstances, and you can come pretty near foretelling results. Smithwill do the same thing again, only on a bigger scale; that is, unless helearns that he has been found out. He won't be afraid of you, because hewill think that you are as deep in the mire as he is; but if he thought Isuspected him, or the Indians, it would make him cautious. "

"You don't think he's charmed, or got such a stout medicine that nobodycan catch him?"

Ralston could not refrain from smiling at the Indian superstition whichcropped out at times in Susie. 

"Not for a moment, " he answered positively. "He appears to have beenfortunate--lucky--but in a case like this, I don't believe there's anyluck can win, in the long run, against vigilance, patience, anddetermination; and the greatest of these is patience. " Ralston, waxingphilosophical went on: "It's a great thing to be able to wait, Susie--coolly, smilingly, to wait--providing, as the phrase goes, youhustle while you wait. One victory for your enemy doesn't mean defeat foryourself. It's usually the last trick that counts, and sometimes games arelong in the playing. Wait for your enemy's head, and when it comes up, _whack it_! Neither you nor I, Susie, have been reared to believe thatwhen we are swatted on one cheek we should turn the other. "

"No;" Susie shook her head gravely. "That ain't sense. "

The person who took Smith's absence most deeply to heart was the Indianwoman. She missed him, and, besides, she was tormented with jealoussuspicions. She knew nothing of his life beyond what she had seen at theranch. There might be another woman. She suffered from the ever-presentfear that he might not come back; that he would go as scores ofgrub-liners had gone, without a word at parting. 

In the house she was restless, and her moccasined feet padded often fromher bench in the corner to the window overlooking the road down which hemight come. She sat for hours at a time upon an elevation which commandeda view of the surrounding country. Heavy-featured, moody-eyed, she was thepersonification of dog-like fidelity and patience. Naturally, it was shewho first saw Smith jogging leisurely down the road on his jaded horse. 

The long roof of the MacDonald ranch, which was visible through the coolwillows, looked good to Smith. It looked peaceful, and quiet, andinviting; yet Smith knew that the whole Indian police force might be thereto greet him. He had been gone many days, and much might have happened inthe interim. It was characteristic of Smith that he did not slacken hishorse's pace--he could squirm out somehow. 

It gave him no concern that he had not a dollar to divide with Susie, ashe had promised, and his chagrin over the loss of the money had vanishedas he rode. His temperament was sanguine, and soon he was telling himselfthat so long as there were cattle and horses on the range there was alwaysa stake for him. Following up this cheerful vein of thought, he soon feltas comfortable as if the money were already in his pocket. 

Smith threw up his hand in friendly greeting as the Indian woman came downthe path to meet him. 

There was no response, and he scowled. 

"The old woman's got her sull on, " he muttered, but his voice was pleasantenough when he asked: "Ain't you glad to see me, Prairie Flower?"

The woman's face did not relax. 

"Where you been?" she demanded. 

He stopped unsaddling and looked at her. 

"I never had no boss, me--Smith, " he answered with significance. 

"You got a woman!" she burst out fiercely. 

Smith's brow cleared. 

"Sure I got a woman. "

"You lie to me!"

"I call her Prairie Flower--my woman. " He reached and took her clenchedhand. 

The tense muscles gradually relaxed, and the darkness lifted from her facelike a cloud that has obscured the sun. She smiled and her eyelids droppedshyly. 

"Why you go and no tell me?" she asked plaintively. 

"It was a business trip, Prairie Flower, and I like to talk to you oflove, not business, " he replied evasively. 

She looked puzzled. 

"I not know you have business. "

"Oh, yes; I do a rushin' business--by spells. "

She persisted, unsatisfied:

"But what kind of business?"

Smith laughed outright. 

"Well, " he answered humorously, "I travels a good deal--in the dark of themoon. "

"Smith!"

She was keener than he had thought, for she drew her right hand slylyunder her left arm in the expressive Indian sign signifying theft. He didnot answer, so she said in a tone of mingled fear and reproach:

"You steal Indian horses!"

"Well?"

She grasped his coat-sleeve. 

"Don't do dat no more! De Indians' hearts are stirred. Dey mad. Dis timemaybe dey not ketch you, but some time, yes! You get more brave and yousteal from white man. You steal two, t'ree cow, maybe all right, but whenyou steal de white man's horses de rope is on your neck. I know--I haveseen. Some time de thief he swing in de wind, and de magpie pick at him, and de coyote jump at him. Yes, I have seen it like dat. "

Smith shivered. 

"Don't talk about them things, " he said impatiently. "I've been nearlynchin' twice, and I hates the looks of a slip-noose yet; but I gottahave money. "

As he stood above her, looking down upon her anxious face, a thought cameto him, a plan so simple that he was amazed that it had not occurred tohim before. Undoubtedly she had money in the bank, this infatuated, love-sick-woman--the Scotchman would have taught her how to save and carefor it; but if she had not, she had resources which amounted to the same:the best of security upon which she could borrow money. He was sure thather cattle and horses were free of mortgages, and there was the comingcrop of hay. She had promised him the proceeds from that, if he wouldstay, but the sale of it was still months away. 

"If I had a stake, Prairie Flower, " he said mournfully, "I'd cut out thiscrooked work and quit takin' chances. But a feller like me has got pride:he can't go around without two bits in his pocket, and feel like a man. IfI had the price, I'd buy me a good bunch of cattle, get a permit, andrange 'em on the reserve. "

"When we get tied right, " said the woman eagerly, "I give you de stake_quick_. "

Smith shook his head. 

"Do you think I'm goin' to have the whole country sayin' I just marriedyou for what you got? I've got some feelin's, me--Smith, and before Imarry a rich woman, I want to have a little somethin' of my own. "

She looked pleased, for Susie's words had rankled. 

"How big bunch cattle you like buy? How much money you want?"

He shook his head dejectedly. 

"More money nor I can raise, Prairie Flower. Five--ten thousanddollars--maybe more. " He watched the effect of his words narrowly. She didnot seem startled by the size of the sums he mentioned. He added: "There'snothin' in monkeyin' with just a few. "

"I got de money, and I gift it to you. My heart is right to you, whiteman!" she said passionately. 

"Do you mean it, Prairie Flower?"

"Yas, but don't tell Susie. "

He watched her going up the path, her hips wobbling, her step heavy, andhe hated her. Her love irritated him; her devotion was ridiculous. He sawin her only a means to an end, and he was without scruples or pity. 

"She ain't no more to me nor a dumb brute, " he said contemptuously. 

Smith felt that he was able to foretell with considerable accuracy thenature of his interview with Susie upon their meeting, and her openingwords did not fall short of his expectations. 

"You're all right, you are!" she said in her high voice. "I'd stick to apal like you through thick and thin, I would! What did you pull out likethat for anyhow?"

Smith chuckled. 

"Well, sir, Susie, it fair broke my heart to start off without seein' yourpretty face and hearin' your sweet voice again, but the fact is, I got solonesome awaitin' for you that I just naturally had to be travellin'. Iups and hits the breeze, and I has no pencil or paper to leave a notebehind. It wasn't perlite, Susie, I admits, " he said mockingly. 

"Dig up that money you're goin' to divide. " Susie looked like a youngwildcat that has been poked with a stick. 

Smith drew an exaggerated sigh and shook his head lugubriously. 

"Child, I'm the only son of Trouble. I gets in a game and I loses everyone of our honest, hard-earned dollars. The tears has been pilin' out ofmy eyes and down my cheeks for forty miles, thinkin' how I'd have to breakthe news to you. "

"Smith, you're just a common, _common_ thief!" All the scorn of which shewas capable was in her voice. "To steal from your own pal!"

"Thief?" Smith put his fingers in his ears. "Don't use that word, Susie. It sounds horrid, comin' from a child you love as if she was your ownstep-daughter. "

The muscles of Susie's throat contracted so it hurt her; her face drew upin an unbecoming grimace; she cried with a child's abandon, indifferent tothe fact that her tears made her ludicrously ugly. 

"Smith, " she sobbed, "don't you ever feel sorry for anybody? Couldn't youever pity anybody? Couldn't you pity me?"

Smith made no reply, so she went on brokenly;

"Can't you remember that you was a kid once, too, and didn't know how, andcouldn't, fight grown up people that was mean to you?--and how you felt? Iknow you don't _have_ to do anything for me--you don't _have_ to--butwon't you? Won't you do somethin' good when you've got a chance--just thisonce, Smith? Won't you go away from here? You don't care anything at allfor Mother, Smith, and she's all I've got!" She stretched her hands towardhim appealing, while the hot tears wet her cheeks. She was the picture ofchildish humiliation and misery. 

Smith looked at her and listened without derision or triumph. He looked ather in simple curiosity, as he would have looked at a suffering animalbiting itself in pain. The unexpected outbreak interested him. 

Through a blur of tears, Susie read something of this in his face, and herhands dropped limply to her sides. Her appeal was useless. 

It was not that Smith did not understand her feelings. He did--perfectly. He knew how deep a child's hurt is. He had been hurt himself, and the scarwas still there. It was only that he did not care. He had lived throughhis hurt, and so would she. It was to his interest to stay, and first andalways he considered Smith. 

"You needn't say anything, " Susie said slowly, and there was no moresupplication in her voice. "I thought I knew you before, Smith, but I knowyou better now. When a white man is onery, he's meaner than an Injun, andthat's the kind of a white man you are. I'll never forget this. I'll neverforget that I've crawled to you, and you listened like a stone. "

Smith answered in a voice that was not unkind--as he would have warned herof a sink-hole or a bad crossing:

"You can't buck me, Susie, and you'd better not try. You're game, butyou're just a kid. "

"Kids grow up sometimes;" and she turned away. 

McArthur, strolling, while he enjoyed his pipe, came upon Susie lying facedownward, her head pillowed on her arm, on a sand dune not far from thehouse. He thought she was asleep until she sat up and looked at him. Thenhe saw her swollen eyes. 

"Why, Susie, are you ill?"

"Yes, I'm sick here. " She laid her hand upon her heart. 

He sat down beside her and stroked the streaked brown hair timidly. 

"I'm sorry, " he said gently. 

She felt the sympathy in his touch, and was quick to respond to it. 

"Oh, pardner, " she said, "I just feel awful!"

"I'm sorry, Susie, " he said again. 

"Did _your_ mother ever go back on you, pardner?"

McArthur shook his head gravely. 

"No, Susie. "

"It's terrible. I can't tell you hardly how it is; but it's like everybodythat you ever cared for in the world had died. It's like standin' over aquicksand and feelin' yourself goin' down. It's like the dreams when youwake up screamin' and you have to tell yourself over and over it isn'tso--except that I have to tell myself over and over it _is_ so. "

"Susie, I think you're wrong. "

She shook her head sadly. 

"I wish I was wrong, but I'm not. "

"She worries when you are late getting home, or are not well. "

"Yes, she's like that, " she nodded. "Mother would fight for me like a bearwith cubs if anybody would hurt me so she could see it, but the worsthurt--the kind that doesn't show--I guess she don't understand. Before nowI could tell anybody that come on the ranch and wasn't nice to me to'git, ' and mother would back me up. Even yet I could tell you or Tubbs orMr. Ralston to leave, and they'd have to go. But Smith?--no! He's comeback to stay. And she'll let him stay, if she knows it will drive me awayfrom home. Mother's Injun, and she can only read a little and write alittle that my Dad taught her, and she wears blankets and moccasins, but Inever was 'shamed of Mother before. If she marries Smith, what can I do?Where can I go? I could take my pack outfit and start out to hunt Dad'sfolks, but if Mother marries Smith, she'll need me after a while. Yet howcan I stay? I feel sometimes like they was two of me--one was good and onewas bad; and if Mother lets Smith turn me out, maybe all the bad in mewould come to the top. But there's one thing I couldn't forget. Dad usedto say to me lots of times when we were alone--oh, often he said it:'Susie, girl, never forget you're a MacDonald!'"

McArthur turned quickly and looked at her. 

"Did your father say that?"

Susie nodded. 

"Just like that?"

"Yes; he always straightened himself and said it just like that. "

McArthur was studying her face with a peculiar intentness, as if he wereseeing her for the first time. 

"What was his first name, Susie?"

"Donald. "

"Donald MacDonald?"

"Yes; there was lots of MacDonalds up there in the north country. "

"Have you a picture, Susie?"

A rifle-shot broke the stillness of the droning afternoon. Susie was onher feet the instant. There was another--then a fusillade!

"It's the Indians after Smith!" she cried. "They promised me theywouldn't! Come--stand up here where you can see. "

McArthur took a place beside her on a knoll and watched the scene withhorrified eyes. The Indians were grouped, with Bear Chief in advance. 

"They're shootin' into the stable! They've got him cornered, " Susieexplained excitedly. "No--look! He's comin' out! He's goin' to make a runfor it! He's headed for the house. He can run like a scared wolf!"

"Do they mean to kill him?" McArthur asked in a shocked voice. 

"Sure they mean to kill him. Do you think that's target practice? But lookwhere the dust flies up--they're striking all around him--behindhim--beside him--everywhere but in him! They're so anxious that they'reshootin' wild. Runnin' Rabbit ought to get him--he's a good shot! He_did_! No, he stumbled. He's charmed--that Smith. He's got a strongmedicine. "

"He's not too brave to run, " said McArthur, but added: "I ran, myself, when they were after me. "

"He'd better run, " Susie replied. "But he's after his gun; he means tofight. "

"He'll make it!" McArthur cried. 

Susie's voice suddenly rang out in an ascending, staccato-like shriek. 

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Mother, go back!" but the cracking rifles drowned Susie'sshrill cry of entreaty. 

The Indian woman, with her hands high above her head, the palms open as ifto stop the singing bullets, rushed from the house and stopped only whenshe had passed Smith and stood between him and danger. She stood erect, unflinching, and while the Indians' fire wavered Smith gained thedoorway. 

Gasping for breath, his short upper lip drawn back from his protrudingteeth in the snarl of a ferocious animal, he snatched a rifle from thedeer-horn gun-rack above the door. 

The Indian woman was directly in line between him and his enemies. 

"Get out of the way!" he yelled, but she did not hear him. 

"The fool!" he snarled. "The fool! I'll have to crease her. "

He lifted his rifle and deliberately shot her in the fleshy part of herarm near the shoulder. She whirled with the shock of it, and dropped. 

XVIII

A BAD HOMBRE

The Indians ceased firing when the woman fell, and when Susie reached hermother Smith was helping her to her feet, and it was Smith who led herinto the house and ripped her sleeve. 

It was only a painful flesh-wound, but if the bullet had gone a few incheshigher it would have shattered her shoulder. It was a shot which toldSmith that he had lost none of his accuracy of aim. 

He always carried a small roll of bandages in his hip-pocket, and withthese he dressed the woman's arm with surprising skill. 

"When you needs a bandage, you generally needs it bad, " he explained. 

He wondered if she knew that it was his shot which had struck her. If shedid know, she said nothing, though her eyes, bright with pain, followedhis every movement. 

"Looks like somebody's squeaked, " Smith said meaningly to Susie. 

"Nobody's squeaked, " she lied glibly. "They're mad, and they'resuspicious, but they didn't see you. "

"If they'd go after me like that on suspicion, " said Smith dryly, "lookslike they'd be plumb hos-tile if they was sure. Is this here war goin' tokeep up, or has they had satisfaction?"

Through Susie, a kind of armistice was arranged between Smith and theIndians. It took much argument to induce them to defer their vengeance andlet the law take its course. 

"You'll only get in trouble, " she urged, "and Mr. Ralston will see thatSmith gets all that's comin' to him when he has enough proof. He's stolemore than horses from me, " she said bitterly, "and if I can wait and trustthe white man to handle him as he thinks best, you can, too. "

So the Indians reluctantly withdrew, but both Smith and Susie knew thattheir smouldering resentment was ready to break out again upon theslightest provocation. 

Susie's assurance that the attack of the Indians was due only to suspiciondid not convince Smith. He noticed that, with the exception of YellowBird, there was not a single Indian stopping at the ranch, and Yellow Birdnot only refused to be drawn into friendly conversation, but distinctlyavoided him. 

Smith knew that he was now upon dangerous ground, yet, with hisunfaltering faith in himself and his luck, he continued to walk with afirm tread. If he could make one good turn and get the Indian woman'sstake, he told himself, then he and Dora could look for a more healthfulclime. 

The Schoolmarm never had appeared more trim, more self-respecting, moredesirable, than when in her clean, white shirt-waist and well-cut skirtshe stepped forward to greet him with a friendly, outstretched hand. Hisheart beat wildly as he took it. 

"I was afraid you had gone 'for keeps, '" she said. 

"Were you _afraid_?" he asked eagerly. 

"Not exactly afraid, to be more explicit, but I should have been sorry. "She smiled up into his face with her frank, ingenuous smile. 

"Why?"

"You were getting along so well with your lessons. Besides, I should havethought it unfriendly of you to go without saying good-by. "

"Unfriendly?" Smith laughed shortly. "Me unfriendly! Why, girl, you'relike a mountain to me. When I'm tired and hot and all give out, I raisesmy eyes and sees you there above me--quiet and cool and comfortable, like--and I takes a fresh grip. "

"I'm glad I help you, " Dora replied gently. "I want to. "

"I'm in the way of makin' a stake now, " Smith went on, "and when I getsit"--he hesitated--"well, when I gets it I aims to let you know. "

When Dora went into the house, to her own room, Smith stepped into theliving-room, where the Indian woman sat by the window. 

"You like dat white woman better den me?" she burst out as he entered. 

"Prairie Flower, " he replied wearily, "if I had a dollar for every timeI've answered that question, I wouldn't be lookin' for no stake to buycattle with. "

"De white woman couldn't give you no stake. "

He made no reply to her taunt. He was thinking. The words of a cowpunchercame back to him as he sat and regarded with unseeing eyes the Indianwoman. The cowpuncher had said: "When a feller rides the range month inand month out, and don't see nobody but other punchers and Injuns, someMary Moonbeam or Sally Star-eyes begins to look kind of good to him whenhe rides into camp and she smiles as if she was glad he had come. He gitsused to seein' her sittin' on an antelope hide, beadin' moccasins, and thecountry where they wear pointed-toed shoes and sit in chairs gits fartherand farther away. And after awhile he tells himself that he don't mindsmoke and the smell of buckskin, and a tepee is a better home nor none, and that he thinks as much of this here Mary Moonbeam or Sally Star-eyesas he could think of any woman, and he wonders when the priest could come. And while he's studyin' it over, some white girl cuts across his trail, and, with the sight of her, Mary Moonbeam or Sally Star-eyes looks like adirty two-spot in a clean deck. " The cowpuncher's words came back toSmith as though they had been said only yesterday. 

"Why don't you say what you think?" the woman asked, uneasy under his longstare. 

"No, " said Smith, rousing himself; "the Schoolmarm couldn't give me nostake; and money talks. "

"When you want your money?"

"Quick. "

"How much you want?"

"How much you got?" he asked bluntly. He was sure of her, and he was in nomood to finesse. 

"Eight--nine thousand. "

"If I'm goin' to do anything with cattle this year, I want to get at it. "

"I give you de little paper MacDonald call check. I know how to writecheck, " she said with pride. 

Smith shook his head. A check was evidence. 

"It's better for you to go to the bank and get the cash yourself. Meeteetse can hitch up and take you. It won't bother your arm none, foryou ain't bad hurt. Nine thousand is quite a wad to get without givin'notice, and I doubt if you gets it, but draw all you can. Take aflour-sack along and put the stuff in it; then when you gets home, pass itover to me first chance. Don't let 'em load you down with silver--I hatesto pack silver on horseback. "

To all of which instructions the woman agreed. 

That she might avoid Susie's questions, she did not start the next morninguntil Susie was well on her way to school. Then, dressed in her gaudiestskirt, her widest brass-studded belt, her best and hottest blanket, shewas ready for the long drive. 

Smith put a fresh bandage on her arm, and praised the scrawling signatureon the check which she had filled out after laborious and oft-repeatedefforts. He made sure that she had the flour-sack, and that the check waspinned securely inside her capacious pocket, before he helped her in thewagon. He had been all attention that morning, and her eyes were liquidwith gratitude and devotion as she and Meeteetse drove away. She turnedbefore they were out of sight, and her face brightened when she saw Smithstill looking after them. She thought comfortably of the fast approachingday when she would be envied by the women who had married only "bloods" or"breeds. "

Smith, as it happened, was remarking contemptuously to Tubbs, as he noddedafter the disappearing wagon:

"Don't that look like a reg'lar Injun outfit? One old white horse and aspotted buzzard-head; harness wired up with Mormon beeswax; a lopsidedspring seat; one side-board gone and no paint on the wagon. "

"You'd think Meeteetse'd think more of hisself than to go ridin' aroundwith a blanket-squaw. "

"He _said_ he was out of tobacer, but he probably aims to get drunk. "

"More'n likely, " Tubbs agreed. "Meeteetse's gittin' to be a reg'larsquawman anyhow, hangin' around Injuns so much and runnin' with 'em. Hebelieves in signs and dreams, and he ain't washed his neck for sixweeks. "

"Associatin' too much with Injuns will spile a good man. Tubbs, " Smithwent on solemnly, "you ain't the feller you was when you come. "

"I knows it, " Tubbs agreed plaintively. "I hain't half the gumption Ihad. "

"It hurts me to see a bright mind like yours goin' to seed, and there'snothin'll do harm to a feller quicker nor associatin' with them as ain'this equal. Tubbs, like you was my own brother, I says that bug-hunterain't no man for you to run with. "

"He ain't vicious and the likes o' that, " said Tubbs, in mild defense ofhis employer. 

"What's 'vicious' anyhow?" demanded Smith. "Who's goin' to say what'svicious and what ain't? I says it's vicious to lie like he does about themidjot skulls and ham-bones he digs out and brings home, makin' out thatthey might be pieces of fellers what could use one of them cotton-woodsfor a walkin' stick and et animals the size of that meat-house at ameal. "

"He never said jest that. "

"He might as well. What I'm aimin' at is that it's demoralizin' to getinterested in things like that and spend your life diggin' up the dead. It's too tame for a feller of any spirit. "

"It's nowise dang'rous, " Tubbs admitted. 

"If I thought you was my kind, Tubbs, I'd give you a chance. I'd let youin on a deal that'd be the makin' of you. "

"All I needs is a chanct, " Tubbs declared eagerly. 

"I believe you, " Smith replied, with flattering emphasis. 

A disturbing thought made Tubbs inquire anxiously:

"This here chanct your speakin' of--it ain't work, is it?--real right-downwork?"

"Not degradin' work, like pitchin' hay or plowin'. "

"I hates low-down work, where you gits out and sweats. "

"I see where you're right. There's no call for a man of your sand and_sabe_ to do day's work. Let them as hasn't neither and is afraid to takechances pitch hay and do plowin' for wages. "

Tubbs looked a little startled. 

"What kind of chances?"

Smith looked at Tubbs before he lowered his voice and asked:

"Wasn't you ever on the rustle none?"

Tubbs reflected. 

"Onct back east, in I-ó-wa, I rustled me a set of underwear off'n aclothes-line. "

Smith eyed Tubbs in genuine disgust. He had all the contempt for apetty-larceny thief that the skilled safe-breaker has for the commonpurse-snatcher. The line between pilfering and legitimate stealing wasvery clear in his mind. He said merely, "Tubbs, I believe you're a bad _hombre_. "

"They _is_ worse, I s'pose, " said Tubbs modestly, "but I've been prettyrank in my time. "

"Can you ride? Can you rope? Can you cut out a steer and burn a brand?Would you get buck-ague in a pinch and quit me if it came to a show-down?Are you a stayer?"

"Try me, " said Tubbs, swelling. 

"Shake, " said Smith. "I wisht we'd got acquainted sooner. "

"And mebby I kin tell you somethin' about brands, " Tubbs went onboastfully. 

"More'n likely. "

"I kin take a wet blanket and a piece of copper wire and put an additionto an old brand so it'll last till you kin git the stock off'n your hands. I've never done it, but I've see it done. "

"I've heard tell of somethin' like that, " Smith replied dryly. 

"Er you kin draw out a brand so you never would know nothin' was there. You take a chunk of green cottonwood, and saw it off square; then you bileit and bile it, and when it's hot through, you slaps it on the brand, andwhen you lifts it up after while the brand is drawed out. "

"Did you dream that, Tubbs?"

"I b'leeve it'll work, " declared Tubbs stoutly. 

"Maybe it would work in I-ó-wa, " said Smith, "but I doubts if it wouldwork here. Any way, " he added conciliatingly, "we'll give it a try. "

"And this chanct--it's tolable safe?"

"Same as if you was home in bed. When I says 'ready, ' will you come?"

"Watch my smoke, " answered Tubbs. 

Smith's eyes followed Tubbs's hulking figure as he shambled off, and hisface was full of derision. 

"Say"--he addressed the world in general--"you show me a man from I-ó-waor Nebrasky and I'll show you a son-of-a-gun. "

Tubbs was putty in the hands of Smith, who could play upon his vanity andignorance to any degree--though he believed that beyond a certain pointTubbs was an arrant coward. But Smith had a theory regarding themanagement of cowards. He believed that on the same principle that oneuses a whip on a scared horse--to make it more afraid of that which isbehind than of that which is ahead--he could by threats and intimidationsforce Tubbs to do his bidding if the occasion arose. Tubbs's mentalcalibre was 22-short; but Smith needed help, and Tubbs seemed the mostpliable material at hand. That Tubbs had pledged himself to something thenature of which he knew only vaguely, was in itself sufficient to receiveSmith's contempt. He had learned from observation that little dependencecan be placed upon those who accept responsibilities too readily andlightly, but he was confident that he could utilize Tubbs as long as heshould need him, and after that--Smith shrugged his shoulders--what was anI-ó-wan more or less?

Altogether, he felt well satisfied with what he had accomplished in theshort while since his return. 

When Susie came home from school, Smith was looking through thecorral-fence at a few ponies which Ralston had bought and driven in, togive color to his story. 

"See anything there you'd like?" she inquired, with significant emphasis. 

"I'd buy the bunch if I was goin' to set me some bear-traps. " Smith couldsee nothing to praise in anything which belonged to Ralston. 

Susie missed her mother immediately upon going into the house, and intheir sleeping-room she saw every sign of a hurried departure. 

"Where's mother gone?" she asked Ling. 

"Town. "

"To town? To see a doctor about her arm?"

"Beads. "

"Beads?"

"Blue beads, gleen beads. She no have enough beads for finish moccasin. "

"When's she comin' home?"

"She come 'night. "

Forty miles over a rough road, with her bandaged arm, for beads! It didnot sound reasonable to Susie, but since Smith was accounted for, and hermother would return that night, there seemed no cause for worry. Susiecould not remember ever before having come home without finding her mothersomewhere in the house, and now, as she fidgeted about, she realized howmuch she would miss her if that which she most feared should transpire toseparate them. 

She walked to the door, and while she stood idly kicking her heel againstthe door-sill she saw Ralston, who was passing, stoop and pick up a scrapof paper which had been caught between two small stones. She observed thathe examined it with interest, but while he stood with his lips pursed in ahalf-whistle a puff of wind flirted it from his fingers. He pursued it asthough it had value, and Susie, who was not above curiosity, joined in thechase. 

It lodged in one of the giant sage-brushes which grew some little distanceaway on the outer edge of the dooryard, and into this brush Ralstonreached and carefully drew it forth. He looked at it again, lest his eyeshad deceived him, then he passed it to Susie, who stared blankly from thescrap of paper to him. 

XIX

WHEN THE CLOUDS PLAYED WOLF

The Indian woman was restless; she had been so from the time they had lostsight of the town, but her restlessness had increased as the daylightfaded and night fell. 

"You're goin' to bust this seat in if you don't quit jammin' around, "Meeteetse Ed warned her peevishly. 

Meeteetse was irritable, a state due largely to the waning exhilaration ofa short and unsatisfactory spree. 

The woman clucked at the horses, and, to the great annoyance of herdriver, reached for the reins and slapped them on the back. 

"They're about played out, " he growled. "Forty miles is a awful trip forthese buzzard-heads to make in a day. We orter have put up some'eresovernight. "

"I could have stayed with Little Coyote's woman. "

"We orter have done it, too. Look at them cayuses stumblin' along! Say, wewon't git in before 'leven or twelve at this gait, and I'm so hungry Idon't know where I'm goin' to sleep to-night. "

"Little Coyote's woman gifted me some sa'vis berries. "

"Aw, sa'vis berries! I can't go sa'vis berries, " growled Meeteetse. "They're too sweet. The only way they're fit to eat is to dry 'em andpound 'em up with jerked elk--then they ain't bad eatin'. I've et 'mostev'ry thing in my day. I've et wolf, and dog, and old mountain billy-goat, and bull-snakes, and grasshoppers, so you kin see I ain't finnicky, but Ican't stummick sa'vis berries. " He asked querulously: "What's ailin' ofyou?"

The Indian woman, who had been studying the black clouds as they driftedacross the sky to dim the starlight, said in a half-whisper:

"The clouds no look good to me. They look like enemies playin' wolf. Ifeel as if somethin' goin' happen. "

The bare suggestion of the supernatural was sufficient to alarm Meeteetse. He asked in a startled voice:

"How do you feel?"

"I feel sad. My heart drags down to de ground, and it seem like de darkhide somethin'. "

Meeteetse elongated his neck and peered fearfully into the darkness. 

"What do you think it hides?" he asked in a husky whisper. 

She shook her head. 

"I don't know, but I have de bad feelin'. "

"I forgot to sleep with my feet crossed last night, " said Meeteetse, "andI dreamed horrible dreams all night long. Maybe they was warnin's. I can'tthink of anything much that could happen to us though, " he went on, havingforgotten some of his ill-nature in his alarm for his personal safety. "These here horses ain't goin' to run away--I wisht they would, fer 'twould git us quite a piece on our road. We ain't no enemies worthmentionin', and we ain't worth stealin', so I don't hardly think yourfeelin' means any wrong for us. More'n likely it's jest somebody dead. "

This thought, slightly consoling to Meeteetse, did not seem to comfort theIndian woman, who continued to squirm on the rickety seat and to strainher eyes into the darkness. 

"If anybody ud come along and want to mix with me--say, do you see thatfist? If ever I hit anybody with that fist, they'll have to have it dugout of 'em. I don't row often, but when I does--oh, lordy! lordy! I jestraves and caves. I was home on a visit onct, and my old-maid aunt gits anotion of pickin' on me. Say, I ups and runs her all over the house withan axe! I'm more er less a dang'rous character when I'm on the peck. Isthat feelin' workin off of you any?" he inquired anxiously. 

"It comes stronger, " she answered, and her grip tightened on theflour-sack she held under her blanket. 

"I wisht I knowed what it was. I'm gittin' all strung up myself. " Hispopping eyes ached from trying to see into the darkness around them. "Ifwe kin git past them gulches onct! That ud be a dum bad place to roll offthe side. We'd go kerplunk into the crick-bottom. Gosh! what was that?" Hestopped the weary horses with a terrific jerk. 

It was only a little night prowler which had scurried under the horses'feet and rustled into the brush. 

"You see how on aidge I am! I'll tell you, " he went on garrulously--thesound of his own voice was always pleasant to Meeteetse: "I take morestock in signs and feelin's than most people, for I've seen 'em work out. Down there in Hermosy there was a feller made a stake out'n a silverprospect, and he takes it into his head to go back to Nebrasky and hunt uphis wife, that he'd run off and left some time prev'ous. As the date gitsclost for him to leave, he got glummer and glummer. He'd skerce crack asmile. The night before the stage was comin' to git him, he was settin' ina 'dobe with a dirt roof, rared back on the hind legs of his chair, withhis hands in his pockets. 

"'Boys, ' he says, 'I'll never git back to Genevieve. I feels it; I knowsit; I'll bet you any amount I'm goin' to cash in between here andNebrasky. I've seen myself in my coffin four times hand-runnin', when Iwas wide awake. '

"Everybody had their mouths open to let out a holler and laff when jestthen one of the biggest terrantuler that I ever see dropped down out'n thedirt and straw and lands on his bald head. It hangs on and bites 'foreanybody kin bresh it off, and, 'fore Gawd, he ups and dies while themedicine shark is comin' from the next town!"

His companion did not find Meeteetse's reminiscence specially interesting, possibly because she had heard it before, so at its conclusion she made nocomment, but continued to watch with anxious eyes the clouds and the roadahead. 

"Now if that ud been me, " Meeteetse started to say, in nowise disconcertedby the unresponsiveness of his listener--"if that ud----"

"Throw up your hands!" The curt command came out of the night with thestartling distinctness of a gun-shot. The horses were thrown back on theirhaunches by a figure at their head. 

Meeteetse not only threw up his hands, but his feet. He threw them up sohigh and so hard that he lost his equilibrium, and, as a result, theill-balanced seat went over, carrying with it Meeteetse and the Indianwoman. 

The latter's mind acted quickly. She knew that her errand to the bank hadbecome known. Undoubtedly they had been followed from town. As soon as shecould disentangle herself from Meeteetse's convulsive embrace, she threwthe flour-sack from her with all her strength, hoping it would drop out ofsight in the sage-brush. It was caught in mid-air by a tall figure at thewagon-side. 

"Thank you, madam, " said a hollow voice, "Good-night. "

It was all done so quickly and neatly that Meeteetse and the Indian womanwere still in the bottom of the wagon when two dark figures clattered pastand vanishing hoof-beats told them the thieves were on their way to town. 

"Well, sir!" Meeteetse found his feet, also his tongue, at last. 

"Well, sir!" He adjusted the seat. 

"Well, sir!" He picked up the reins and clucked to the horses. 

"Well, sir! I know 'em. Them's the fellers that held up the GreatNorthern!"

The Indian woman said not a word. Her heart was filled with despair. Whatwould Smith say? was her thought. What would he do? She felt intuitivelyhow great would be his disappointment. How could she tell him?

She drew the blanket tighter about her shoulders and across her face, crouching on the seat like a culprit. 

The ranch-house was dark when they drove into the yard, for which she wasthankful. She left Meeteetse to unharness, and, without striking a lightor speaking to Susie, crept between her blankets like a frightened child. 

Smith, in his dreams, had heard the rumble of the wagon as it crossed theford, and he awoke the next morning with a sensation of pleasurableanticipation. In his mind's eye, he saw the banknotes in a heap beforehim. There were all kinds in the picture--greasy ones, crisp ones, tattered bills pasted together with white strips of paper. He rather likedthese best, because the care with which they had been preserved conveyedan idea of value. They had been treasured, coveted by others, countedoften. 

Eager, animated, his eyes bright, his lips curving in a smile, Smithhurried into his clothes and to the ranch-house, to seek the Indian woman. He heard her heavy step as she crossed the floor of the living-room, andhe waited outside the door. 

"Prairie Flower!" he whispered as she stood before him. 

She avoided his eyes, and her fingers fumbled nervously with the buckle ofher wide belt. 

"Could you get it?"

"Most of it. "

"Where is it?" His eyes gleamed with the light of avarice. 

She drew in her breath hard. 

"It was stole. "

His face went blood-red; the cords of his neck swelled as if he werestraining at a weight. She shrank from the snarling ferocity of hismouth. 

"You lie!" The voice was not human. 

He clenched his huge fist and knocked her down. 

She was on the ground when Susie came out. 

"Mother!"

The woman blinked up at her. 

"I slip. I gettin' too fat, " she said, and struggled to her feet. 

Elsewhere, with great minuteness of detail, Meeteetse was describing theexciting incident of the night, and what would have happened if only hecould have laid hold of his gun. 

"Maybe they wouldn't 'a' split the wind if I could have jest drawed myautomatic in time! As 'twas, I put up the best fight I could, with a womanscreamin' and hangin' to me for pertection. I rastled the big felleraround in the road there for some time, neither of us able to git a goodholt. He was glad enough to break away, I kin tell you. They's no mannero' doubt in my mind but them was the Great Northern hold-ups. "

"But what would they tackle _you_ for?" demanded Old Man Rulison. "Everybody knows _you_ ain't got nothin', and you say all they took fromthe old woman was a flour-sack full of dried sa'vis berries. It's some ofa come-down, looks to me, from robbing trains to stealin' stewin'-fruit. "

"Well, there you are. " Meeteetse shrugged his shoulders. "That's yourmystery. All I knows is, that I pulled ha'r every jump in the road to savethem berries. "

XX

THE LOVE MEDICINE OF THE SIOUX

Still breathing hard, Smith hunted Tubbs. 

"Tubbs, will you be ready for business, to-day?"

"The sooner, the quicker, " Tubbs answered, with his vacuous wit. 

"Do you know the gulch where they found that dead Injun?"

"Yep. "

"Saddle up and meet me over there as quick as you can. "

"Right. " Tubbs winked knowingly, and immediately after breakfast startedto do as he was bid. 

Smith's face was not good to look upon as he sat at the table. He took nopart in the conversation, and scarcely touched the food before him. Hisdisappointment was so deep that it actually sickened him, and hisunreasoning anger toward the woman was so great that he wanted to get outof her sight and her presence. She was like a dog which after a whippingtries to curry favor with its master. She was ready to go to him at thefirst sign of relenting. She felt no resentment because of his injusticeand brutality. She felt nothing but that he was angry at her, that hekept his eyes averted and repelled her timid advances. Her heart ached, and she would have grovelled at his feet, had he permitted her. In herdesperation, she made up her mind to try on him the love-charm of theSioux women. It might soften his heart toward her. She would havesacrificed anything and all to bring him back. 

Smith was glad to get away into the hills for a time. He was filled with afeverish impatience to bring about that which he so much desired. Thepicture of the ranch-house with the white curtains at the windows becamemore and more attractive to him as he dwelt upon it. He looked upon it asa certainty, one which could not be too quickly realized to please him. Then, too, the atmosphere of the MacDonald ranch had grown distasteful tohim. With that sudden revulsion of feeling which was characteristic, hehad grown tired of the place, he wanted a change, to be on the move again;but, of more importance than these things, he sensed hostility in the air. There was something significant in the absence of the Indians at theranch. There was an ominous quiet hanging over the place that chilled him. He had a feeling that he was being followed, without being able to detectso much as a shadow. He felt as if the world were full of eyes--glued uponhim. Sudden sounds startled him, and he had found himself peering intodark stable corners and stooping to look where the shadows lay black inthe thick creek-brush. 

He told himself that the trip through the Bad Lands had unnerved him, butthe explanation was not satisfying. Through it all, he had an underlyingfeeling that something was wrong; yet he had no thought of altering hisplans. He wanted money, and he wanted Dora. The combination was sufficientto nerve him to take chances. 

Tubbs was waiting in the gulch. Smith looked at the spot where WhiteAntelope's body had lain, and reflected that it was curious how long theblack stain of blood would stay on sand and gravel. He had been lucky toget out of that scrape so easily, he told himself as he rode by. 

"I guess you know what you're up against, feller, " he said bluntly, as heand Tubbs met. 

"I inclines to the opinion that it's a little cattle deal, " Tubbs repliedfacetiously. 

"You inclines right. Now, here's our play--listen. The Bar C outfit isworkin' up in the mountains, so they won't interfere with us none, andabout three or three and a half days' drive from here there's some fellerswhat'll take 'em off our hands. We gets our wad and divvies. "

"What for a hand do I take?"

"By rights, maybe, we ought to do our work at night, but I've rode overthe country, and it looks safe enough to drive 'em into the gulch to-day. They isn't a human in sight, and if one shows up, I reckon you know whatto do. "

"It sounds easy enough, if it works, " said Tubbs dubiously. 

"If it works? Feller, if you've got a yeller streak, you better quit righthere. "

"I merely means, " Tubbs hastened to explain, "that it sounds so easy thatit makes me sore we wasn't doin' it before. "

The reply appeared to pacify Smith. 

"I hates to fool with cattle, " he admitted, "'specially these here Texasbrutes that spread out, leavin' tracks all over the flat, and they can'tmake time just off green grass. Gimme horses--but horses ain't safe rightnow, with the Injuns riled up. Now, you start out and gather up what youcan, and hold 'em here till I get back. I'll go to the ranch and get alittle grub together and get here as quick as it's safe. "

Smith galloped back to the ranch, to learn that Dora had ridden to theAgency to spend the day. He was keenly disappointed that he had missed theopportunity of saying good-by. She had chided him before for not tellingher of his contemplated absence, and he had promised not to neglect to doso again; for she was in the habit of arranging the table for hernight-school and waiting until he came. Then it occurred to Smith that hemight write. He was delighted with the idea, and undoubtedly Dora would beequally delighted to receive a letter from him. It would show her that heremembered his promise, and also give her a chance to note his progress. Since Smith had learned that a capital letter is used to designate thepersonal pronoun, and that a period is placed at such points as one'sbreath gives out, he had begun to think himself something of a scholar. 

His enthusiasm grew as he thought of it, and he decided that while he wasabout it he would write a genuine love-letter. 

Borrowing paper, an erratic pen, and ink pale from frequent watering, froma shelf in the living-room, he repaired to the dining-room table and gavehimself up to the throes of composition. 

Bearing in mind that the superlative of dear is dearest, he wrote:

 Dearest Girl. 

 I have got to go away on bizness. I had ought to hav said good-by but I cant wate till you gets back so I thort I wold write. I love you. I hates everyboddy else when I think of you. I dont love no other woman but you. Nor never did. If ever I go away and dont come back dont forget what I say because I will be ded, I mean it. I will hav a stak perty quick then I will show you this aint no josh. You no the rest, good-by for this time. 

 Smith. The perspiration stood out on his forehead, and he wiped it away with hisink-stained fingers. 

"Writin' is harder work nor shoein' a horse, " he observed to Ling, andadded for the Indian woman's benefit, "I'm sendin' off to get me a pair ofthem Angory saddle-pockets. "

His explanation did not deceive the person for whom it was intended. Withthe intuition of a jealous woman, she knew that he was writing a letterwhich he would not have her see. She meant to know, if possible, to whomhe was writing, and what. Although she did not raise her eyes from herwork when he replaced the pen and ink, she did not let him out of hersight. She believed that he had written to Dora, and she was sure of itwhen, thinking himself unobserved, he crept to Dora's open window, outsideof the house, and dropped the letter into the top drawer of her bureau, which stood close. 

As soon as Smith was out of sight, she too crept stealthily to the openwindow. A red spot burned on either swarthy cheek, and her aching heartbeat fast. She took the letter from the drawer, and, going toward thecreek, plunged into the willows, with the instinct of the wounded animalseeking cover. 

The woman could read a little--not much, but better than she could write. She had been to the Mission when she was younger, and MacDonald hadlabored patiently to teach her more. Now, concealed among the willows, sitting cross-legged on the ground, she spelled out Smith's letter word byword, I love you. I hates everyboddy else when I think of you. I don't love noother woman but you. Nor never did. 

She read it slowly, carefully, each word sinking deep. Then she strokedher hair with long, deliberate strokes, and read it again. 

I don't love no other woman but you. Nor never did. 

She laid the letter on the ground, and, folding her arms, rocked her bodyto and fro, as though in physical agony. When she shut her lips theytrembled as they touched each other, but she made no sound. The wound inher arm was beginning to heal. It itched, and she scratched it hard, forthe pain served as a kind of counter-irritant. A third time she read theletter, stroking her hair incessantly with the long, deliberate strokes. Then she folded it, and, reaching for a pointed stick, dug a hole in thesoft dirt. In the bottom of the hole she laid the letter and covered itwith earth, patting and smoothing it until it was level. Before she leftshe sprinkled a few leaves over the spot. 

She looked old and ugly when she went into the house, seeming, for thefirst time, the woman of middle-age that she was. Quietly, purposefully, she drew out a chair, and, standing upon it, took down from the raftersthe plant which Little Coyote's woman, the Mandan, had given her. It hadhung there a long time, and the leaves crumpled and dropped off at hertouch. She filled a basin with water and put the plant and root to soak, while she searched for a sharp knife. Turning her back to the room andfacing the corner, like a child in mischief, she peeled the outer barkfrom the root with the greatest care. The inner bark was blood-red, andthis too she peeled away carefully, very, very carefully saving thesmallest particles, and laid it upon a paper. When she had it all, sheburned the plant; but the red inner bark she put in a tin cup and coveredit with boiling water, to steep. 

"Don't touch dat, " she warned Ling. 

The afternoon was waning when she went again to the willows, but the airwas still hot, for the rocks and sand held the heat until well afternightfall. In the willows she cut a stick--a forked stick, which shetrimmed so that it left a crotch with a long handle. Hiding the stickunder her blanket, she stepped out of the willows, and seemed to bewandering aimlessly until she was out of sight of the house and thebunk-house. Then she walked rapidly, with a purpose. Her objective pointwas a hill covered so thickly with rocks that scarcely a spear of grassgrew upon it. The climb left her short of breath, she wiped theperspiration from her face with her blanket, but she did not falter. Stepping softly, listening, she crept over the rocks with the utmostcaution, peering here and there as if in search of something which she didnot wish to alarm. A long, sibilant sound stopped her. She located it ascoming from under a rock only a few feet away, and a little gleam ofsatisfaction in her sombre eyes showed that she had found that for whichshe searched. The angry rattlesnake was coiled to strike, but sheapproached without hesitancy. Calculating how far it could throw itself, she stood a little beyond its range and for a moment stood watching theglitter of its wicked little eyes, the lightning-like action of itstongue. When she moved, its head followed her, but she dexterously pinnedit to the rock with her forked stick and placed the heel of her moccasinupon its writhing body. Then, stooping, she severed its head from its bodywith her knife. 

She put the head in a square of cloth and continued her search. After atime, she found another, and when she went down the hill there were threeheads in the blood-soaked square of cloth. She hid them in the willows, and went into the house to stir the contents of the tin cup. She notedwith evident satisfaction that it had thickened somewhat. Little Coyote'swoman had told her it would do so. She found a bottle which had containedlemon extract, and this she rinsed. She measured a teaspoonful of thethick, reddish-brown liquid and poured it into the bottle, filling itafterward with water. The cup she took with her into the willows. Layingthe heads of the snakes upon a flat stone, she cut them through the jaws, and, extracting the poison sac, stirred the fluid into the tin cup. Whileshe stirred, she remembered that she had heard an owl hoot the nightbefore. It was an ill-omen, and it had sounded close. The hooting of anowl meant harm to some one. She wondered now if an owl feather would notmake the medicine stronger. She set down her cup and looked carefullyunder the trees, but could find no feathers. Ah, well, it was stout enoughmedicine without it!

She had brought a long, keen-bladed hunting-knife into the willows, andshe dipped the point of it into the concoction--blowing upon it until itdried, then repeating the process. When the point of the blade was welldiscolored, she muttered:

"Dat's de strong medicine!"

Her eyes glittered like the eyes of the snakes among the rocks, and theyseemed smaller. Their roundness and the liquid softness of them was gone. She looked "pure Injun, " as Smith would have phrased it, with murder inher heart. Deliberately, malevolently, she spat upon the earth beneathwhich the letter lay, before she returned to the house. 

She heard Susie's voice in the Schoolmarm's room, and quickly hid theknife behind a mirror in the living-room, where she hid everything whichshe wished to conceal, imagining, for some unknown reason, that no one butherself would ever think of looking there. Susie often had thoughtlaughingly that it looked like a pack-rat's nest. 

The woman poured the liquid which remained in the tin cup into anotherbottle, frowning when she spilled a few precious drops upon her hand. This bottle she also hid behind the mirror. 

In Dora Marshall's room, Susie was examining the teacher's toilettearticles, which held an unfailing interest for her. She meant to have anexact duplicate of the manicure set and of the hairbrush with the heavysilver back. To Susie, these things, along with side-combs and petticoatsthat rustled, were symbols of that elegance which she longed to attain. 

As she stood by the bureau, fumbling with the various articles, she caughtsight of a box through the crack of the half-open drawer. She had seenthat battered box before. It was the grasshopper box--for there was theslit in the top. 

Susie was not widely experienced in matters of sentiment, but she had herfeminine intuitions, besides remarkably well-developed reasoning powersfor her years. 

Why, she asked herself as she continued to stare through the crack, whyshould Teacher be cherishing that old bait-box? Why should she have itthere among her handkerchiefs and smelly silk things, and the soft lacethings she wore at her throat? Why--unless she attached value to it?Why--unless it was a romantic and sacred keepsake?

Susie rather prided herself on being in touch with all that went on, andnow she had an uneasy feeling that she might have missed something. Sheremembered the day of their fishing trip well, and at the time hadthought she had scented a budding romance. Had they quarrelled, shewondered?

She sat on the edge of the bed and swung her feet. 

"My, but won't it seem lonesome here without Mr. Ralston?" Susie sigheddeeply. 

"Is he going away?" Dora asked quickly. 

"He'll be goin' pretty soon now, because he's found most of his strays andbought all the ponies he wants. "

"I suppose he will be glad to get back among his friends. "

Susie thought Teacher looked a little pale. 

"Maybe he'll go back and get married. "

"Did he say so?"

Susie was _sure_ she was paler. 

"No, " she replied nonchalantly. "I just thought so, because anybody that'sas good-looking as he is, gets gobbled up quick. Don't you think he isgood-looking?"

"Oh, he does very well. "

"Gee whiz, I wish he'd ask me to marry him!" said Susie unblushingly. "Youcouldn't see me for dust, the way I'd travel. But there's no danger. Lookat them there skinny arms!"

"Susie! What grammar!"

"Those there skinny arms. "

"Those. "

"Those skinny arms; those hair; those eyes--soft and gentle like a coupleof augers, Meeteetse says. " Susie shook her head in mock despondency. "I've tried to be beautiful, too. Once I cut a piece out of a newspaperthat told how you could get rosy cheeks. It gave all the different thingsto put in, so I sent off and got 'em. I mixed 'em like it said and rubbedit on my face. There wasn't any mistake about my rosy cheeks, but youought to have seen the blisters on my cheek-bones--big as dollars!"

"I'm sure you will not be so thin when you are older, " Dora saidconsolingly, "and your hair would be a very pretty color if only you wouldwear a hat and take a little care of it. "

Susie shook her head and sighed again. 

"Oh, it will be too late then, for he will be snapped up by some of thosestylish town girls. You see. "

Dora put buttons in her shirt-waist sleeves in silence. 

"I think he liked to stay here until you quarrelled with him. "

"I quarrelled with him?"

"Oh, didn't you?" Susie was innocence itself. "You treat him so polite, Ithought you must have quarrelled--such a chilly polite, " she explained. 

"I don't think _he_ has observed it, " Dora answered coldly. 

"Oh, yes, he has. " Susie waited discreetly. 

"How do you know?"

"When you come to the table and say, Good-morning, and look at him withoutseeing him, I know he'd a lot rather you cuffed him. "

"What a dreadful word, Susie, and what an absurd idea!"

Susie noted that Teacher's eyes brightened. 

"_You'll_ be goin' away, too, pretty soon, and I s'pose you'll be glad youwill never see him again. But, " she added dolefully, "ain't it awful theway people just meets and parts?"

Dora was a long time finding that for which she was searching among theclothes hanging on a row of nails, and Susie, rolling her eyes in thatdirection, was sure, very sure, that she saw Teacher dab at her lasheswith the frilly ruffle of a petticoat before she turned around. 

"When did he say he was going?"

"He didn't say; but to-day or to-morrow, I should think. "

"If he cared so much because I am cool to him, he certainly would haveasked me why I treated him so. But he didn't care enough to ask. "

Teacher's voice sounded queer even to herself, and she seemed intenselyinterested in buttoning her boots. 

"Pooh! I know why. It's because he thinks you like that Smith. "

"Smith!"

"Yes, Smith. "

The jangle of Ling's triangle interrupted the fascinating conversation. 

"How perfectly foolish!" gasped Dora. 

"Not to Smith, " Susie replied dryly, "nor to Mr. Ralston. "

Susie looked at the unoccupied chairs at the table as she and Dora seatedthemselves. Ralston's, Tubbs's, Smith's, and McArthur's chairs werevacant. 

"Looks like you're losin' your boarders fast, Ling, " she remarked. 

"Good thing, " Ling answered candidly. 

The Indian woman gulped her coffee, but refused the food which was passedto her. A strange faintness, accompanied by nausea, was creeping upon her. Her vision was blurred, and she saw Meeteetse Ed, at the opposite end ofthe table, as through a fog. She pushed back her chair and went into theliving-room, swaying a little as she walked. A faint moan caught Susie'sear, and she hastened to her mother. 

The woman was lying on the floor by the bench where she sewed, her headpillowed on her rag-rug. 

"Mother! Why, what's the matter with your hand? It's swelled!"

"I heap sick, Susie!" she moaned. "My arm aches me. "

"Look!" cried Susie, who had turned back her sleeve. "Her arm is black--apurple black, and it's swellin' up!"

"Oh, I heap sick!"

"What did you do to your arm, Mother? Did you have the bandage off?"

"Yes, it come off, and I pin him up, " said Ling, who was standing by. 

A paroxysm of pain seized the woman, and she writhed. 

"It looks exactly like a rattlesnake bite! I saw a fellow once that wasbit in the ankle, and it swelled up and turned a color like that, "declared Susie in horror. "Mother, you haven't been foolin' with snakes, or been bit?"

The woman shook her head. 

"I no been bit, " she groaned, and her eyes had in them the appealing lookof a sick spaniel. 

Dora and Susie helped her to her room, and though they tried every simpleremedy of which they had ever heard, to reduce the rapidly swelling arm, all seemed equally unavailing. The woman's convulsions hourly became moreviolent and frequent, while her arm was frightful to behold--black, as itwas, from hand to shoulder with coagulated blood. 

"If only we had an idea of the cause!" cried Dora, distracted. 

"Mother, can't you imagine anything that would make your arm bad likethis? Try to think. "

But though drops of perspiration stood on the woman's forehead, and hergrip tore the pillow, she obstinately shook her head. 

"I be better pretty soon, " was all she would say, and tried to smile atSusie. 

"If only some one would come!" Dora went to the open window often andlistened for Ralston's voice or McArthur's--the latter having gone for hismail. 

The strain of watching the woman's suffering told on both of the girls, and the night by her bedside seemed centuries long. Toward morning theparoxysms appeared to reach a climax and then to subside. They were ofshorter duration, and the intervals between were longer. 

"She's better, I'm sure, " Dora said hopefully, but Susie shook her head. 

"I don't think so; she's worse. There's that look behind, back of hereyes--that dead look--can't you see it? And it's in her face, too. I don'tknow how to say what I mean, but it's there, and it makes me shiver likecold. " The girl looked in mingled awe and horror at the first human beingshe ever had seen die. 

Unable to endure the strain any longer, Dora went into the fresh air, andSusie dropped on her knees by the bedside and took her mother's limp handin both of hers. 

"Oh, Mother, " she begged pitifully, "say something. Don't go away withoutsayin' something to Susie!"

With an effort of will, the woman slowly opened her dull eyes and fixedthem upon the child's face. 

"Yas, " she breathed; "I _want_ to say something. "

The words came slowly and thickly. 

"I no--get well. "

"Oh, Mother!"

Unheeding the wail, perhaps not hearing it, she went on, stopping oftenbetween words:

"I steal--from you--my little girl. I bad woman, Susie. It is right I die. I take de money--out of de bank dat MacDonald leave us--to give to Smith. De hold-ups steal de money on--de road. I have de bad heart--Susie--to dodat. I know now. "

"You mustn't talk like that, Mother!" cried Susie, gripping her handconvulsively. "You thought you'd get it again and put it back. You didn'tmean to steal from me. I know all about it. And I've got the money. Mr. Ralston found a check you had thrown away--you'd signed your name on it inthe wrong place. When we saw the date, and what a lot of money it was, andfound you had gone to town, we guessed the rest. It was easy to see Smithin that. So we held you up, and got it back. We knew there was no dangerto anybody, but, of course, we felt bad to worry and frighten you. "

"I'm glad, " said the woman simply. She had no strength or breath or timeto spare. "Dey's more. I tell you--I kill Smith--if he lie. He lie. Hebull-dog white man. I make de strong medicine to kill him--and I get depoison in my arm when de bandage slip. Get de bottles and de knife behindde lookin'-glass--I show you. "

Susie quickly did as she was bid. 

"De lemon bottle is de love-charm of de Sioux. One teaspoonful--no more, Little Coyote's woman say. De other bottle is de bad medicine. Be careful. Smith--make fool--of me--Susie. " What else she would have said ended in agurgle. Her jaw dropped, and she died with her glazing eyes upon Susie'sface. 

Susie pulled the gay Indian blanket gently over her mother's shoulders, asif afraid she would be cold. Then she slipped a needle and some beads andbuckskin, to complete an unfinished moccasin, underneath the blanket. Hermother was going on a long journey, and would want occupation. There wereno tears in Susie's eyes when she replaced the bottles and the skinningknife with the discolored blade behind the mirror. 

The wan little creature seemed to have no tears to shed. She wasunresponsive to Dora's broken words of sympathy, and the grub-liners'awkward condolences--they seemed not to reach her heart at all. She heardthem without hearing, for her mind was chaos as she moved silently fromroom to room, or huddled, a forlorn figure, on the bench where her motheralways had sat. 

Breakfast was long since over and the forenoon well advanced when shefinally left the silent house and crept like the ghost of her spiritedself down the path to the stable and into the roomy stall where her stoutlittle cow-pony stood munching hay. 

In her sorrow, the dumb animal was the one thing to which she turned. Helifted his head when she went in, and threw his cropped ears forward, while his eyes grew limpid as a horse's eyes will at the approach of someone it knows well and looks to for food and affection. 

They had almost grown up together, and the time Susie had spent on hisback, or with him in the corral or stall, formerly had been half herwaking hours. They had no fear of each other; only deep love and mutualunderstanding. 

"Oh, Croppy! Croppy!" her childish voice quavered. "Oh, Croppy, you're allI've got left!" She slipped her arms around his thick neck and hid herface in his mane. 

He stopped eating and stood motionless while she clung to him, his earsalert at the sound of the familiar voice. 

"What _shall_ I do!" she wailed in an abandonment of grief. 

In her inexperience, it seemed to Susie, that with her mother's death allthe world had come to an end for her. Undemonstrative as they were, andmeagre as had been any spoken words of affection, the bond of natural lovebetween them had seemed strong and unbreakable until Smith's coming. Theyhad been all in all to each other in their unemotional way; and now thisunexpected tragedy seemed to crush the child, because it was somethingwhich never had entered her thoughts. It was a crisis with which she didnot know how to cope or to bear. The world could never be blacker for herthan it was when she clung sobbing to the little sorrel pony's thick neckthat morning. The future looked utterly cheerless and impossible toendure. She had not learned that no tragedy is so blighting that there isnot a way out--a way which the sufferer makes himself, which comes to him, or into which he is forced. Nothing stays as it is. But it appeared toSusie that life could never be different, except to be worse. 

She had talked much to McArthur of the outside world, and questioned him, and a doubt had sprung up as to the feasibility of searching for herkinsfolk, as she had planned. There were many, many trails and wire fencesto bewilder one, and people--hundreds of people--people who were notalways kind. His answers filled her with vague fears. To be only sixteen, and alone, is cause enough for tears, and Susie shed them now. 

McArthur, with a radiant face, was riding toward the ranch to which he hadbecome singularly attached. His saddle-pockets bulged with mail, and hiselbows flapped joyously as he urged his horse to greater speed. He lookedup eagerly at the house as he crossed the ford, and his kind eyes shonewith happiness when he rode into the stable-yard and swung out of thesaddle. 

He heard a sound, the unmistakable sound of sobbing, as he was unsaddling. Listening, he knew it came from somewhere in the stable, so he left hishorse and went inside. 

It was Susie, as he had thought. She lifted her tear-stained face from thepony's mane when he spoke, and he knew that she was glad to see him. 

"Oh, pardner, I thought you'd _never_ come!"

"The mail was late, and I stayed with the Major to wait for it. What hasgone wrong?"

"Mother's dead, " she said. "She was poisoned accidentally. "

"Susie! And there was no one here?" The news seemed incredible. 

"Only Teacher and me--no one that knew what to do. We sent Meeteetse for adoctor, but he hasn't come yet. He probably got drunk and forgot what hewent for. It's been a terrible night, pardner, and a terrible day!"

McArthur looked at her with troubled eyes, and once more he stroked herhair with his gentle, timid touch. 

"Everything just looks awful to me, with Dad and mother both gone, and mehere alone on this big ranch, with only Ling and grub-liners. And to thinkof it all the rest of my life like this--with nobody that I belong to, orthat belongs to me!"

Something was recalled to McArthur with a start by Susie's words. He hadforgotten!

"Come, Susie, come with me. "

She followed him outside, where he unbuckled his saddle-pocket and took adaguerreotype from a wooden box which had come in the mail. The gilt framewas tarnished, the purple velvet lining faded, and when he handed the caseto Susie she had to hold it slanting in the light to see the picture. 

"Dad!"

She looked at McArthur with eyes wide in wonder. 

"Donald MacDonald, my aunt Harriet's brother, who went north to buy fursfor the Hudson Bay Company!" McArthur's eyes were smiling through themoisture in them. 

"We've got one just like it!" Susie cried, still half unable to believeher eyes and ears. 

"I was sure that day you mimicked your father when he said, 'Never forgetyou are a MacDonald!' for I have heard my aunt say that a thousand times, and in just that way. But I wanted to be surer before I said anything toyou, so I sent for this. "

"Oh, pardner!" and with a sudden impulse which was neither Scotch norIndian, but entirely of herself, Susie threw her arms about his neck andall but choked him in the only hug which Peter McArthur, A. M. , Ph. D. , could remember ever having had. 

XXI

THE MURDERER OF WHITE ANTELOPE

It was nearly dusk, and Ralston was only a few hundred yards from the BarC gate, when he met Babe, highly perfumed and with his hair suspiciouslyslick, coming out. Babe's look of disappointment upon seeing him was notflattering, but Ralston ignored it in his own delight at the meeting. 

"What was your rush? I was just goin' over to see you, " was Babe's glumgreeting. 

"And I'm here to see you, " Ralston returned, "but I forgot to perfumemyself and tallow my hair. "

"Aw-w-w, " rumbled Babe, sheepishly. "What'd you want?"

"You know what I'm in the country for?"

Babe nodded. 

"I've located my man, and he's going to drive off a big bunch to-night. There's two of them in fact, and I'll need help. Are you game for it?"

"Oh, mamma!" Babe rolled his eyes in ecstasy. 

"He has a horror of doing time, " Ralston went on, "and if he has any showat all, he's going to put up a hard fight. I'd like the satisfaction ofbringing them both in, single-handed, but it isn't fair to the Colonel totake any chances of their getting away. "

"Who is it?"

"Smith. "

"That bastard with his teeth stickin' out?"

Ralston laughed assent. 

"Pickin's!" cried Babe, with gusto. "I'd like to kill that feller everymornin' before breakfast. Will I go? Will I? _Will_ I?" Babe's crescendoended in a joyous whoop of exultation. "Wait till I ride back and tell theColonel, and git my ca'tridge belt. I take it off of an evenin' thesetranquil times. "

Ralston turned his horse and started back, so engrossed in thoughts of thework ahead of him that it was not until Babe overtook him that heremembered he had forgotten to ask Babe's business with him. 

"Well, I guess the old Colonel was tickled when he heard you'd spotted therustlers, " said Babe, as he reined in beside him. "He wanted to comealong--did for a fact, and him nearly seventy. He'd push the lid off hiscoffin and climb out at his own funeral if somebody'd happen to mentionthat thieves was brandin' his calves. "

"You said you had started to the ranch to see me. "

"Oh, yes--I forgot. Your father sent word to the Colonel that he wassellin' off his cattle and goin' into sheep, and wanted the Colonel tolet you know. "

"The poor old Governor! It'll about break his heart, I know; and I shouldbe there. At his time of life it's a pretty hard and galling thing to quitcattle--to be forced out of the business into sheep. It's like bein' madeto change your politics or religion against your will. "

"'Fore I'd wrangle woolers, " declared Babe, "I'd hold up trains or robdudes or do 'most any old thing. Say, I've rid by sheep-wagons when I wasdurn near starvin' ruther than eat with a sheep-herder or owe one a favor. Where do you find a man like the Colonel in sheep?" demanded Babe. "Youdon't find 'em. Nothin' but a lot of upstart sheep-herders, that's gotrich in five years and don't know how to act. "

"Oh, you're prejudiced, Babe. Not all sheepmen are muckers any more thanall cattlemen are gentlemen. "

"I'm not prejudiced a-_tall_!" declared Babe excitedly. "I'm perfectlyfair and square. Woolers is demoralizin'. Associate with woolers, and ittakes the spirit out of a feller quicker'n cookin. ' In five years youwon't be half the man you are now if you go into sheep. I'll sure hate tosee it!" His voice was all but pathetic as he contemplated Ralston'sdownfall. 

"I think you will, though, Babe, if I get out of this with a whole hide. "

"You'll be so well fixed you can git married then?" There was someconstraint in Babe's tone, which he meant to be casual. 

Ralston's heart gave him a twinge of pain. 

"I s'pose you've had every chance to git acquainted with the Schoolmarm, "he observed, since Ralston did not reply. 

"She doesn't like me, Babe. "

"_What_!" yelled Babe, screwing up his face in a grimace of surprise andunbelief. 

"She would rather talk to Ling than to me--at least, she seems far morefriendly to any one else than to me. "

"Say, she must be loony not to like you!"

Ralston could not help laughing outright at Babe's vigorous loyalty. 

"It's not necessarily a sign of insanity to dislike me. "

"She doesn't go that far, does she?" demanded Babe. 

"Sometimes I think so. "

"You don't care a-tall, do you?"

"Yes, " Ralston replied quietly; "I care a great deal. It hurts me morethan I ever was hurt before; because, you see, Babe, I never loved a womanbefore. "

"Aw-w-w, " replied Babe, in deepest sympathy. 

Smith had congratulated himself often during the day upon the fact that hecould not have chosen a more propitious time for the execution of hisplans--at least, so far as the Bar C outfit was concerned. His uneasinesspassed as the protecting darkness fell without their having seen a singleperson the entire day. 

When the last glimmer of daylight had faded, Tubbs and Smith started onthe drive, heading the cattle direct for their destination. They werefatter than Smith had supposed, so they could not travel as rapidly as hehad calculated, but he and Tubbs pushed them along as fast as they couldwithout overheating them. 

The darkness, which gave Smith courage, made Tubbs nervous. He swore atthe cattle, he swore at his horse, he swore at the rocks over which hishorse stumbled; and he constantly strained his roving eyes to penetratethe darkness for pursuers. Every gulch and gully held for him a freshterror. 

"Gee! I wisht I was out of this onct!" burst from him when the howl of awolf set his nerves jangling. 

"What'd you say?" Smith stopped in the middle of a song he was singing. 

"I said I wisht I was down where the monkeys are throwin' nuts! I'mchilly, " declared Tubbs. 

"Chilly? It's hot!"

Smith was light-hearted, sanguine. He told himself that perhaps it was aswell, after all, that the hold-ups had got off with the "old woman's"money. She might have made trouble when she found that he meant to go orhad gone with Dora. 

"You can't tell about women, " Smith said to himself. "They're like ducks:no two fly alike. "

He felt secure, yet from force of habit his hand frequently sought hiscartridge-belt, his rifle in its scabbard, his six-shooter in the holsterunder his arm. And while he serenely hummed the songs of the dance-hallsand round-up camps, two silent figures, so close that they heard theclacking of the cattle's split hoofs, Tubbs's vacuous oaths, Smith'scontented voice, were following with the business-like persistency of thelaw. 

The four mounted men rode all night, speaking seldom, each thinking hisown thoughts, dreaming his own dreams. Not until the faintest light grayedthe east did the pursuers fall behind. 

"We're not more'n a mile to water now"--Smith had made sure of his countrythis time--"and we'll hold the cattle in the brush and take turnswatchin'. "

"It's a go with me, " answered Tubbs, yawning until his jaws cracked. "I'masleep now. "

Ralston and Babe knew that Smith would camp for several hours in thecreek-bottom, so they dropped into a gulch and waited. 

"They'll picket their horses first, then one of them will keep watch whilethe other sleeps. Very likely Tubbs will be the first guard, and, unlessI'm mistaken, Tubbs will be dead to the world in fifteen minutes--though, maybe, he's too scared to sleep. " Ralston's surmise proved to be correctin every particular. 

After they had picketed their horses, Smith told Tubbs to keep watch for acouple of hours, while he slept. 

"Couldn't we jest switch that programme around?" inquired Tubbsplaintively. "I can't hardly keep my eyes open. "

"Do as I tell you, " Smith returned sharply. 

Tubbs eyed him with envy as he spread down his own and Tubbs'ssaddle-blankets. 

"I ain't what you'd call 'crazy with the heat. '" Tubbs shivered. "Couldn'tI crawl under one of them blankets with you?"

"You bet you can't. I'd jest as lief sleep with a bull-snake as a man, "snorted Smith in disgust, and, pulling the blankets about his ears, waslost in oblivion. 

"I kin look back upon times when I've enj'yed myself more, " muttered Tubbsdisconsolately, as he paced to and fro, or at intervals climbed wearilyout of the creek-bottom to look and listen. 

Ralston and Babe had concealed themselves behind a cut-bank which in therainy season was a tributary of the creek. They were waiting for daylight, and for the guard to grow sleepy and careless. With little more emotionthan hunters waiting in a blind for the birds to go over, the two menexamined their rifles and six-shooters. They talked in undertones, laughing a little at some droll observation or reminiscence. Only by asparkle of deviltry in Babe's blue eyes, and an added gravity ofexpression upon Ralston's face, at moments, would the closest observerhave known that anything unusual was about to take place. Yet eachrealized to the fullest extent the possible dangers ahead of them. Smith, they knew to be resourceful, he would be desperate, and Tubbs, ignorantand weak of will as he was, might be frightened into a kind of frenziedcourage. The best laid plans did not always work out according toschedule, and if by any chance they were discovered, and the thievesreached their guns, the odds were equal. But it was not their way to talkof danger to themselves. That there was danger was a fact, too obvious todiscuss, but that it was no hindrance to the carrying out of their planswas also accepted as being too evident to waste words upon. 

While the east grew pink, they talked of mutual acquaintances, of horsesthey had owned, of guns and big game, of dinners they had eaten, of socksand saddle blankets that had been stolen from them in cow outfits--theimportant and trivial were of like interest to these old friends waitingfor what, as each well knew, might be their last sunrise. 

Ralston finally crawled to the top of the cut-bank and looked cautiouslyabout. 

"It's time, " he said briefly. 

"_Bueno_. " Babe gave an extra twitch to the silk handkerchief knottedabout his neck, which, with him, signified a readiness for action. 

He joined Ralston at the top of the cut-bank. 

"Not a sign!" he whispered. "Looks like you and me owned the world, Dick. "

"We'll lead the horses a little closer, in case we need them quick. Then, we'll keep that bunch of brush between us and them, till we get closeenough. You take Tubbs, and I'll cover Smith--I want that satisfaction, "he added grimly. 

It was a typical desert morning, redolent with sage, which the night's dewbrought out strongly. The pink light changing rapidly to crimson wasseeking out the draws and coulees where the purple shadows of night stilllay. The only sound was the cry of the mourning doves, answering eachother's plaintive calls. And across the panorama of yellow sand, greensage-brush, burning cactus flowers, distant peaks of purple, all bathedalike in the gorgeous crimson light of morning, two dark figures creptwith the stealthiness of Indians. 

From behind the bush which had been their objective-point they could hearand see the cattle moving in the brush below; then a horse on picketsnorted, and as they slid quietly down the bank they heard a sound whichmade Babe snicker. 

"Is that a cow chokin' to death, " he whispered, "or one of them cherubsmerely sleepin'?"

In sight of the prone figures, they halted. 

Smith, with his hat on, his head pillowed on his saddle, was rolled in anold army blanket; while Tubbs, from a sitting position against a tree, hadfallen over on the ground with his knees drawn to his chin. His mouth, from which frightful sounds of strangulation were issuing, was wide open, and he showed a little of the whites of his eyes as he slumbered. 

"Ain't he a dream?" breathed Babe in Ralston's ear. "How I'd like apicture of that face to keep in the back of my watch!"

Smith's rifle was under the edge of his blanket, and his six-shooter inits holster lay by his head; but Tubbs, with the carelessness of a greenhand and the over-confidence which had succeeded his nervousness, hadleaned his rifle against a tree and laid his six-shooter andcartridge-belt in a crotch. 

Ralston nodded to Babe, and simultaneously they raised their rifles andviewed the prostrate forms along the barrels. 

"Put up your hands, men!"

The quick command, sharp, stern, penetrated the senses of the men inert inheavy sleep. Instantly Smith's hand was upon his gun. He had reached forit instinctively even before he sat up. 

"Drop it!" There was no mistaking the intention expressed in Ralston'svoice, and the gun fell from Smith's hand. 

The red of Smith's skin changed to a curious yellow, not unlike the yellowof the slicker rolled on the back of his saddle. Panic-stricken for themoment, he grinned, almost foolishly; then his hands shot above his head. 

A line of sunlight dropped into the creek-bottom, and a ray was caught bythe deputy's badge which shone on Ralston's breast. The glitter of itseemed to fascinate Smith. 

"You"--he drawled a vile name. "I orter have known!"

Still dazed with sleep, and not yet comprehending anything beyond the factthat he had been advised to put up his hands, and that a stranger haddrawn an uncommonly fine bead on the head which he was in honor bound topreserve from mutilation, Tubbs blinked at Babe and inquired peevishly:

"What's the matter with you?" He had forgotten that he was a thief. 

"Shove up your hands!" yelled Babe. 

With an expression of annoyance, Tubbs did as he was bid, but dropped themagain upon seeing Ralston. 

"Oh, hello!" he called cheerfully. 

"Put them hands back!" Babe waved his rifle-barrel significantly. 

"What's the matter with you, feller?" inquired Tubbs crossly. Though henow recollected the circumstances under which they were found, Ralston'spresence robbed the situation of any seriousness for him. It did not occurto Tubbs that any one who knew him could possibly do him harm. 

"Keep your hands up, Tubbs, " said Ralston curtly, "and, Babe, take theguns. "

"What for a josh is this anyhow?"--in an aggrieved tone. "Ain't we allfriends?"

"Shut up, you idjot!" snapped Smith irritably. His glance was full ofmalevolence as Babe took his guns. The yellow of his skin was now the onlysign by which he betrayed his feelings. To all other appearances, he washimself again--insolent, defiant. 

When it thoroughly dawned upon Tubbs that they were cornered and underarrest, he promptly went to pieces. He thrust his hands so high above hishead that they lifted him to tiptoe, and they shook as with palsy. 

"Stack the guns and get our horses, Babe, " said Ralston. 

"Mine's hard for a stranger to ketch, " said Smith surlily. "I'll get him, for I don't aim to walk. "

"All right; but don't make any break, Smith, " Ralston warned. 

"I'm not a fool, " Smith answered gruffly. 

Ralston's face relaxed as Smith sauntered toward his horse. He was gladthat they had been taken without bloodshed, and, now the prisoners' gunshad been removed, that possibility was passed. 

Smith's horse was a newly broken bronco, and he was a wild beggar, asSmith had said; but he talked to him reassuringly as the horse jumped tothe end of his picket-rope and stood snorting and trembling in fright, andfinally laid his hand upon his neck and back. The fingers of one hand wereentwined in the horse's mane, and suddenly, with a cat-like spring madepossible only by his desperation, Smith landed on the bronco's back. Witha yell of defiance which Ralston and Babe remembered for many a day, hekicked the animal in the ribs, and, as it reared in fright, it pulledloose from the picket-stake. Smith reached for the trailing rope, and theywere gone!

Ralston shot to cripple the horse, but almost with the flash they werearound the bend of the creek and out of sight. The breathless, speechlessseconds seemed minutes long before he heard Babe coming. 

"Aw-w-w!" roared that person in consternation and chagrin, as he literallydragged the horses behind him. 

Ralston ran to meet him, and a glance of understanding passed between themas he leaped into the saddle and swept around the bend like a whirlwind, less than thirty seconds behind Smith. 

Babe knew that he must secure Tubbs before he joined in the pursuit, andhe was pulling the rawhide riata from his saddle when Tubbs, inspired bySmith's example and imbued with the hysterical courage which sometimescomes to men of his type in desperate straits, made a dash for his rifle, and reached it. He threw it to his shoulder, but, quick as he was, Babewas quicker. 

[Illustration: SMITH REACHED FOR THE TRAILING ROPE AND THEY WERE GONE!]

With the lightning-like gesture which had made his name a byword whereBabe himself was unknown, he pulled his six-shooter from its holster andshot Tubbs through the head. He fell his length, like a bundle ofblankets, and, even as he dropped, Babe was in the saddle and away. 

It was a desperate race that was on, between desperate men; for if Smithwas desperate, Ralston was not less so. Every fibre of his being wasconcentrated in the determination to recapture the man who had twiceoutwitted him. The deputy sheriff's reputation was at stake; his pride andself-respect as well; and the blood-thirst was rising in him with eachjump of his horse. Every other emotion paled, every other interest faded, beside the intensity of his desire to stop the man ahead of him. 

Smith knew that he had only a chance in a thousand. He had seen Ralstonwith a six-shooter explode a cartridge placed on a rock as far away as hecould see it, and he was riding the little brown mare whose swiftnessSmith had reason to remember. 

But he had the start, his bronco was young, its wind of the best, and itmight have speed. The country was rough, Ralston's horse might fall withhim. So long as Smith was at liberty there was a fighting chance, and asalways, he took it. 

The young horse, mad with fright, kept to the serpentine course of thecreek-bottom, and Ralston, on the little mare, sure-footed and swift as ajack-rabbit, followed its lead. 

The race was like a steeple-chase, with boulders and brush and fallen logsto be hurdled, and gullies and washouts to complicate the course. And atevery outward curve the _pin-n-gg!_ of a bullet told Smith of hispursuer's nearness. Lying flat on the barebacked horse, he hung well tothe side until he was again out of sight. The lead plowed up the dirtahead of him and behind him, and flattened itself against rocks; and ateach futile shot Smith looked over his shoulder and grinned in derision, though his skin had still the curious yellowness of fear. 

The race was lasting longer than Smith had dared hope. It began to look asif it were to narrow to a test of endurance, for although Ralston's shotsmissed by only a hair's breadth at times, still, they missed. If Smithever had prayed, he would have prayed then; but he had neither words norfaith, so he only hoped and rode. 

A flat came into sight ahead and a yell burst from Ralston--a yell thatwas unexpected to himself. A wave of exultation which seemed to come fromwithout swept over him. He touched the mare with the spur, and she skimmedthe rocks as if his weight on her back were nothing. It was smoother, andhe was close enough now to use his best weapon. He thrust the empty rifleinto its scabbard, and shot at Smith's horse with his six-shooter. Itstumbled; then its knees doubled under it, and Smith turned in the air. The game was up; Smith was afoot. 

He picked up his hat and dusted his coat-sleeve while he waited, and hisface was yellow and evil. 

"That was a dum good horse, " was Babe's single comment as he rode up. 

"Get back to camp!" said Ralston peremptorily, and Smith, in hishigh-heeled, narrow-soled boots, stumbled ahead of them without a word. 

He looked at Tubbs's body without surprise. Sullen and surly, he felt noregret that Tubbs, braggart and fool though he was, was dead. Smith had noconscience to remind him that he himself was responsible. 

Babe shook out Smith's blue army blanket and rolled Tubbs in it. Smith hadbought it from a drunken soldier, and he had owned it a long time. It waslight and almost water-proof; he liked it, and he eyed Babe's action withdisfavor. 

"I reckon this gent will have to spend the day in a tree, " said Babeprosaically. 

"Couldn't you use no other blanket nor that?" demanded Smith. 

It was the first time he had spoken. 

"Don't take on so, " Babe replied comfortingly. "They furnish blanketswhere you're goin'. "

He went on with his work of throwing a hitch around Tubbs with hispicket-rope. 

Ralston divided the scanty rations which Smith and Tubbs, and he and Babe, had brought with them. He made coffee, and handed a cup to Smith first. The latter arose and changed his seat. 

"I never could eat with a corp' settin' around, " he said disagreeably. 

Smith's fastidiousness made Babe's jaw drop, and a piece of biscuit whichhad made his cheek bulge inadvertently rolled out, but was skillfullyintercepted before it reached the ground. 

"I hope you'll excuse us, Mr. Smith, " said Babe, bowing as well as hecould sitting cross-legged on the ground. "I hope you'll overlook ourforgittin' the napkins and toothpicks. "

When they had finished, they slung Tubbs's body into a tree, beyond thereach of coyotes. The cattle they left to drift back to their range. Tubbs's horse was saddled for Smith, and, with Ralston holding the leadrope and Babe in the rear, the procession started back to the ranch. 

Smith had much time to think on the homeward ride. He based his hopes uponthe Indian woman. He knew that he could conciliate her with a look. Shewas resourceful, she had unlimited influence with the Indians, and she hadproven that she was careless of her own life where he was concerned. Shewas a powerful ally. The situation was not so bad as it had seemed. He hadbeen in tighter places, he told himself, and his spirits rose as he rode. Without the plodding cattle, they retraced their steps in half the time ithad taken them to come, and it was not much after midday when they weresighted from the MacDonald ranch. 

The Indians that Smith had missed were at the ford to meet them: BearChief, Yellow Bird, Running Rabbit, and others, who were strangers to him. They followed as Ralston and Babe rode with their prisoner up the path toput him under guard in the bunk-house. 

Susie, McArthur, and Dora were at the door of the ranch-house, and Susiestepped out and stopped them when they would have passed. 

"You can't take him there; that place is for our _friends_. There's theharness-house below. The dogs sleep there. There'll be room for onemore. "

The insult stung Smith to the quick. 

"What _you_ got to say about it? Where's your mother?"

With narrowed eyes she looked for a moment into his ugly visage, then shelaid her hand upon the rope and led his horse close to the open window ofthe bedroom. 

"There, " and she pointed to the still figure on its improvised bier. "There's my mother!"

Smith looked in silence, and once more showed by his yellowing skin thefear within him. The avenue of escape upon which he had counted almostwith certainty, was closed to him. At that moment the harsh, high walls ofthe penitentiary loomed close; the doors looked wide open to receive him;but, after an instant's hesitation, he only shrugged his shoulders andsaid:

"Hell! I sleeps good anywhere. "

In deference to Susie's wishes, Ralston and Babe had swung their horses togo back down the path when Smith turned in his saddle and looked at Dora. She was regarding him sorrowfully, her eyes misty with disappointment inhim; and Smith misunderstood. A rush of feeling swept over him, and heburst out impulsively:

"Don't go back on me! I done it for you, girl! I done it to make _ourstake_!"

Dora stood speechless, bewildered, confused under the astonished eyes uponher. She was appalled by the light in which he had placed her; and whilethe others followed to the harness-house below, she sank limply upon thedoor-sill, her face in her hands. 

Smith sat on a wagon-tongue, swinging his legs, while they cleaned out theharness-house a bit for his occupancy. 

"Throw down some straw and rustle up a blanket or two, " said Babe; andMcArthur pulled his saddle-blankets apart to contribute the cleanesttoward Smith's bed. 

Something in the alacrity the "bug-hunter" displayed angered Smith. Healways had despised the little man in a general way. He uncinched hissaddle on the wrong side; he clucked at his horse; he removed his hat whenhe talked to women; he was a weak and innocent fool to Smith, who lost nooccasion to belittle him. Now, when the prisoner saw him moving about, free to go and come as he pleased, while he, Smith, was tied like anunruly pup, it, of a sudden, made his gorge rise; and, with one of hisswift, characteristic transitions of mood, Smith turned to the Indians whoguarded him. 

"You never could find out who killed White Antelope--you smart-AlecInjuns!" he sneered contemptuously. "And you've always wanted to know, haven't you?" He eyed them one by one. "Why, you don't know straight up, you women warriors! I've a notion to tell you who killed WhiteAntelope--just for fun--just because I want to laugh, me--Smith!"

The Indians drew closer. 

"You think you're scouts, " he went on tauntingly, "and you never saw WhiteAntelope's blanket right under your nose! Put it back, feller"--he noddedat McArthur. "I don't aim to sleep on dead men's clothes!"

The Indians looked at the blanket, and at McArthur, whom they had grown tolike and trust. They recognized it now, and in the corner they saw thestiff and dingy stain, the jagged tell-tale holes. 

McArthur mechanically held it up to view. He had not the faintestrecollection where it had been purchased, or of whom obtained. Tubbsalways had attended to such things. 

No one spoke in the grave silence, and Smith leered. 

"I likes company, " he said. "I'm sociable inclined. Put him in thedog-house with me. "

Susie had listened with the Indians; she had looked at the blanket, thestain, the holes; she saw the blank consternation in McArthur's face, thegathering storm in the Indians' eyes. She stepped out a little from therest. 

"Mister _Smith_!" she said. "_Mister_ Smith"--with oily, sarcasticemphasis--"how did you know that was White Antelope's blanket, when younever _saw_ White Antelope?"

XXII

A MONGOLIAN CUPID

With his hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets, Ralston leaned againstthe corner of the bunk-house, from which point of vantage he could catch aglimpse of the Schoolmarm's white-curtained window. He now had no feelingof elation over his success. Smith was a victorious captive. Ralston'sheart ached miserably, and he wished that the day was ended and themorning come, that he might go, never to return. 

He too had seen the mist in Dora's eyes; and, with Smith's words, theair-castles which had persistently built themselves without volition onhis part, crumbled. There was nothing for him to do but to efface himselfas quickly and as completely as possible. The sight of him could only bepainful to Dora, and he wished to spare her all of that within his power. 

He looked at the foothills, the red butte rising in their midst, thetinted Bad Lands, the winding, willow-fringed creek. It was all beautifulin its bizarre colorings; but the spirit of the picture, the warm, glowingheart of it, had gone from it for him. The world looked a dull andlifeless place. His love for Dora was greater than he had known, farmightier than he had realized until the end, the positive end, had come. 

"Oh, Dora!" he whispered in utter wretchedness. "Dear little Schoolmarm!"

In the room behind the white-curtained window the Schoolmarm walked thefloor with her cheeks aflame and as close to hysteria as ever she had beenin her life. 

"What _will_ he think of me!" she asked herself over and over again, clasping and unclasping her cold hands. "What _can_ he think but onething?"

The more overwrought she became, the worse the situation seemed. 

"And how he looked at me! How they all looked at me! Oh, it was toodreadful!"

She covered her burning face with her hands. 

"There isn't the slightest doubt, " she went on, "but that he thinks I knewall about it. Perhaps"--she paused in front of the mirror and stared intoher own horrified eyes--"perhaps he thinks I belong to a gang of robbers!Maybe he thinks I am Smith's tool, or that Smith is my tool, or somethinglike that! Oh, whatever made him say such a thing! 'Our stake--_our_stake'--and--'I done it for you!'"

Another thought, still more terrifying occurred to her excited mind:

"What if he should have to arrest me as an accomplice!"

She sat down weakly on the edge of the bed. 

"Oh, " and she rocked to and fro in misery, "if only I never had tried toimprove Smith's mind!"

The tears slipped from under the Schoolmarm's lashes, and her chinquivered. 

Worn out by the all night's vigil at her mother's bedside, and theexciting events of the morning, Susie finally succumbed to the strain andslept the sleep of exhaustion. It was almost supper-time when sheawakened. Passing the Schoolmarm's door, she heard a sound at which shestopped and frankly listened. Teacher was crying!

"Ling, this is an awful world. Everything seems to be upside down andinside out!"

"Plenty tlouble, " agreed Ling, stepping briskly about as he collectedingredients for his biscuits. 

"Don't seem to make much difference whether you love people or hate 'em;it all ends the same way--in tears. "

"Plitty bad thing--love. " Ling solemnly measured baking-powder. "Makepeople cly. "

Susie surmised correctly that Ling's ears also had been close to a nearbykeyhole. 

"There'd 'a' been fewer tears on this ranch if it hadn't been for Smith. "

"Many devils--Smith. "

Susie sat on the corner of his work-table, and there was silence while hedeftly mixed, rolled, and cut his dough. 

"Mr. Ralston intends to go away in the morning, " said Susie, as thebiscuits were slammed in the oven. 

Ling wagged his head dolorously. 

"And they'll never see each other again. "

His head continued to wag. 

"Ling, " Susie whispered, "we've got to _do_ something. " She steppedlightly to the open door and closed it. 

 * * * * *

There were few at the supper-table that night, and there was none of thenoisy banter which usually prevailed. The grub-liners came in softly andspoke in hushed tones, out of a kind of respect for two empty chairs whichhad been the recognized seats of Tubbs and the Indian woman. 

Ralston bowed gravely as Dora entered--pale, her eyes showing traces ofrecent tears. Susie was absent, having no heart for food or company, andpreferring to sit beside her mother for the brief time which remained toher. Even Meeteetse Ed shared in the general depression, and therefore itwas in no spirit of flippancy that he observed as he replaced his cupviolently in its saucer:

"Gosh A'mighty, Ling, you must have biled a gum-boot in this here tea!"

Dora, who had drank nearly half of hers, was unable to account for thepeculiar tang which destroyed its flavor, and Ralston eyed the contents ofhis cup doubtfully after each swallow. 

"Like as not the water's gittin' alkali, " ventured Old Man Rulison. 

"Alkali nothin'. That's gum-boot, or else a plug of Battle Ax fell in. "

Ling bore Meeteetse's criticisms with surprising equanimity. 

A moment later the lights blurred for Dora. 

"I--I feel faint, " she whispered, striving to rise. 

Ralston, who had already noted her increasing pallor, hastened around thetable and helped her into the air. Ling's immobile face was a study as hesaw them leave the room together, but satisfaction was the most marked ofits many expressions. He watched them from the pantry window as theywalked to the cottonwood log which served as a garden-seat for all. 

"I wonder if it was that queer tea?"

"It has been a hard day for you, " Ralston replied gently. 

Dora was silent, and they remained so for some minutes. Ralston spoke atlast and with an effort. 

"I am sorry--sorrier than I can tell you--that it has been necessary forme to hurt you. I should rather, far, far rather, hurt myself than you, Miss Marshall--I wish I could make you know that. What I have done hasbeen because it was my duty. I am employed by men who trust me, and I wasin honor bound to follow the course I have; but if I had known what I knownow--if I had been sure--I might in some way have made it easier for you. I am going away to-morrow, and perhaps it will do no harm to tell you thatI had hoped"--he stopped to steady his voice, and went on--"I had hopedthat our friendship might end differently. 

"I shall be gone in the morning before you are awake, so I will saygood-night--and good-by. " He arose and put out his hand. "Shall I sendSusie to you?"

The lump in Dora's throat hurt her. 

"Wait a minute, " she whispered in a strained voice. "I want to saysomething, too, before you go. I don't want you to go away thinking that Iknew anything of Smith's plans; that I knew he was going to steal cattle;that he was trying to make a 'stake' for us--for _me_. It is all amisunderstanding. "

Dora was looking straight ahead of her, and did not see the change whichcame over Ralston's face. 

"I never thought of Smith in any way except to help him, " she went on. "Heseemed different from most that stopped here, and I thought if I couldjust start him right, if only I could show him what he might do if hetried, he might be better for my efforts. And, after all, my time and goodintentions were wasted. He deceived me in making me think that he toowanted to make more of his life, and that he was trying. And then to makesuch a speech before you all!"

"Don't think about it--or Smith, " Ralston answered. "He has come to hisinevitable end. When there's bad blood, mistaken ideals, and wrongstandards of living, you can't do much--you can't do anything. There isonly one thing which controls men of his type, and that is fear--fear ofthe law. His love for you is undoubtedly the best, the whitest, thing thatever came into his life, but it couldn't keep him straight, and neverwould. Don't worry. Your efforts haven't hurt him, or you. You are wiser, and maybe he is better. "

"It's awfully good of you to comfort me, " said Dora gratefully. 

"Good of me?" he laughed softly. "Little Schoolmarm"--he laid a hand uponeach shoulder and looked into her eyes--"I love you. "

Her pupils dilated, and she breathed in wonder. 

"You _love_ me?"

"I do. " He brushed back a wisp of hair which had blown across her cheek, and, stooping, kissed her deliberately upon the mouth. 

Inside the house a radiant Mongolian rushed from the pantry window intothe room where Susie sat. He carried a nearly empty bottle which had oncecontained lemon extract, and his almond eyes danced as he handed it toher, whispering gleefully:

"All light! Good medicine!"

The big kerosene lamp screwed to the wall in the living-room had longsince been lighted, but Susie still sat on the floor, leaning her cheekagainst the blanket which covered the Indian woman. The house was quietsave for Ling in the kitchen--and lonely--but she had a fancy that hermother would like to have her there beside her; so, although she wascramped from sitting, and the house was close after a hot day, she refusedall offers to relieve her. 

She was glad to see McArthur when he tapped on the door. 

"I thought you'd like to read the letter that came with the picture, " hesaid, as he pulled up a chair beside her. "I want you to know how welcomeyou will be. "

He handed her the letter, with its neat, old-fashioned penmanship, itsprimness a little tremulous from the excitement of the writer at the timeshe had penned it. Susie read it carefully, and when she had finished shelooked up at him with softened, grateful eyes. 

"Isn't she good!"

"The kindest of gentlewomen--your Aunt Harriet. "

"My Aunt Harriet!" Susie said it to herself rapturously. 

"She hasn't much in her life now--_she's_ lonely, too--and if you can bespoiled, Susie, you soon will be well on the way--between Aunt Harriet andme. " He stroked her hair fondly. 

"And I'm to go to school back there and live with her. I can't believe ityet!" Susie declared. "So much has happened in the last twenty-four hoursthat I don't know what to think about first. More things have happened inthis little time than in all my life put together. "

"That's the way life seems to be, " McArthur said musingly--"a few hours ata tension, and long, dull stretches in between. "

"Does she know--does Aunt Harriet know--how _green_ I am?"

McArthur laughed at her anxiety. 

"I am sure, " he replied reassuringly, "that she isn't expecting a younglady of fashion. "

"Oh, I've got clothes, " said Susie. "Mother made me a dress that will bejust the thing to wear in that--what do you call it?--train. She made itout of two shawls that she bought at the Agency. "

McArthur looked startled at the frock of red, green, and black plaidswhich Susie took from a nail behind the door. 

"The colors seem a little--a little----"

"If that black was yellow, it _would_ look better, " Susie admitted. "I'vegot a new Stetson, too. "

"It will take some little time to arrange your affairs out here, and inthe meantime I'll write Aunt Harriet to choose a wardrobe for you and sendit. It will give her the greatest pleasure. "

"Can I take Croppy and Daisy May?"

"Daisy May?"

"The pet badger, " she explained. "I named her after a Schoolmarm wehad--she looks so solemn and important. I can keep her on a chain, and sheneedn't eat until we get there, " Susie pleaded. 

Trying not to smile at the mental picture of himself arriving in the staidcollege town, with a tawny-skinned child in a red, green, and black frock, a crop-eared cayuse, and a badger on a chain, McArthur ventured it as hisopinion that the climate would be detrimental to Daisy May's health. 

"You undoubtedly will prefer to spend your summers here, and it will bepleasant to have Croppy and Daisy May home to welcome you. "

Susie's face sobered. 

"Oh, yes, I must come back when school is over. I wouldn't feel it wasright to go away for always and leave Dad and Mother here. Besides, Iguess I'd _want_ to come back; because, after all, you know, I'm halfInjun. "

"I wish you'd try and sleep, and let me sit here, " urged McArthur kindly. 

Susie shook her head. 

"No; Ling will stay after awhile, and I'm not sleepy or tired now. "

"Well, good-night, little sister. " He patted her head, while all thekindliness of his gentle nature shone from his eyes. 

XXIII

IN THEIR OWN WAY

Through the chinks in the logs, where the daubing had dropped out, Smithwatched the lights in the ranch-house. He relieved the tedium of the hoursby trying to imagine what was going on inside, and in each picture Dorawas the central figure. Now, he told himself, she was wiping the dishesfor Ling, and teaching him English, as she often did; and when she hadfinished she would bring her portfolio into the dining-room and write homethe exciting events of the day. He wondered what had "ailed" the Indianwoman, that she should die so suddenly; but it was immaterial, since she_was_ dead. He knew that Susie would sit by her mother; probably in thechair with the cushion of goose-feathers. It was his favorite chair, though it went over backwards when he rocked too hard. Ralston--cursehim!--was sitting on one of the benches outside the bunk-house, tellingthe grub-liners of Smith's capture, and the bug-hunter was making notes ofthe story in his journal. But, alas! as is usual with the pictures oneconjures, nothing at all took place as Smith fancied. 

When all the lights, save the one in the living-room, had gone out, therewas nothing to divert his thoughts. Babe, who was on guard outside, refused to converse with him, and he finally lay down, only to tossrestlessly upon the blankets. The night seemed unusually still and thestillness made him nervous; even the sound of Babe's back rubbing againstthe door when he shifted his position was company. Smith's uneasiness wasunlike him, and he wondered at it, while unable to conquer it. It musthave been nearly midnight when, staring into the darkness with sleeplesseyes, he felt, rather than heard, something move outside. It came from therear, and Babe was at the door for only a moment before he had struck amatch on a log to light a cigarette. The sound was so slight that only atrained ear like Smith's would have detected it. 

It had sounded like the scraping of the leg of an overall against asage-brush, and yet it was so trifling, so indistinct, that a field mousemight have made it. But somehow Smith knew, he was sure, that somethinghuman had caused it; and as he listened for a recurrence of the sound, theconviction grew upon him that there was movement and life outside. He wasconvinced that something was going to happen. 

His judgment told him that the prowlers were more likely to be enemiesthan friends--he was in the enemies' country. But, on the other hand, there was always the chance that unexpected help had arrived. Smith stillbelieved in his luck. The grub-liners might come to his rescue, or "theboys, " who had been waiting at the rendezvous, might have learned in someunexpected way what had befallen him. Even if they were his enemies, theywould first be obliged to overpower Babe, and, he told himself, in the"ruckus" he might somehow escape. 

But even as he argued the question pro and con, unable to decide whetheror not to warn Babe, a stifled exclamation and the thud of a heavy bodyagainst the door told him that it had been answered for him. Wide-eyed, breathless, his nerves at a tension, his heart pounding in his breast, heinterpreted the sounds which followed as correctly as if he had been aneye-witness to the scene. 

He could hear Babe's heels strike the ground as he kicked and threshed, and the inarticulate epithets told Smith that his guard was gagged. Heknew, too, that the attack was made by more than two men, for Babe was ayoung Hercules in strength. 

Were they friends or foes? Were they Bar C cowpunchers come to take thelaw into their own hands, or were they his hoped-for rescuers? Thesuspense sent the perspiration out in beads on Smith's forehead, and hewiped his moist face with his shirt-sleeve. Then he heard the shouldersagainst the door, the heavy breathing, the strain of muscles, and thecreaking timber. It crashed in, and for a second Smith's heart ceased tobeat. He sniffed--and he knew! He smelled buckskin and the smoke oftepees. He spoke a word or two in their own tongue. They laughed softly, without answering. From instinct, he backed into a corner, and they gropedfor him in the darkness. 

"The rat is hiding. Shall we get the cat?" The voice was Bear Chief's. 

Running Rabbit spoke as he struck a match. 

"Come out, white man. It is too hot in here for you. "

Smith recovered himself, and said as he stepped forward:

"I am ready, friends. "

They tied his hands and pushed him into the open air. Babe squirmed inimpotent rage as he passed. Dark shadows were gliding in and out of thestable and corrals, and when they led him to a saddled horse they motionedhim to mount. He did so, and they tied his feet under the horse's belly, his wrists to the saddle-horn. Seeing the thickness of the rope, hejested:

"Friends, I am not an ox. "

"If you were, " Yellow Bird answered, "there would be fresh meatto-morrow. "

There were other Indians waiting on their horses, deep in the gloom of thewillows, and when the three whom Smith recognized were in the saddle theyled the way to the creek, and the others fell in behind. They followed thestream for some distance, that they might leave no tracks, and there wasno sound but the splashing and floundering of the horses as they slippedon the moss-covered rocks of the creek-bed. 

Smith showed no fear or curiosity--he knew Indians too well to do either. His stoicism was theirs under similar circumstances. Had they been of hisown race, his hope would have lain in throwing himself upon their mercy;for twice the instinctive sympathy of the white man for the under dog, forthe individual who fights against overwhelming odds, had saved his life;but no such tactics would avail him now. 

His hope lay in playing upon their superstitions and weaknesses; inwinning their admiration, if possible; and in devising means by which togain time. He knew that as soon as his absence was discovered an effortwould be made to rescue him. He found some little comfort, too, in tellinghimself that these reservation Indians, broken in spirit by the whiteman's laws and restrictions, were not the Indians of the old days on theBig Muddy and the Yellowstone. The fear of the white man's vengeance wouldkeep them from going too far. And so, as he rode, his hopes rosegradually; his confidence, to a degree, returned; and he even began tohave a kind of curiosity as to what form their attempted revenge wouldtake. 

The slowness of their progress down the creek-bed had given himsatisfaction, but once they left the water, there was no cause forcongratulation as they quirted their horses at a breakneck speed overrocks and gullies in the direction of the Bad Lands. He could see thatthey had some definite destination, for when the horses veered somewhat tothe south, Running Rabbit motioned them northward. 

"He was there yesterday; Running Rabbit knows, " said Bear Chief, in answerto an Indian's question; and Smith, listening, wondered where "there"might be, and what it was that Running Rabbit knew. 

He asked himself if it could be that they were taking him to some desertspring, where they meant to tie him to die of thirst in sight of water. The alkali plain held many forms of torture, as he knew. 

His captors did not taunt or insult him. They rode too hard, they were toomuch in earnest, to take the time for byplay. It was evident to Smith thatthey feared pursuit, and were anxious to reach their objective pointbefore the sun rose. He knew this from the manner in which they watchedthe east. 

Somehow, as the miles sped under their horses' feet, the ride became moreand more unreal to Smith. The moon, big, glorious, and late in rising, silvered the desert with its white light until they looked to be ridinginto an ocean. It made Smith think of the Big Water, by moonlight, overthere on the Sundown slope. Even the lean, dark figures riding beside himseemed a part of a dream; and Dora, when he thought of her, was shadowy, unreal. He had a strange feeling that he was galloping, galloping out ofher life. 

[Illustration: THEY QUIRTED THEIR HORSES AT BREAKNECK SPEED IN THEDIRECTION OF THE BAD LANDS. ]

There were times when he felt as if he were floating. His sensations werelike the hallucinations of fever, and then he would find himself calledback to a realization of facts by the swish of leather thongs on a horse'sflank, or some smothered, half-uttered imprecation when a horse stumbled. The air of the coming morning fanned his cheeks, its coolness stimulatedhim, and something of the fairy-like beauty of the white world around himimpressed even Smith. 

They had left the flatter country behind them, and were riding among hillsand limestone cliffs, Running Rabbit winding in and out with the certaintyof one on familiar ground. The way was rough, and they slackened theirpace, riding one behind the other, Indian file. 

Running Rabbit reined in where the moonlight turned a limestone hill tosilver, and threw up his hand to halt. 

He untied the rope which bound Smith's hands and feet. 

"You can't coil a rope no more nor a gopher, " said Smith, watching him. 

"The white man does many things better than the Indian. " Running Rabbitwent on coiling the rope. 

He motioned Smith to follow, and led the way on foot. 

"I dotes on these moonlight picnics, " said Smith sardonically, as hepanted up the steep hills, his high-heeled boots clattering among therocks in contrast to the silent footsteps of the Indian's moccasinedfeet. 

Running Rabbit stopped where the limestone hill had cracked, leaving acrevice wide at the top and shallowing at the bottom. 

"This is a good place for a white man who coils a rope so well, to rest, "he said, and seated himself near the edge of the crevice, motioning Smithto be seated also. 

"Or for white men who shoot old Indians in the back to think about whatthey have done. " Yellow Bird joined them. 

"Or for smart thieves to tell where they left their stolen horses. " BearChief dropped cross-legged near them. 

"Or for those whose forked tongue talks love to two women at once to useit for himself. " The voice was sneering. 

"Smith, you're up against it!" the prisoner said to himself. 

As the others came up the hill, they enlarged the half-circle which nowfaced him. Recovering himself, he eyed them indifferently, one by one. 

"I have enemies, friends, " he said. 

"White Antelope had no enemies, " Yellow Bird replied. 

"The Indian woman had no enemies, " said Running Rabbit. 

"It is our friends who steal our horses"--Bear Chief's voice was even andunemotional. 

Their behavior puzzled Smith. They seemed now to be in no hurry. Withoutgibes or jeers, they sat as if waiting for something or somebody. What wasit? He asked himself the question over and over again. They listened withinterest to the stories of his prowess and adventures. He flattered themcollectively and individually, and they responded sometimes in praise asfulsome as has own. All the knowledge, the tact, the wit, of which he waspossessed, he used to gain time. If only he could hold them until the sunrose. But why had they brought him there? With all his adroitness andsubtlety, he could get no inkling of their intentions. The suspense got onSmith's nerves, though he gave no outward sign. The first gray light ofmorning came, and still they waited. The east flamed. 

"It will be hot to-day, " said Running Rabbit. "The sky is red. "

Then the sun showed itself, glowing like a red-hot stove-lid shoved abovethe horizon. 

In silence they watched the coming day. 

"This limestone draws the heat, " said Smith, and he laid aside his coat. "But it suits me. I hates to be chilly. "

Bear Chief stood up, and they all arose. 

"You are like us--you like the sun. It is warm; it is good. Look at it. Look long time, white man!"

There was something ominous in his tone, and Smith moistened his shortupper lip with the tip of his tongue. 

"Over there is the ranch where the white woman lives. Look--look longtime, white man!" He swung his gaunt arm to the west. 

"You make the big talk, Injun, " sneered Smith, but his mouth was dry. 

"Up there is the sky where the clouds send messages, where the sun shinesto warm us and the moon to light us. There's antelope over there in thefoothills, and elk in the mountains, and sheep on the peaks. You like tohunt, white man, same as us. Look long time on all--for you will never seeit again!"

The sun rose higher and hotter while the Indian talked. He had notfinished speaking when Smith said:

"God!"

A look of indescribable horror was on his face. His skin had yellowed, andhe stared into the crevice at his feet. Now he understood! He knew whythey waited on the limestone hill! An odor, scarcely perceptible as yet, but which, faint as it was, sickened him, told him his fate. It was theunmistakable odor of rattlesnakes!

The crevice below was a breeding-place, a rattlesnakes' den. Smith hadseen such places often, and the stench which came from them when the sunwas hot was like nothing else in the world. The recollection alone wasalmost enough to nauseate him, and he always had ridden a wide circle atthe first whiff. 

His aversion for snakes was like a pre-natal mark. He avoided cowpuncherswho wore rattlesnake bands on their hats or stretched the skin over theedge of the cantle of their saddles. He always slept with a hair ropearound his blankets when he spent a night in the open. He would not sit ina room where snake-rattles decorated the parlor mantel or the organ. Acuriosity as to how they had learned his peculiarity crept through theparalyzing horror which numbed him, and as if in answer the scene in thedining-room of the ranch rose before him. "I hates snakes and mouse-trapsgoin' off, " he had said. Yes, he remembered. 

The Indians looked at his yellow skin and at his eyes in which the horrorstayed, and laughed. He did not struggle when they stood him, mute, uponhis feet and bound him, for Smith knew Indians. His lips and chintrembled; his throat, dry and contracted, made a clicking sound when heswallowed. His knees shook, and he had no power to control the twitchingmuscles of his arms and legs. 

"He dances, " said Yellow Bird. 

As the sun rose higher and streamed into the crevice, the overpoweringodor increased with the heat. The yellow of Smith's skin took on agreenish tinge. 

"Ugh!" An Indian laid his hand upon his stomach. "Me sick!"

A bit of limestone fell into the crevice and bounded from one shelf ofrock to the other. Upon each ledge a nest of rattlesnakes basked in thesun, and a chorus of hisses followed the fall of the stone. 

"They sing! Their voices are strong to-day, " said Running Rabbit. 

The Indians threw Smith upon the edge of the crevice, face downward, sothat he could look below. With his staring, bloodshot eyes he saw themall--dozens of them--a hundred or more! Crawling on the shelves and in thebottom, writhing, wriggling, hissing, coiled to strike! Every marking, every shading, every size--Smith saw them all with his bulging, fascinatedeyes. The Indians stoned them until a forked tongue darted from everymouth and every wicked eye flamed red. 

The thick rope was tied under Smith's arms, and a noose thrown over a hugerock. They shoved him over the edge--slowly--looking at him and eachother, laughing a little at the sound of reptile fury from below. It wasthe end. Smith's eyes opened before they let him drop, and his lips drewback from his white, slightly protruding teeth. They thought he meant tobeg at last, and, rejoicing, waited. He looked like a coyote, a coyotewhen its ribs are crushed, its legs broken; when its eyes are blurred withthe death film, and its mouth drips blood. He gathered himself--he was allbut fainting--and threw back his head, looking at Bear Chief. Hesnarled--there was no tenderness in his voice when he gave the message:

"Tell _her_, you damned Injuns--tell the Schoolmarm I died game, me--Smith!"

TITLES SELECTED FROM GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

THE SECOND WIFE. By Thompson Buchanan. Illustrated by W. W. Fawcett. Harrison Fisher wrapper printed in four colors and gold. 

An intensely interesting story of a marital complication in a wealthy NewYork family involving the happiness of a beautiful young girl. 

TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY. By Grace Miller White. Illustrated by HowardChandler Christy. 

An amazingly vivid picture of low class life in a New York college town, with a heroine beautiful and noble, who makes a great sacrifice for love. 

FROM THE VALLEY OF THE MISSING. By Grace Miller White. Frontispiece andwrapper in colors by Penrhyn Stanlaws. 

Another story of "the storm country. " Two beautiful children are kidnappedfrom a wealthy home and appear many years after showing the effects of adeep, malicious scheme behind their disappearance. 

THE LIGHTED MATCH. By Charles Neville Buck. Illustrated by R. F. Schahelitz. 

A lovely princess travels incognito through the States and falls in lovewith an American man. There are ties that bind her to someone in her ownhome, and the great plot revolves round her efforts to work her way out. 

MAUD BAXTER. By C. C. Hotchkiss. Illustrated by Will Grefe. 

A romance both daring and delightful, involving an American girl and ayoung man who had been impressed into English service during theRevolution. 

THE HIGHWAYMAN. By Guy Rawlence. Illustrated by Will Grefe. 

A French beauty of mysterious antecedents wins the love of an Englishmanof title. Developments of a startling character and a clever untangling ofaffairs hold the reader's interest. 

THE PURPLE STOCKINGS. By Edward Salisbury Field. Illustrated in colors;marginal illustrations. 

A young New York business man, his pretty sweetheart, his sentimentalstenographer, and his fashionable sister are all mixed up in amisunderstanding that surpasses anything in the way of comedy in years. Astory with a laugh on every page. 

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THE MASTER'S VIOLIN By MYRTLE REED

[Illustration]

A Love Story with a musical atmosphere. A picturesque, old German virtuosois the reverent possessor of a genuine Cremona. He consents to take as hispupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude for technique, butnot the soul of the artist. The youth has led the happy, careless life ofa modern, well-to-do young American, and he cannot, with his meagre past, express the love, the longing, the passion and the tragedies of life andits happy phases as can the master who has lived life in all its fulness. But a girl comes into his existence, a beautiful bit of human driftwoodthat his aunt had taken into her heart and home; and through hispassionate love for her, he learns the lessons that life has to give--andhis soul awakens. 

Founded on a fact well known among artists, but not often recognized ordiscussed. 

If you have not read "LAVENDER AND OLD LACE" by the same author, you havea double pleasure in store--for these two books show Myrtle Reed in hermost delightful, fascinating vein--indeed they may be considered asmasterpieces of compelling interest. 

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THE PRODIGAL JUDGE By VAUGHAN KESTER

This great novel--probably the most popular book in this countryto-day--is as human as a story from the pen of that great master of"immortal laughter and immortal tears, " Charles Dickens. 

The Prodigal Judge is a shabby outcast, a tavern hanger-on, a genialwayfarer who tarries longest where the inn is most hospitable, yet withthat suavity, that distinctive politeness and that saving grace of humorpeculiar to the American man. He has his own code of morals--very exaltedones--but honors them in the breach rather than in the observance. 

Clinging to the Judge closer than a brother, is Solomon Mahaffy--fallibleand failing like the rest of us, but with a sublime capacity forfriendship; and closer still, perhaps, clings little Hannibal, a boy aboutwhose parentage nothing is known until the end of the story. Hannibal ischarmed into tolerance of the Judge's picturesque vices, while Miss Betty, lovely and capricious, is charmed into placing all her affairs, bothmaterial and sentimental, in the hands of this delightful old vagabond. 

The Judge will be a fixed star in the firmament of fictional characters assurely as David Harum or Col. Sellers. He is a source of infinite delight, while this story of Mr. Kester's is one of the finest examples of Americanliterary craftmanship. 

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A Few Of Grosset & Dunlap's GREAT BOOKS AT LITTLE PRICES

WHEN A MAN MARRIES. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. Illustrated by HarrisonFisher and Mayo Bunker. 

A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that a visitis due from his Aunt Selina, an elderly lady having ideas about thingsquite apart from the Bohemian set in which her nephew is a shining light. The way in which matters are temporarily adjusted forms the motif of thestory. 

A farcical extravaganza, dramatized under the title of "Seven Days"

THE FASHIONABLE ADVENTURES OF JOSHUA CRAIG. By David Graham Phillips. Illustrated. 

A young westerner, uncouth and unconventional, appears in political andsocial life in Washington. He attains power in politics, and a young womanof the exclusive set becomes his wife, undertaking his education in socialamenities. 

"DOC. " GORDON. By Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman. Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 

Against the familiar background of American town life, the author portraysa group of people strangely involved in a mystery. "Doc. " Gordon, the onephysician of the place, Dr. Elliot, his assistant, a beautiful woman andher altogether charming daughter are all involved in the plot. A novel ofgreat interest. 

HOLY ORDERS. By Marie Corelli. 

A dramatic story, in which is pictured a clergyman in touch with societypeople, stage favorites, simple village folk, powerful financiers andothers, each presenting vital problems to this man "in holyorders"--problems that we are now struggling with in America. 

KATRINE. By Elinor Macartney Lane. With frontispiece. 

Katrine, the heroine of this story, is a lovely Irish girl, of lowlybirth, but gifted with a beautiful voice. 

The narrative is based on the facts of an actual singer's career, and theviewpoint throughout is a most exalted one. 

THE FORTUNES OF FIFI. By Molly Elliot Seawell Illustrated by T. DeThulstrup. 

A story of life in France at the time of the first Napoleon. Fifi, a glad, mad little actress of eighteen, is the star performer in a third rateParisian theatre. A story as dainty as a Watteau painting. 

SHE THAT HESITATES. By Harris Dickson. Illustrated by C. W. Relyea. 

The scene of this dashing romance shifts from Dresden to St. Petersburg inthe reign of Peter the Great, and then to New Orleans. 

The hero is a French Soldier of Fortune, and the princess, whohesitates--but you must read the story to know how she that hesitates maybe lost and yet saved. 

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TITLES SELECTED FROM GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

A CERTAIN RICH MAN. By William Allen White. 

A vivid, startling portrayal of one man's financial greed, its widespreading power, its action in Wall Street, and its effect on the threewomen most intimately in his life. A splendid, entertaining Americannovel. 

IN OUR TOWN. By William Allen White. Illustrated by F. R. Gruger and W. Glackens. 

Made up of the observations of a keen newspaper editor, involving the townmillionaire, the smart set, the literary set, the bohemian set, and manyothers. All humorously related and sure to hold the attention. 

NATHAN BURKE. By Mary S. Watts. 

The story of an ambitious, backwoods Ohio boy who rose to prominence. Everyday humor of American rustic life permeates the book. 

THE HIGH HAND. By Jacques Futrelle. Illustrated by Will Grefe. 

A splendid story of the political game, with a son of the soil on the oneside, and a "kid glove" politician on the other. A pretty girl, interestedin both men, is the chief figure. 

THE BACKWOODSMEN. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated. 

Realistic stories of men and women living midst the savage beauty of thewilderness. Human nature at its best and worst is well protrayed. 

YELLOWSTONE NIGHTS. By Herbert Quick. 

A jolly company of six artists, writers and other clever folks take a tripthrough the National Park, and tell stories around camp fire at night. Brilliantly clever and original. 

THE PROFESSOR'S MYSTERY. By Wells Hastings and Brian Hooker. Illustratedby Hanson Booth. 

A young college professor, missing his steamer for Europe, has a romanticmeeting with a pretty girl, escorts her home, and is enveloped in a bigmystery. 

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B. M. BOWER'S NOVELS THRILLING WESTERN ROMANCES

Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated

CHIP, OF THE FLYING U

A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and DeliaWhitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip's jealousy of Dr. CecilGrantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is veryamusing. A clever, realistic story of the American Cow-puncher. 

THE HAPPY FAMILY

A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteenjovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst them, we findAnanias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative powers cause many livelyand exciting adventures. 

HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT

A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners whoexchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness of a Montanaranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating Beatrice, and theeffusive Sir Redmond, become living, breathing personalities. 

THE RANGE DWELLERS

Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. Spiritedaction, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Julietcourtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dullpage. 

THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS

A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, among thecowboys of the West, in search of "local color" for a new novel. "Bud"Thurston learns many a lesson while following "the lure of the dim trails"but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love. 

THE LONESOME TRAIL

"Weary" Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional citylife palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, pungent with theatmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large browneyes soon compel his return. A wholesome love story. 

THE LONG SHADOW

A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of amountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game oflife fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from start tofinish. 

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