THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY

[Illustration: "IF YOU WANT THE PARSON TO DIE, DON'T LOOKAT ME WHEN HE STEPS IN. "]

THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY

By Charles Alden Seltzer

Author of"The Two-Gun Man, ""The Coming of the Law, "Etc. 

With Three Illustrations

A. L. BURT COMPANYPUBLISHERS--NEW YORK

Copyright, 1913, byOUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY

All rights reserved

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I. A Woman on the Trail 11 II. The Dim Trail 40 III. Converging Trails 53 IV. This Picture and That 72 V. Dakota Evens a Score 88 VI. Kindred Spirits 111 VII. Bogged Down 121 VIII. Sheila Fans a Flame 146 IX. Strictly Business 163 X. Duncan Adds Two and Two 196 XI. A Parting and a Visit 215 XII. A Meeting on the River Trail 233 XIII. The Shot in the Back 254 XIV. Langford Lays Off the Mask 275 XV. The Parting on the River Trail 303 XVI. Sheriff Allen Takes a Hand 310 XVII. Doubler Talks 323 XVIII. For Dakota 336 XIX. Some Memories 344 XX. Into the Unknown 359

ILLUSTRATIONS

"If you want the parson to die, don't lookat me when he steps in. " Frontispiece

"Won't you please get us out of this?" 134

Duncan grasped for his pistol, but the hand holdingit was stamped violently into the earth. 161

THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY

CHAPTER I

A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL

Many disquieting thoughts oppressed Miss Sheila Langford as she halted herpony on the crest of a slight rise and swept the desolate and slumberousworld with an anxious glance. Quite the most appalling of these thoughtsdeveloped from a realization of the fact that she had lost the trail. Thewhole categorical array of inconveniences incidental to traveling in anew, unsettled country paled into insignificance when she considered thishorrifying and entirely unromantic fact. She was lost; she had strayedfrom the trail, she was alone and night was coming. 

She would not have cared so much about the darkness, for she had neverbeen a coward, and had conditions been normal she would have asked nothingbetter than a rapid gallop over the dim plains. But as she drew her ponyup on the crest of the rise a rumble of thunder reached her ears. Ofcourse it would rain, now that she had lost the trail, she decided, yielding to a sudden, bitter anger. It usually did rain when one wasabroad without prospect of shelter; it always rained when one was lost. 

Well, there was no help for it, of course, and she had only herself toblame for the blunder. For the other--not unusual--irritating details thathad combined to place her in this awkward position she could blame, firstDuncan, the manager of the Double R--who should have sent someone to meether at the station; the station agent--who had allowed her to set forth insearch of the Double R without a guide, --though even now, considering thisphase of the situation, she remembered that the agent had told her therewas no one to send--and certainly the desolate appearance of Lazette hadborne out this statement; and last, she could blame the country itself forbeing an unfeatured wilderness. 

Something might be said in extenuation of the station agent's and theDouble R manager's sins of omission, but without doubt the country waswhat she had termed it--an unfeatured wilderness. Her first sensation upongetting a view of the country had been one of deep disappointment. Therewas plenty of it, she had decided, --enough to make one shrink from itsvery bigness; yet because it was different from the land she had beenaccustomed to she felt that somehow it was inferior. Her father hadassured her of its beauty, and she had come prepared to fall in love withit, but within the last half hour--when she had begun to realize that shehad lost the trail--she had grown to hate it. 

She hated the desolation, the space, the silence, the arid stretches;she had made grimaces at the "cactuses" with their forbiddingpricklers--though she could not help admiring them, they seemed to bethe only growing thing in the country capable of defying the heat andthe sun. Most of all she hated the alkali dust. All afternoon she hadkept brushing it off her clothing and clearing it out of her throat, andonly within the last half hour she had begun to realize that her effortshad been without result--it lay thick all over her; her throat was dryand parched with it, and her eyes burned. 

She sat erect, flushed and indignant, to look around at the country. Apremonitory calm had succeeded the warning rumble. Ominous black cloudswere scurrying, wind-whipped, spreading fan-like through the sky, blottingout the colors of the sunset, darkening the plains, creating weirdshadows. Objects that Sheila had been able to see quite distinctly whenshe had reined in her pony were no longer visible. She stirred uneasily. 

"We'll go somewhere, " she said aloud to the pony, as she urged the animaldown the slope. "If it rains we'll get just as wet here as we wouldanywhere else. " She was surprised at the queer quiver in her voice. Shewas going to be brave, of course, but somehow there seemed to be littleconsolation in the logic of her remark. 

The pony shambled forward, carefully picking its way, and Sheila mentallythanked the station agent for providing her with so reliable a beast. There was one consoling fact at any rate, and she retracted many hardthings she had said in the early part of her ride about the agent. 

Shuffling down the slope the pony struck a level. After traveling overthis for a quarter of an hour Sheila became aware of an odd silence;looking upward she saw that the clouds were no longer in motion; that theywere hovering, low and black, directly overhead. A flash of lightningsuddenly illuminated the sky, showing Sheila a great waste of world thatstretched to four horizons. It revealed, in the distance, the naked peaksof some hills; a few frowning buttes that seemed to fringe a river; somegullies in which lurked forbidding shadows; clumps of desert growth--thecactus--now seeming grotesque and mocking; the snaky octilla; the filmy, rustling mesquite; the dust-laden sage-brush; the soap weed; the sentinellance of the yucca. Then the light was gone and darkness came again. 

Sheila shuddered and vainly tried to force down a queer lump that hadrisen in her throat over the desolation of it all. It was not anythinglike her father had pictured it! Men had the silly habit of exaggeratingin these things, she decided--they were rough themselves and they made themistake of thinking that great, grim things were attractive. What beautywas there, for instance, in a country where there was nothing but spaceand silence and grotesque weeds--and rain? Before she could answer thisquestion a sudden breeze swept over her; a few large drops of rain dashedinto her face, and her thoughts returned to herself. 

The pony broke into a sharp lope and she allowed it to hold the pace, wisely concluding that the animal was probably more familiar with thecountry than she. She found herself wondering why she had not thought ofthat before--when, for example, a few miles back she had deliberatelyguided it out of a beaten trail toward a section of country where, she hadimagined, the traveling would be better. No doubt she had strayed from thetrail just there. 

The drops of rain grew more frequent; they splashed into her face; shecould feel them striking her arms and shoulders. The pony's neck and manebecame moist under her hand, the darkness increased for a time and thecontinuing rumble in the heavens presaged a steady downpour. 

The pony moved faster now; it needed no urging, and Sheila held her breathfor fear that it might fall, straining her eyes to watch its limbs as theymoved with the sure regularity of an automaton. After a time they reachedthe end of the level; Sheila could tell that the pony was negotiatinganother rise, for it slackened speed appreciably and she felt herselfsettling back against the cantle of the saddle. A little later sherealized that they were going down the opposite side of the rise, and amoment later they were again on a level. A deeper blackness than they hadyet encountered rose on their right, and Sheila correctly decided it to becaused by a stretch of wood that she had observed from the crest of therise where she had halted her pony for a view of the country. After aninterval, during which she debated the wisdom of directing her pony intothe wood for protection from the rain which was now coming against herface in vicious slants, her pony nickered shrilly!

A thrill of fear assailed Sheila. She knew horses and was certain thatsome living thing was on the trail in front of her. Halting the pony, sheheld tightly to the reins through a short, tense silence. Then presently, from a point just ahead on the trail, came an answering nicker in thehorse language. Sheila's pony cavorted nervously and broke into a lope, sharper this time in spite of the tight rein she kept on it. Her feargrew, though mingling with it was a devout hope. If only the animal whichhad answered her own pony belonged to the Double R! She would take backmany of the unkind and uncharitable things she had said about the countrysince she had lost the trail. 

The pony's gait had quickened into a gallop--which she could not check. Inthe past few minutes the darkness had lifted a little; she saw that thepony was making a gradual turn, following a bend in the river. Then came aflash of lightning and she saw, a short distance ahead, a pony and rider, stationary, watching. With an effort she succeeded in reining in her ownanimal, and while she sat in the saddle, trembling and anxious, there cameanother flash of lightning and she saw the rider's face. 

The rider was a cowboy. She had distinctly seen the leathern chaps on hislegs; the broad hat, the scarf at his throat. Doubt and fear assailed her. What if the man did not belong to the Double R? What if he were a roadagent--an outlaw? Immediately she heard an exclamation from him in whichshe detected much surprise and not a little amusement. 

"Shucks!" he said. "It's a woman!"

There came a slow movement. In the lifting darkness Sheila saw the manreturn a pistol to the holster that swung at his right hip. He carelesslythrew one leg over the pommel of his saddle and looked at her. She satvery rigid, debating a sudden impulse to urge her pony past him and escapethe danger that seemed to threaten. While she watched he shoved the broadbrimmed hat back from his forehead. He was not over five feet distant fromher; she could feel her pony nuzzling his with an inquisitive muzzle, andshe could dimly see the rider's face. It belonged to a man of probablytwenty-eight or thirty; it had regular features, keen, level eyes and afirm mouth. There was a slight smile on his face and somehow the fear thathad oppressed Sheila began to take flight. And while she sat awaiting theturn of events his voice again startled her:

"I reckon you've stampeded off your range, ma'am?"

A sigh of relief escaped Sheila. The voice was very gentle and friendly. 

"I don't think that I have stampeded--whatever that means, " she returned, reassured now that the stranger gave promise of being none of the direfigures of her imagination; "I am lost merely. You see, I am looking forthe Double R ranch. "

"Oh, " he said inexpressively; "the Double R. "

There ensued a short silence and she could not see his face for he hadbowed his head a little and the broad brimmed hat intervened. 

"Do you know where the Double R ranch is?" There was a slight impatiencein her voice. 

"Sure, " came his voice. "It's up the crick a ways. "

"How far?"

"Twenty miles. "

"Oh!" This information was disheartening. Twenty miles! And the rain wascoming steadily down; she could feel it soaking through her clothing. Abitter, unreasoning anger against nature, against the circumstances whichhad conspired to place her in this position; against the man for hisapparent lack of interest in her welfare, moved her, though she might haveleft the man out of it, for certainly he could not be held responsible. Yet his nonchalance, his serenity--something about him--irritated her. Didn't he know she was getting wet? Why didn't he offer her shelter? Itdid not occur to her that perhaps he knew of no shelter. But while herindignation over his inaction grew she saw that he was doingsomething--fumbling at a bundle that seemed to be strapped to the cantleof his saddle. And then he leaned forward--very close to her--and she sawthat he was offering her a tarpaulin. 

"Wrap yourself in this, " he directed. "It ain't pretty, of course, butit'll keep you from getting drenched. Rain ain't no respecter ofpersons. "

She detected a compliment in this but ignored it and placed the tarpaulinaround her shoulders. Then it suddenly occurred to her that he was withoutprotection. She hesitated. 

"Thank you, " she said, "but I can't take this. You haven't anything foryourself. "

A careless laugh reached her. "That's all right; I don't need anything. "

There was silence again. He broke it with a question. 

"What are you figuring to do now?"

What was she going to do? The prospect of a twenty-mile ride through astrange country in a drenching rain was far from appealing to her. Herhesitation was eloquent. 

"I do not know, " she answered, no way of escape from the dilemmapresenting itself. 

"You can go on, of course, " he said, "and get lost, or hurt--or killed. It's a bad trail. Or"--he continued, hesitating a little and appearing tospeak with an effort--"there's my shack. You can have that. "

Then he did have a dwelling place. This voluntary information removedanother of the fearsome doubts that had beset her. She had been afraidthat he might prove to be an irresponsible wanderer, but when a man kept ahouse it gave to his character a certain recommendation, it suggestedstability, more, it indicated honesty. 

Of course she would have to accept the shelter of his "shack. " There wasno help for it, for it was impossible for her to entertain the idea ofriding twenty miles over an unknown trail, through the rain and darkness. Moreover, she was not afraid of the stranger now, for in spite of hiseasy, serene movements, his quiet composure, his suppressed amusement, Sheila detected a note in his voice which told her that he was deeplyconcerned over her welfare--even though he seemed to be enjoying her. Inany event she could not go forward, for the unknown terrified her and shefelt that in accepting the proffered shelter of his "shack" she waschoosing the lesser of two dangers. She decided quickly. 

"I shall accept--I think. Will you please hurry? I am getting wet in spiteof this--this covering. "

Wheeling without a word he proceeded down the trail, following the river. The darkness had abated somewhat, the low-hanging clouds had taken on agrayish-white hue, and the rain was coming down in torrents. Sheila pulledthe tarpaulin tighter about her shoulders and clung desperately to thesaddle, listening to the whining of the wind through the trees thatflanked her, keeping a watchful eye on the tall, swaying, indistinctfigure of her guide. 

After riding for a quarter of an hour they reached a little clearing nearthe river and Sheila saw her guide halt his pony and dismount. A squat, black shape loomed out of the darkness near her and, riding closer, shesaw a small cabin, of the lean-to type, constructed of adobe bricks. A dogbarked in front of her and she heard the stranger speak sharply to it. Hesilently approached and helped her down from the saddle. Then he led bothhorses away into the darkness on the other side of the cabin. During hisabsence she found time to glance about her. It was a desolate place. Didhe live here alone?

The silence brought no answer to this question, and while she continued tosearch out objects in the darkness she saw the stranger reappear aroundthe corner of the cabin and approach the door. He fumbled at it for amoment and threw it open. He disappeared within and an instant laterSheila heard the scratch of a match and saw a feeble glimmer of lightshoot out through the doorway. Then the stranger's voice:

"Come in. "

He had lighted a candle that stood on a table in the center of the room, and in its glaring flicker as she stepped inside Sheila caught her firstgood view of the stranger's face. She felt reassured instantly, for it wasa good face, with lines denoting strength of character. The droopingmustache did not quite conceal his lips, which were straight and firm. Sheila was a little disturbed over the hard expression in them, however, though she had heard that the men of the West lived rather hazardous livesand she supposed that in time their faces showed it. It was his eyes, though, that gave her a fleeting glimpse of his character. They wereblue--a steely, fathomless blue; baffling, mocking; swimming--as shelooked into them now--with an expression that she could not attempt toanalyze. One thing she saw in them only, --recklessness--and she drew aslow, deep breath. 

They were standing very close together. He caught the deep-drawn breathand looked quickly at her, his eyes alight and narrowed with an expressionwhich was a curious mingling of quizzical humor and grim enjoyment. Herown eyes did not waver, though his were boring into hers steadily, asthough he were trying to read her thoughts. 

"Afraid?" he questioned, with a suggestion of sarcasm in the curl of hislips. 

Sheila stiffened, her eyes flashing defiance. She studied him steadily, her spirit battling his over the few feet that separated them. Then shespoke deliberately, evenly: "I am not afraid of you!"

"That's right. " A gratified smile broke on the straight, hard lips. A newexpression came into his eyes--admiration. "You've got nerve, ma'am. I'msome pleased that you've got that much trust in me. You don't need to bescared. You're as safe here as you'd be out there. " He nodded toward theopen door. "Safer, " he added with a grave smile; "you might get hurt outthere. "

He turned abruptly and went to the door, where he stood for a long timelooking out into the darkness. She watched him for a moment and thenremoved the tarpaulin and hung it from a nail in the wall of the cabin. Standing near the table she glanced about her. There was only one room inthe cabin, but it was large--about twenty by twenty, she estimated. Besidean open fireplace in a corner were several pots and pans--his cookingutensils. On a shelf were some dishes. A guitar swung from a gaudy stringsuspended from the wall. A tin of tobacco and a pipe reposed on anothershelf beside a box of matches. A bunk filled a corner and she went over toit, fearing. But it was clean and the bed clothing fresh and she smiled alittle as she continued her examination. 

The latter finished she went to a small window above the bunk, looking outinto the night. The rain came against the glass in stinging slants, andwatching it she found herself feeling very grateful to the man who stoodin the doorway. Turning abruptly, she caught him watching her, anappraising smile on his face. 

"You ought to be hungry by now, " he said. "There's a fireplace and somewood. Do you want a fire?"

In response to her nod he kindled a fire, she standing beside the windowwatching him, noting his lithe, easy movements. She could not mistake thestrength and virility of his figure, even with his back turned to her, butit seemed to her that there was a certain recklessness in his actions--asthough his every movement advertised a careless regard for consequences. She held her breath when he split a short log into slender splinters, forhe swung the short-handled axe with a loose grasp, as though he cared verylittle where its sharp blade landed. But she noted that he struck withprecision despite his apparent carelessness, every blow falling true. Hismanner of handling the axe reflected the spirit that shone in his eyeswhen, after kindling the fire, he stood up and looked at her. 

"There's grub in the chuck box, " he stated shortly. "There's some pans andthings. It ain't what you might call elegant--not what you've been usedto, I expect. But it's a heap better than nothing, and I reckon you'll beable to get along. " He turned and walked to the doorway, standing in itfor an instant, facing out. "Good-night, " he added. The tarpaulin dangledfrom his arm. 

Evidently he intended going away. A sudden dread of being alone filledher. "Wait!" she cried involuntarily. "Where are you going?"

He halted and looked back at her, an odd smile on his face. 

"To my bunk. "

"Oh!" She could not analyze the smile on his face, but in it she thoughtshe detected something subtle--untruthfulness perhaps. She glanced at thetarpaulin and from it to his eyes, holding her gaze steadily. 

"You are going to sleep in the open, " she said. 

He caught the accusation in her eyes and his face reddened. 

"Well, " he admitted, "I've done it before. "

"Perhaps, " she said, a little doubtfully. "But I do not care to feel thatI am driving you out into the storm. You might catch cold and die. And Ishould not want to think that I was responsible for your death. "

"A little wetting wouldn't hurt me. " He looked at her appraisingly, aglint of sympathy in his eyes. Standing there, framed in the darkness, theflickering light from the candle on his strong, grave face, he made apicture that, she felt, she would not soon forget. 

"I reckon you ain't afraid to stay here alone, ma'am, " he said. 

"Yes, " she returned frankly, "I am afraid. I do not want to stay herealone. "

A pistol flashed in his hand, its butt toward her, and now for the firsttime she saw another at his hip. She repressed a desire to shudder andstared with dilated eyes at the extended weapon. 

"Take this gun, " he offered. "It ain't much for looks, but it'll go righthandy. You can bar the door, too, and the window. "

She refused to take the weapon. "I wouldn't know how to use it if I hadoccasion to. I prefer to have you remain in the cabin--for protection. "

He bowed. "I thought you'd--" he began, and then smiled wryly. "Itcertainly would be some wet outside, " he admitted. "It wouldn't bepleasant sleeping. I'll lay over here by the door when I get myblankets. "

He went outside and in a few minutes reappeared with his blankets andsaddle. Without speaking a word to Sheila he laid the saddle down, spreadthe blanket over it, and stretched himself out on his back. 

"I don't know about the light, " he said after an interval of silence, during which Sheila sat on the edge of the bunk and regarded his profileappraisingly. "You can blow it out if you like. "

"I prefer to have it burning. "

"Suit yourself. "

Sheila got up and placed the candle in a tin dish as a precaution againstfire. Then, when its position satisfied her she left the table and went tothe bunk, stretching herself out on it, fully dressed. 

For a long time she lay, listening to the soft patter of the rain on theroof, looking upward at the drops that splashed against the window, listening to the fitful whining of the wind through the trees near thecabin. Her eyes closed presently, sleep was fast claiming her. Then sheheard her host's voice:

"You're from the East, I reckon. "

"Yes. "

"Where?"

"New York. "

"City?"

"Albany. "

There was a silence. Sheila was thoroughly awake again, and once more hergaze went to the window, where unceasing streams trickled down the glass. Whatever fear she had had of the owner of the cabin had long ago beendispelled by his manner which, though puzzling, hinted of the gentleman. She would have liked him better were it not for the reckless gleam in hiseyes; that gleam, it seemed to her, indicated a trait of character whichwas not wholly admirable. 

"What have you come out here for?"

Sheila smiled at the rain-spattered window, a flash of pleased vanity inher eyes. His voice had been low, but in it she detected much curiosity, even interest. It was not surprising, of course, that he should feel aninterest in her; other men had been interested in her too, only they hadnot been men that lived in romantic wildernesses, --observe that she didnot make use of the term "unfeatured, " which she had manufactured soonafter realizing that she was lost--nor had they carried big revolvers, like this man, who seemed also to know very well how to use them. 

Those other men who had been interested in her had had a way of looking ather; there had always been a significant boldness in their eyes whichbelied the gentleness of demeanor which, she had always been sure, merelymasked their real characters. She had never been able to look squarely atany of those men, the men of her circle who had danced attendance upon herat the social functions that had formerly filled her existence--without afeeling of repugnance. 

They had worn man-shapes, of course, but somehow they had seemed to lacksomething real and vital; seemed to have possessed nothing of thatforceful, magnetic personality which was needed to arouse her sympathy andinterest. Not that the man on the floor in front of the door interestedher--she could not admit that! But she had felt a sympathy for him in hisloneliness, and she had looked into his eyes--had been able to looksteadily into them, and though she had seen expressions that had puzzledher, she had at least seen nothing to cause her to feel any uneasiness. She had seen manliness there, and indomitability, and force, and it hadseemed to her to be sufficient. His would be an ideal face were it not forthe expression that lingered about the lips, were it not for the recklessglint in his eyes--a glint that revealed an untamed spirit. 

His question remained unanswered. He stirred impatiently, and glancing athim Sheila saw that he had raised himself so that his chin rested in hishand, his elbow supported by the saddle. 

"You here for a visit?" he questioned. 

"Perhaps, " she said. "I do not know how long I shall stay. My father hasbought the Double R. "

For a long time it seemed that he would have no comment to make on thisand Sheila's lips took on a decidedly petulant expression. Apparently hewas not interested in her after all. 

"Then Duncan has sold out?" There was satisfaction in his voice. 

"You are keen, " she mocked. 

"And tickled, " he added. 

His short laugh brought a sudden interest into her eyes. "Then you don'tlike Duncan, " she said. 

"I reckon you're some keen too, " came the mocking response. 

Sheila flushed, turned and looked defiantly at him. His hand stillsupported his head and there was an unmistakable interest in his eyes ashe caught her glance at him and smiled. 

"You got any objections to telling me your name? We ain't been introduced, you know?" he said. 

"It is Sheila Langford. "

She had turned her head and was giving her attention to the window aboveher. The fingers of the hand that had been supporting his head slowlyclenched, he raised himself slightly, his body rigid, his chin thrusting, his face pale, his eyes burning with a sudden fierce fire. Once he openedhis lips to speak, but instantly closed them again, and a smile wreathedthem--a mirthless smile that had in it a certain cold caution and cunning. After a silence that lasted long his voice came again, drawling, well-controlled, revealing nothing of the emotion which had previouslyaffected him. 

"What is your father's name?"

"David Dowd Langford. An uncommon middle name, isn't it?"

"Yes. Uncommon, " came his reply. His face, with the light of the candlegleaming full upon it, bore a queer pallor--the white of cold ashes. Hisright hand, which had been resting carelessly on the blanket, was nowgripping it, the muscles tense and knotted. Yet after another long silencehis voice came again--drawling, well-controlled, as before:

"What is he coming out here for?"

"He has retired from business and is coming out here for his health. "

"What business was he in?"

"Wholesale hardware. "

He was silent again and presently, hearing him stir, Sheila lookedcovertly at him. He had turned, his back was toward her, and he wasstretched out on the blanket as though, fully satisfied with the result ofhis questioning, he intended going to sleep. For several minutes Sheilawatched him with a growing curiosity. It was like a man to ask all andgive nothing. He had questioned her to his complete satisfaction but hadtold nothing of himself. She was determined to discover something abouthim. 

"Who are you?" she questioned. 

"Dakota, " he said shortly. 

"Dakota?" she repeated, puzzled. "That isn't a name; it's a State--or aTerritory. "

"I'm Dakota. Ask anybody. " There was a decided drawl in his voice. 

This information was far from being satisfactory, but she supposed it mustanswer. Still, she persisted. "Where are you from?"

"Dakota. "

That seemed to end it. It had been a short quest and an unsatisfactoryone. It was perfectly plain to her that he was some sort of a rancher--atthe least a cowboy. It was also plain that he had been a cowboy beforecoming to this section of the country--probably in Dakota. She wasperplexed and vexed and nibbled impatiently at her lips. 

"Dakota isn't your real name, " she declared sharply. 

"Ain't it?" There came the drawl again. It irritated her this time. 

"No!" she snapped. 

"Well, it's as good as any other. Good-night. "

Sheila did not answer. Five minutes later she was asleep. 

CHAPTER II

THE DIM TRAIL

Sheila had been dreaming of a world in which there was nothing but rainand mud and clouds and reckless-eyed individuals who conversed inirritating drawls when a sharp crash of thunder awakened her. During hersleep she had turned her face to the wall, and when her eyes opened thefirst thing that her gaze rested on was the small window above her head. She regarded it for some time, following with her eyes the erratic streamsthat trickled down the glass, stretching out wearily, listening to thewind. It was cold and bleak outside and she had much to be thankful for. 

She was glad that she had not allowed the mysterious inhabitant of thecabin to sleep out in his tarpaulin, for the howling of the wind broughtweird thoughts into her mind; she reflected upon her helplessness and itwas extremely satisfying to know that within ten feet of her lay a manwhose two big revolvers--even though she feared them--seemed to insureprotection. It was odd, she told herself, that she should place so muchconfidence in Dakota, and her presence in the cabin with him was certainlya breach of propriety which--were her friends in the East to hear ofit--would arouse much comment--entirely unfavorable to her. Yes, it wasodd, yet considering Dakota, she was not in the least disturbed. So farhis conduct toward her had been that of the perfect gentleman, and inspite of the recklessness that gleamed in his eyes whenever he looked ather she was certain that he would continue to be a gentleman. 

It was restful to lie and listen to the rain splashing on the roof andagainst the window, but sleep, for some unaccountable reason, seemed togrow farther from her--the recollection of events during the past fewhours left no room in her thoughts for sleep. Turning, after a while, toseek a more comfortable position, she saw Dakota sitting at the table, onthe side opposite her, watching her intently. 

"Can't sleep, eh?" he said, when he saw her looking at him. "Storm botheryou?"

"I think it was the thunder that awakened me, " she returned. "Thunderalways does. Evidently it disturbs you too. "

"I haven't been asleep, " he said in a curt tone. 

He continued to watch her with a quiet, appraising gaze. It was evidentthat he had been thinking of her when she had turned to look at him. Sheflushed with embarrassment over the thought that while she had been asleephe must have been considering her, and yet, looking closely at him now, she decided that his expression was frankly impersonal. 

He glanced at his watch. "You've been asleep two hours, " he said. "I'vebeen watching you--and envying you. "

"Envying me? Why? Are you troubled with insomnia?"

He laughed. "Nothing so serious as that. It's just thoughts. "

"Pleasant ones, of course. "

"You might call them pleasant. I've been thinking of you. "

Sheila found no reply to make to this, but blushed again. 

"Thinking of you, " repeated Dakota. "Of the chance you took in coming outhere alone--in coming into my shack. We're twenty miles from townhere--twenty miles from the Double R--the nearest ranch. It isn't likelythat a soul will pass here for a month. Suppose----"

"We won't 'suppose, ' if you please, " said Sheila. Her face had grownslowly pale, but there was a confident smile on her lips as she looked athim. 

"No?" he said, watching her steadily. "Why? Isn't it quite possible thatyou could have fallen in with a sort of man----"

"As it happens, I did not, " interrupted Sheila. 

"How do you know?"

Sheila's gaze met his unwaveringly. "Because you are the man, " she saidslowly. 

She thought she saw a glint of pleasure in his eyes, but was not quitecertain, for his expression changed instantly. 

"Fate, or Providence--or whatever you are pleased to call the power thatshuffles us flesh and blood mannikins around--has a way of putting us allin the right places. I expect that's one of the reasons why you didn'tfall in with the sort of man I was going to tell you about, " said Dakota. 

"I don't see what Fate has to do--" began Sheila, wondering at his serioustone. 

"Odd, isn't it?" he drawled. 

"What is odd?"

"That you don't see. But lots of people don't see. They're chucked andshoved around like men on a chess board, and though they're alwaysinterested they don't usually know what it's all about. Just as welltoo--usually. "

"I don't see----"

He smiled mysteriously. "Did I say that I expected you to see?" he said. "There isn't anything personal in this, aside from the fact that I wastrying to show you that some one was foolish in sending you out herealone. Some day you'll look back on your visit here and then you'llunderstand. "

He got up and walked to the door, opening it and standing there lookingout into the darkness. Sheila watched him, puzzled by his mysteriousmanner, though not in the least afraid of him. Several times while hestood at the door he turned and looked at her and presently, when a gustof wind rushed in and Sheila shivered, he abruptly closed the door, barredit, and strode to the fireplace, throwing a fresh log into it. For a timehe stood silently in front of the fire, his figure casting a long, gauntshadow at Sheila's feet, his gaze on her, grim, somber lines in his face. Presently he cleared his throat. 

"How old are you?" he said shortly. 

"Twenty-two. "

"And you've lived East all your life. Lived well, too, I suppose--plentyof money, luxuries, happiness?"

He caught her nod and continued, his lips curling a little. "Your fathertoo, I reckon--has he been happy?"

"I think so. "

"That's odd. " He had spoken more to himself than to Sheila and he lookedat her with narrowed eyes when she answered. 

"What is odd? That my father should be happy--that I should?"

"Odd that anyone who is happy in one place should want to leave that placeand go to another. Maybe the place he went to wouldn't be just right forhim. What makes people want to move around like that?"

"Perhaps you could answer that yourself, " suggested Sheila. "I am surethat you haven't lived here in this part of the country all your life. "

"How do you know that?" His gaze was quizzical and mocking. 

"I don't know. But you haven't. "

"Well, " he said, "we'll say I haven't. But I wasn't happy where I camefrom and I came here looking for happiness--and something else. That Ididn't find what I was looking for isn't the question--mostly none of usfind the things we're looking for. But if I had been happy where I was Iwouldn't have come here. You say your father has been happy there; thathe's got plenty of money and all that. Then why should he want to livehere?"

"I believe I told you that he is coming here for his health. "

His eyes lighted savagely. But Sheila did not catch their expression forat that moment she was looking at his shadow on the floor. How long, howgrotesque, it seemed, and forbidding--like its owner. 

"So he's got everything he wants but his health. What made him losethat?"

"How should I know?"

"Just lost it, I reckon, " said Dakota subtly. "Cares and Worry?"

"I presume. His health has been failing for about ten years. "

Sheila was looking straight at Dakota now and she saw his face whiten, hislips harden. And when he spoke again there was a chill in his voice and adistinct pause between his words. 

"Ten years, " he said. "That's a long time, isn't it? A long time for a manwho has been losing his health. And yet----" There was a mirthless smileon Dakota's face--"ten years is a longer time for a man in good health whohasn't been happy. Couldn't your father have doctored--gone abroad--torecover his health? Or was his a mental sickness?"

"Mental, I think. He worried quite a little. "

Dakota turned from her, but not quickly enough to conceal the light ofsavage joy that flashed suddenly into his eyes. 

"Why!" exclaimed Sheila, voicing her surprise at the startling change inhis manner; "that seems to please you!"

"It does. " He laughed oddly. "It pleases me to find that I'm to have aneighbor who is afflicted with the sort of sickness that has beenbothering me for--for a good many years. "

There was a silence, during which Sheila yawned and Dakota stoodmotionless, looking straight ahead. 

"You like your father, I reckon?" came his voice presently, as his gazewent to her again. 

"Of course. " She looked up at him in surprise. "Why shouldn't I likehim?"

"Of course you like him. Mostly children like their fathers. "

"Children!" She glared scornfully at him. "I am twenty-two! I told youthat before!"

"So you did, " he returned, unruffled. "When is he coming out here?"

"In a month--a month from to-day. " She regarded him with a sudden, newinterest. "You are betraying a great deal of curiosity, " she accused. "Why?"

"Why, " he answered slowly, "I reckon that isn't odd, is it? He's going tobe my neighbor, isn't he?"

"Oh!" she said with emphasis of mockery which equalled his. "And you aregossiping about your neighbor even before he comes. "

"Like a woman, " he said with a smile. 

"An impertinent one, " she retorted. 

"Your father, " he said in accents of sarcasm, ignoring the jibe, "seems tothink a heap of you--sending you all the way out here alone. "

"I came against his wish; he wanted me to wait and come with him. "

Her defense of her parent seemed to amuse him. He smiled mysteriously. "Then he likes you?"

"Is that strange? He hasn't any one else--no relative. I am the onlyone. "

"You're the only one. " He repeated her words slowly, regarding hernarrowly. "And he likes you. I reckon he'd be hurt quite a little if youhad fallen in with the sort of man I was going to tell you about. "

"Naturally. " Sheila was tapping with her booted foot on his shadow on thefloor and did not look at him. 

"It's a curious thing, " he said slowly, after an interval, "that a man whohas got a treasure grows careless of it in time. It's natural, too. But Ireckon fate has something to do with it. Ten chances to one if nothinghappens to you your father will consider himself lucky. But suppose youhad happened to fall in with a different man than me--we'll say, forinstance, a man who had a grudge against your father--and that man didn'thave that uncommon quality called 'mercy. ' What then? Ten chances to oneyour father would say it was fate that had led you to him. "

"I think, " she said scornfully, "that you are talking silly! In the firstplace, I don't believe my father thinks that I am a treasure, though helikes me very much. In the second place, if he does think that I am atreasure, he is very much mistaken, for I am not--I am a woman and quiteable to take care of myself. You have exhibited a wonderful curiosity overmy father and me, and though it has all been mystifying and entertaining, I don't purpose to talk to you all night. "

"I didn't waken you, " he mocked. 

Sheila swung around on the bunk, her back to him. "You are keeping meawake, " she retorted. 

"Well, good night then, " he laughed, "Miss Sheila. "

"Good night, Mr. --Mr. Dakota, " she returned. 

Sheila did not hear him again. Her thoughts dwelt for a little time on himand his mysterious manner, then they strayed. They returned presently andshe concentrated her attention on the rain; she could hear the soft, steady patter of it on the roof; she listened to it trickling from theeaves and striking the glass in the window above her head. Gradually thesoft patter seemed to draw farther away, became faint, and more faint, andfinally she heard it no more. 

CHAPTER III

CONVERGING TRAILS

It was the barking of a dog that brought Sheila out of a sleep--dreamlessthis time--into a state of semi-consciousness. It was Dakota's dog surely, she decided sleepily. She sighed and twisted to a more comfortableposition. The effort awakened her and she opened her eyes, her gazeresting immediately on Dakota. He still sat at the table, silent, immovable, as before. But now he was sitting erect, his muscles tensed, his chin thrust out aggressively, his gaze on the door--listening. Heseemed to be unaware of Sheila's presence; the sound that she had made inturning he apparently had not heard. 

There was an interval of silence and then came a knocking on thedoor--loud, unmistakable. Some one desired admittance. After the knockcame a voice:

"Hello inside!"

"Hello yourself!" Dakota's voice came with a truculent snap. "What's up?"

"Lookin' for a dry place, " came the voice from without. "Mebbe you don'tknow it's wet out here!"

Sheila's gaze was riveted on Dakota. He arose and noiselessly moved hischair back from the table and she saw a saturnine smile on his face, yetin his eyes there shone a glint of intolerance that mingled oddly with hisgravity. 

"You alone?" he questioned, his gaze on the door. 

"Yes. "

"Who are you?"

"Campbellite preacher. "

For the first time since she had been awake Dakota turned and looked atSheila. The expression of his face puzzled her. "A parson!" he sneered ina low voice. "I reckon we'll have some praying now. " He took a stepforward, hesitated, and looked back at Sheila. "Do you want him in here?"

Sheila's nod brought a whimsical, shallow smile to his face. "Of courseyou do--you're lonesome in here. " There was mockery in his voice. Hedeliberately drew out his two guns, examined them minutely, returned oneto his holster, retaining the other in his right hand. With a cold grin atSheila he snuffed out the candle between a finger and a thumb and strodeto the door--Sheila could hear him fumbling at the fastenings. He spoke tothe man outside sharply. 

"Come in!"

There was a movement; a square of light appeared in the wall of darkness;there came a step on the threshold. Watching, Sheila saw, framed in theopen doorway, the dim outlines of a figure--a man. 

"Stand right there, " came Dakota's voice from somewhere in theimpenetrable darkness of the interior, and Sheila wondered at thehospitality that greeted a stranger with total darkness and a revolver. "Light a match. "

After a short interval of silence there came the sound of a matchscratching on the wall, and a light flared up, showing Sheila the face ofa man of sixty, bronzed, bearded, with gentle, quizzical eyes. 

The light died down, the man waited. Sheila had forgotten--in her desireto see the face of the visitor--to look for Dakota, but presently sheheard his voice:

"I reckon you're a parson, all right. Close the door. "

The parson obeyed the command. "Light the candle on the table!" came theorder from Dakota. "I'm not taking any chances until I get a better lookat you. "

Another match flared up and the parson advanced to the table and lightedthe candle. He smiled while applying the match to the wick. "Don't pay totake no chances--on anything, " he agreed. He stood erect, a tall man, rugged and active for his sixty years, and threw off a rain-soakedtarpaulin. Some traces of dampness were visible on his clothing, but inthe circumstances he had not fared so badly. 

"It's a new trail to me--I don't know the country, " he went on. "If Ihadn't seen your light I reckon I'd have been goin' yet. I was thinkin'that it was mighty queer that you'd have a light goin' so----" He stoppedshort, seeing Sheila sitting on the bunk. "Shucks, ma'am, " he apologized, "I didn't know you were there. " His hat came off and dangled in his lefthand; with the other he brushed back the hair from his forehead, smilingmeanwhile at Sheila. 

"Why, ma'am, " he said apologetically, "if your husband had told me you washere I'd have gone right on an' not bothered you. "

Sheila's gaze went from the parson's face and sought Dakota's, a crimsonflood spreading over her face and temples. A slow, amused gleam filledDakota's eyes. But plainly he did not intend to set the parson right--hewas enjoying Sheila's confusion. The color fled from her face as suddenlyas it had come and was succeeded by the pallor of a cold indignation. 

"I'm not married, " she said instantly to the parson; "this gentleman isnot my husband. "

"Not?" questioned the parson. "Then how--" He hesitated and looked quicklyat Dakota, but the latter was watching Sheila with an odd smile and theparson looked puzzled. 

"This is my first day in this country, " explained Sheila. 

The parson did not reply to this, though he continued to watch herintently. She met his gaze steadily and he smiled. "I reckon you've beencaught on the trail too, " he said, "by the storm. "

Sheila nodded. 

"Well, it's been right wet to-night, an' it ain't no night to begalivantin' around the country. Where you goin' to?"

"To the Double R ranch. "

"Where's the Double R?" asked the parson. 

"West, " Dakota answered for Sheila; "twenty miles. "

"Off my trail, " said the parson. "I'm travelin' to Lazette. " He laughed, shortly. "I'm askin' your pardon, ma'am, for takin' you to be married; youdon't look like you belonged here--I ought to have knowed that rightoff. "

Sheila told him that he was forgiven and he had no comment to make onthis, but looked at her appraisingly. He drew a bench up near the fire andsat looking at the licking flames, the heat drawing the steam from hisclothing as the latter dried. Dakota supplied him with soda biscuit andcold bacon, and these he munched in contentment, talking meanwhile of histravels. Several times while he sat before the fire Dakota spoke to him, and finally he pulled his chair over near the wall opposite the bunk onwhich Sheila sat, tilted it back, and dropped into it, stretching outcomfortably. 

After seating himself, Dakota's gaze sought Sheila. It was evident toSheila that he was thinking pleasant thoughts, for several times shelooked quickly at him to catch him smiling. Once she met his gaze fairlyand was certain that she saw a crafty, calculating gleam in his eyes. Shewas puzzled, though there was nothing of fear from Dakota now; thepresence of the parson in the cabin assured her of safety. 

A half hour dragged by. The parson did not appear to be sleepy. Sheilaglanced at her watch and saw that it was midnight. She wondered much atthe parson's wakefulness and her own weariness. But she could safely go tosleep now, she told herself, and she stretched noiselessly out on the bunkand with one arm bent under her head listened to the parson. 

Evidently the parson was itinerant; he spoke of many places--Wyoming, Colorado, Nevada, Arizona, Texas; of towns in New Mexico. To Sheila, hersenses dulled by the drowsiness that was stealing over her, it appearedthat the parson was a foe to Science. His volubility filled the cabin; hecontended sonorously that the earth was not round. The Scriptures, hemaintained, held otherwise. He called Dakota's attention to the seventhchapter of Revelation, verse one:

"And after these things I saw four angels standing on the four corners ofthe earth, holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should notblow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree. "

Several times Sheila heard Dakota laugh, mockingly; he was skeptical, caustic even, and he took issue with the parson. Between them they managedto prevent her falling asleep; kept her in a semidoze which was very nearto complete wakefulness. 

After a time, though, the argument grew monotonous; the droning of theirvoices seemed gradually to grow distant; Sheila lost interest in theconversation and sank deeper into her doze. How long she had beenunconscious of them she did not know, but presently she was awake againand listening. Dakota's laugh had awakened her. Out of the corners of hereyes she saw that he was still seated in the chair beside the wall andthat his eyes were alight with interest as he watched the parson. 

"So you're going to Lazette, taking it on to him?"

The parson nodded, smiling. "When a man wants to get married he'll notcare much about the arrangements--how it gets done. What he wants to do isto get married. "

"That's a queer angle, " Dakota observed. He laughed immoderately. 

The parson laughed with him. It _was_ an odd situation, he agreed. Never, in all his experience, had he heard of anything like it. 

He had stopped for a few hours at Dry Bottom. While there a rider hadpassed through, carrying word that a certain man in Lazette, called"Baldy, " desired to get married. There was no minister in Lazette, noteven a justice of the peace. But Baldy wanted to be married, and hisbride-to-be objected to making the trip to Dry Bottom, where there wereboth a parson and a justice of the peace. Therefore, failing to induce thelady to go to the parson, it followed that Baldy must contrive to have theparson come to the lady. He dispatched the rider to Dry Bottom on thisquest. 

The rider had found that there was no regular parson in Dry Bottom andthat the justice of the peace had departed the day before to some distanttown for a visit. Luckily for Baldy's matrimonial plans, the parson hadbeen in Dry Bottom when the rider arrived, and he readily consented--as heintended to pass through Lazette anyway--to carry Baldy's license to himand perform the ceremony. 

"Odd, ain't it?" remarked the parson, after he had concluded. 

"That's a queer angle, " repeated Dakota. "You got the license?" heinquired softly. "Mebbe you've lost it. "

"I reckon not. " The parson fumbled in a pocket, drawing out a foldedpaper. "I've got it, right enough. "

"You've got no objections to me looking at it?" came Dakota's voice. Sheila saw him rise. There was a strange smile on his face. 

"No objections. I reckon you'll be usin' one yourself one of these days. "

"One of these days, " echoed Dakota with a laugh as strange as his smile amoment before. "Yes--I'm thinking of using one one of these days. "

The parson spread the paper out on the table. Together he and Dakota benttheir heads over it. After reading the license Dakota stood erect. Helaughed, looking at the parson. 

"There ain't a name on it, " he said, "not a name. "

"They're reckonin' to fill in the names when they're married, " explainedthe parson. "That there rider ought to have knowed the names, but hedidn't. Only knowed that the man was called 'Baldy. ' Didn't know thebride's name at all. But it don't make any difference; they wouldn't havehad to have a license at all in this Territory. But it makes it look moreregular when they've got one. All that's got to be done is for Baldy to goover to Dry Bottom an' have the names recorded. Bein' as I can't go, I'mto certify in the license. "

"Sure, " said Dakota slowly. "It makes things more regular to have alicense--more regular to have you certify. "

Looking at Dakota, Sheila thought she saw in his face a certainpreoccupation; he was evidently not thinking of what he was saying at all;the words had come involuntarily, automatically almost, it seemed, soinexpressive were they. "Sure, " he repeated, "you're to certify, in thelicense. "

It was as though he were reading aloud from a printed page, his thoughtselsewhere, and seeing only the words and uttering them unconsciously. Someidea had formed in his brain, he meditated some surprising action. Thatshe was concerned in his thoughts Sheila did not doubt, for he presentlyturned and looked straight at her and in his eyes she saw a newexpression--a cold, designing gleam that frightened her. 

Five minutes later, when the parson announced his intention to care forhis horse before retiring and stood in the doorway preparatory to goingout, Sheila restrained an impulse to call to him to remain. She succeededin quieting her fears, however, by assuring herself that nothing couldhappen now, with the parson so near. Thus fortified, she smiled at Dakotaas the parson stepped down and closed the door. 

She drew a startled breath in the next instant, though, for withoutnoticing her smile Dakota stepped to the door and barred it. Turning, hestood with his back against it, his lips in straight, hard lines, his eyessteady and gleaming brightly. 

He caught Sheila's gaze and held it; she trembled and sat erect. 

"It's odd, ain't it?" he said, in the mocking voice that he had used whenusing the same words earlier in the evening. 

"What is odd?" Hers was the same answer that she had used before, too--shecould think of nothing else to say. 

"Odd that he should come along just at this time. " He indicated the doorthrough which the parson had disappeared. "You and me are here, and hecomes. Who sent him?"

"Chance, I suppose, " Sheila answered, though she could feel that there wasa subtle undercurrent in his speech, and she felt again the strange unrestthat had affected her several times before. 

"You think it was chance, " he said, drawling his words. "Well, maybethat's just as good a name for it as any other. But we don't all seethings the same way, do we? We couldn't, of course, because we've all gotdifferent things to do. We think this is a big world and that we play abig game. But it's a little world and a little game when Fate takes a handin it. I told you a while ago that Fate had a queer way of shuffling usaround. That's a fact. And Fate is running this game. " His mocking laughhad a note of grimness in it, which brought a chill over Sheila. "Justnow, Miss Sheila, Fate is playing with brides and bridegrooms andmarriages and parsons. That's what is so odd. Fate has supplied the parsonand the license; we'll supply the names. Look at the bridegroom, Sheila, "he directed, tapping his breast with a finger; "this is your weddingday!"

"What do you mean?" Sheila was on her feet, trembling, her face white withfear and dread. 

"That we're to be married, " he said, smiling at her, and she noted with aqualm that there was no mirth in the smile, "you and me. The parson willtie the knot. "

"This is a joke, I suppose?" she said scornfully, attempting a lightnessthat she did not feel; "a crude one, to be sure, for you certainly cannotbe serious. "

"I was never more serious in my life, " he said slowly. "We are to bemarried when the parson comes in. "

"How do you purpose to accomplish this?" she jeered. "The parson certainlywill not perform a marriage ceremony without the consent of--without myconsent. "

"I think, " he said coldly, "that you will consent. I am not in a triflingmood. Just now it pleases me to imagine that I am an instrument of Fate. Maybe that sounds mysterious to you, but some day you will be able to seejust how logical it all seems to me now, that Fate has sent me a pawn--asubject, if you please--to sacrifice, that the game which I have beenplaying may be carried to its conclusion. "

Outside they heard the dog bark, heard the parson speak to it. 

"The parson is coming, " said Sheila, her joy over the impendinginterruption showing in her eyes. 

"Yes, he is coming. " Still with his back to the door, Dakota deliberatelydrew out one of his heavy pistols and examined it minutely, paying noattention to Sheila. Her eyes widened with fear as the hand holding theweapon dropped to his side and he looked at her again. 

"What are you doing to do?" she demanded, watching these forbiddingpreparations with dilated eyes. 

"That depends, " he returned with a chilling laugh. "Have you ever seen aman die? No?" he continued as she shuddered. "Well, if you don't consentto marry me you will see the parson die. I have decided to give you thechoice, ma'am, " he went on in a quiet, determined voice, entirely freefrom emotion. "Sacrifice yourself and the parson lives; refuse and I shootthe parson down the instant he steps inside the door. "

"Oh!" she cried in horror, taking a step toward him and looking into hiseyes for evidence of insincerity--for the slightest sign that would tellher that he was merely trying to scare her. "Oh! you--you coward!" shecried, for she saw nothing in his eyes but cold resolution. 

He smiled with straight lips. "You see, " he mocked, "how odd it is? Fateis shuffling us three in this game. You have your choice. Do you care tobe responsible for the death of a fellow being?"

For a tense instant she looked at him, and seeing the hard, inexorableglitter in his eyes she cringed away from him and sank to the edge of thebunk, covering her face with her hands. 

During the silence that followed she could hear the parson outside--hisvoice, and the yelping of the dog--evidently they had formed a friendship. The sounds came nearer; Sheila heard the parson try the door. She becameaware that Dakota was standing over her and she looked up, shivering, tosee his face, still hard and unyielding. 

"I am going to open the door, " he said. "Is it you or the parson?"

At that word she was on her feet, standing before him, rigid with anger, her eyes flaming with scorn and hatred. 

"You wouldn't dare to do it!" she said hoarsely; "you--you----" Shesnatched suddenly for the butt of the weapon that swung at his left hip, but with a quick motion he evaded the hand and stepped back a pace, smiling coldly. 

"I reckon it's the parson, " he said in a low voice, which carried an airof finality. He started for the door, hesitated, and came back to thebunk, standing in front of Sheila, looking down into her eyes. 

"I am giving you one last chance, " he told her. "I am going to open thedoor. If you want the parson to die, don't look at me when he steps in. Ifyou want him to live, turn your back to him and walk to the fireplace. "

He walked to the door, unlocked it, and stepped back, his gaze on Sheila. Then the door opened slowly and the parson stood on the threshold, smiling. 

"It's sure some wet outside, " he said. 

Dakota was fingering the cylinder of his revolver, his gaze now riveted onthe parson. 

"Why, " said the latter, in surprise, seeing the attitudes of Dakota andhis guest, "what in the name of----"

There came a movement, and Sheila stood in front of Dakota, between himand the parson. For an instant she stood, looking at Dakota with ascornful, loathing gaze. Then with a dry sob, which caught in her throat, she moved past him and went to the fireplace, where she stood looking downat the flames. 

CHAPTER IV

THIS PICTURE AND THAT

IT was a scene of wild, virgin beauty upon which Sheila Langford looked asshe sat on the edge of a grassy butte overlooking the Ute River, withDuncan, the Double R manager stretched out, full length beside her, agigantic picture on Nature's canvas, glowing with colors which the godshad spread with a generous touch. 

A hundred feet below Sheila and Duncan the waters of the river sweptaround the base of the butte, racing over a rocky bed toward a deep, narrow canyon farther down. Directly opposite the butte rose a shortslope, forming the other bank of the river. From the crest of the slopebegan a plain that stretched for many miles, merging at the horizon intosome pine-clad foothills. Behind the foothills were the mountains, theirsnow peaks shimmering in a white sky--remote, mysterious, seeming likeguardians of another world. The chill of the mountains contrasted sharplywith the slumberous luxuriance and color of the plains. 

Miles of grass, its green but slightly dulled with a thin covering ofalkali dust, spread over the plain; here and there a grove of trees rose, it seemed, to break the monotony of space. To the right the river doubledsharply, the farther bank fringed with alder and aspen, their tall stalksnodding above the nondescript river weeds; the near bank a continuing wallof painted buttes--red, picturesque, ragged, thrusting upward and outwardover the waters of the river. On the left was a stretch of broken country. Mammoth boulders were strewn here; weird rocks arose in inconceivablygrotesque formations; lava beds, dull and gray, circled the bald knobs ofsome low hills. Above it all swam the sun, filling the world with a clear, white light. It made a picture whose beauty might have impressed the mostunresponsive. Yet, though Sheila was looking upon the picture, herthoughts were dwelling upon another. 

This other picture was not so beautiful, and a vague unrest grippedSheila's heart as she reviewed it, carefully going over each gloomydetail. It was framed in the rain and the darkness of a yesterday. Therewas a small clearing there--a clearing in a dense wood beside a river--thesame river which she could have seen below her now, had she looked. In theforeground was a cabin. She entered the cabin and stood beside a tableupon which burned a candle. A man stood beside the table also--areckless-eyed man, holding a heavy revolver. Another man stood there, too--a man of God. While Sheila watched the man's lips opened; she couldhear the words that came through them--she would never forget them:

"To have and to hold from this day forth ... Till death do you part.... "

It was not a dream, it was the picture of an actual occurrence. She sawevery detail of it. She could hear her own protests, her threats, herpleadings; she lived over again her terror as she had crouched in the bunkuntil the dawn. 

The man had not molested her, had not even spoken to her after theceremony; had ignored her entirely. When the dawn came she had heard himtalking to the parson, but could not catch their words. Later she hadmounted her pony and had ridden away through the sunshine of the morning. She had been married--it was her wedding day. 

When she had reached the crest of a long rise after her departure from thecabin she had halted her pony to look back, hoping that it all might havebeen a dream. But it had not been a dream. There was the dense wood, theclearing, and the cabin. Beside them was the river. And there, ridingslowly away over the narrow trail which she had traveled the night before, was the parson--she could see his gray beard in the white sunlight. Dryeyed, she had turned from the scene. A little later, turning again, shesaw the parson fade into the horizon. That, she knew, was the last shewould ever see of him. He had gone out of her life forever--the desert hadswallowed him up. 

But the picture was still vivid; she had seen it during every wakingmoment of the month that she had been at the Double R ranch; it was beforeher every night in her dreams. It would not fade. 

She knew that the other picture was beautiful--the picture of this worldinto which she had ridden so confidently, yet she was afraid to dwell uponit for fear that its beauty would seem to mock her. For had not natureconspired against her? Yet she knew that she alone was to blame--she, obstinate, willful, heedless. Had not her father warned her? "Wait, " hehad said, and the words flamed before her eyes--"wait until I go. Wait amonth. The West is a new country; anything, everything, can happen to youout there--alone. "

"Nothing can happen, " had been her reply. "I will go straight from Lazetteto the Double R. See that you telegraph instructions to Duncan to meet me. It will be a change; I am tired of the East and impatient to be away fromit. "

Well, she had found a change. What would her father say when he heard ofit--of her marriage to a cowboy, an unprincipled scoundrel? What could hesay? The marriage could be annulled, of course! it was not legal, couldnot be legal. No law could be drawn which would recognize a marriage ofthat character, and she knew that she had only to tell her father to havethe machinery of the law set in motion. Could she tell him? Could she bearhis reproaches, his pity, after her heedlessness?

What would her friends say when they heard of it--as they must hear if shewent to the law for redress? Her friends in the East whose good wishes, whose respect, she desired? Mockers there would be among them, she wascertain; there were mockers everywhere, and she feared their taunts, theshafts of sarcasm that would be launched at her--aye, that would strikeher--when they heard that she had passed a night in a lone cabin with astrange cowboy--had been married to him!

A month had passed since the afternoon on which she had ridden up to theporch of the Double R ranchhouse to be greeted by Duncan with theinformation that he had that morning received a telegram from her fatherannouncing her coming. It had been brought from Lazette by a puncher whohad gone there for the mail, and Duncan was at that moment preparing todrive to Lazette to meet her, under the impression that she would arrivethat day. There had been a mistake, of course, but what did it matter now?The damage had been wrought and she closed her lips. A month had passedand she had not told--she would never tell. 

Conversations she had had with Duncan; he seemed a gentleman, living atthe Double R ranchhouse with his sister, but in no conversation withanyone had Sheila even mentioned Dakota's name, fearing that something inher manner might betray her secret. To everyone but herself the picture ofher adventure that night on the trail must remain invisible. 

She looked furtively at Duncan, stretched out beside her on the grass. What would he say if he knew? He would not be pleased, she was certain, for during the month that she had been at the Double R--riding out almostdaily with him--he had forced her to see that he had taken a liking toher--more, she herself had observed the telltale signs of something deeperthan mere liking. 

She had not encouraged this, of course, for she was not certain that sheliked Duncan, though he had treated her well--almost too well, in fact, for she had at times felt a certain reluctance in accepting his littleattentions--such personal service as kept him almost constantly at herside. His manner, too, was ingratiating; he smiled too much to suit her;his presumption of proprietorship over her irritated her not a little. 

As she sat beside him on the grass she found herself studying him, as shehad done many times when he had not been conscious of her gaze. 

He was thirty-two, --he had told her so himself in a burst ofconfidence--though she believed him to be much older. The sprinkling ofgray hair at his temples had caused her to place his age at thirty-sevenor eight. Besides, there were the lines of his face--the set lines ofcharacter--indicating established habits of thought which would not showso deeply in a younger face. His mouth, she thought, was a trifle weak, yet not exactly weak either, but full-lipped and sensual, with littlecurves at the corners which, she was sure, indicated either vindictivenessor cruelty, perhaps both. 

Taken altogether his was not a face to trust fully; its owner might be tooeasily guided by selfish considerations. Duncan liked to talk abouthimself; he had been talking about himself all the time that Sheila hadsat beside him reviewing the mental picture. But apparently he had aboutexhausted that subject now, and presently he looked up at her, his eyesnarrowing quizzically. 

"You have been here a month now, " he said. "How do you like the country?"

"I like it, " she returned. 

She was looking now at the other picture, watching the shimmer of the sunon the distant mountain peaks. 

"It improves, " he said, "on acquaintance--like the people. " He flashed asmile at her, showing his teeth. 

"I haven't seen very many people, " she returned, not looking at him, butdetermined to ignore the personal allusion, to which, plainly, he hadmeant to guide her. 

"But those that you have seen?" he persisted. 

"I have formed no opinions. "

She _had_ formed an opinion, though, a conclusive one--concerning Dakota. But she had no idea of communicating it to Duncan. Until now, strangelyenough, she had had no curiosity concerning him. Bitter hatred andresentment had been so active in her brain that the latter had held noplace for curiosity. Or at least, if it had been there, it had been asubconscious emotion, entirely overshadowed by bitterness. Of late, thoughher resentment toward Dakota had not abated, she had been able to reviewthe incident of her marriage to him with more composure, and therefore agrowing curiosity toward the man seemed perfectly justifiable. Curiositymoved her now as she smiled deliberately at Duncan. 

"I have seen no one except your sister, a few cowboys, and yourself. Ihaven't paid much attention to the cowboys, I like your sister, and I amnot in the habit of telling people to their faces what I think of them. The country does not appear to be densely populated. Are there no otherranches around here--no other cattlemen?"

"The Double R ranch covers an area of one hundred and sixty square miles, "said Duncan. "The ranchhouse is right near the center of it. For abouttwenty miles in every direction you won't find anybody but Double R men. There are line-camps, of course--dugouts where the men hang out over nightsometimes--but that's all. To my knowledge there are only two men withshacks around here, and they're mostly of no account. One of them isDoubler--Ben Doubler--who hangs out near Two Forks, and the other is afellow who calls himself Dakota, who's got a shack about twenty miles downthe Ute, a little off the Lazette trail. "

"They are ranchers, I suppose?"

Sheila's face was averted so that Duncan might not see the interest in hereyes, or the red which had suddenly come into her cheeks. 

"Ranchers?" There was a sneer in Duncan's laugh. "Well, you might callthem that. But they're only nesters. They've got a few head of cattle anda brand. It's likely they've put their brands on quite a few of the DoubleR cattle. "

"You mean----" began Sheila in a low voice. 

"I mean that I think they're rustlers--cattle thieves!" said Duncanvenomously. 

The flush had gone from Sheila's cheeks; she turned a pale face to theDouble R manager. 

"How long have these men lived in the vicinity of the Double R?"

"Doubler has been hanging around here for seven or eight years. He washere when I came and mebbe he's been here longer. Dakota's been here aboutfive years. He bought his brand--the Star--from another nester--TexasBlanca. "

"They've been stealing the Double R cattle, you say?" questioned Sheila. 

"That's what I think. "

"Why don't you have them arrested?"

Duncan laughed mockingly. "Arrested! That's good. You've been living wherethere's law. But there's no law out here; no law to cover cattle stealing, except our own. And then we've got to have the goods. The sheriff won't doanything when cattle are stolen, but he acts mighty sudden when a man'shung for stealing cattle, if the man ain't caught with the goods. "

"Caught with the goods?"

"Caught in the act of stealing. If we catch a man with the goods and hanghim there ain't usually anything said. "

"And you haven't been able to catch these men, Dakota and Doubler, in theact of stealing. "

"They're too foxy. "

"If I were manager of this ranch and suspected anyone of stealing any ofits cattle, I would catch them!" There was a note of angry impatience inSheila's voice which caused Duncan to look sharply at her. He reddened, suspecting disparagement of his managerial ability in the speech. 

"Mebbe, " he said, with an attempt at lightness. "But as a general thingnosing out a rustler is a pretty ticklish proposition. Nobody goes aboutthat work with a whole lot of enthusiasm. "

"Why?" There was scorn in Sheila's voice, scorn in her uplifted chin. Butshe did not look at Duncan. 

"Why?" he repeated. "Well, because it's perfectly natural for a man towant to live as long as he can. I don't like them nesters--Dakotaespecially--and I'd like mighty well to get something on them. But I ain'ttaking any chances on Dakota. "

"Why?" Again the monosyllable was pregnant with scorn. 

"I forgot that you ain't acquainted out here, " laughed the manager. "Noone is taking any chances with Dakota--not even the sheriff. There'ssomething about the cuss which seems to discourage a man when he's closeto him--close enough to do any shooting. I've seen Dakota throw down on aman so quick that it would make you dizzy. "

"Throw down?"

"Shoot at a man. There was a gambler over in Lazette thought to euchreDakota. A gunman he was, from Texas, and--well, they carried the gamblerout. It was done so sudden that nobody saw it. "

"Killed him?" There was repressed horror in Sheila's voice. 

"No, he wasn't entirely put out of business. Dakota only made him feelcheap. Creased him. "

"Creased him?"

"Grazed his head with the bullet. Done it intentionally, they say. Toldfolks he didn't have any desire to send the gambler over the divide; justwanted to show him that when he was playin' with fire he ought to becareful. There ain't no telling what Dakota'd do if he got riled, though. "

Sheila's gaze was on Duncan fairly, her eyes alight with contempt. "So youare all afraid of him?" she said, with a bitterness that surprised themanager. 

"Well, I reckon it would amount to about that, if you come right down tothe truth, " he confessed, reddening a little. 

"You are afraid of him, too I suppose?"

"I reckon it ain't just that, " he parried, "but I ain't taking any foolishrisks. "

Sheila rose and walked to her pony, which was browsing the tops of somemesquite near by. She reached the animal, mounted, and then turned andlooked at Duncan scornfully. 

"A while ago you asked for my opinion of the people of this country, " shesaid. "I am going to express that opinion now. It is that, in spite of hisunsavory reputation, Dakota appears to be the only _man_ here!"

She took up the reins and urged her pony away from the butte and towardthe level that stretched away to the Double R buildings in the distance. For an instant Duncan stood looking after her, his face red withembarrassment, and then with a puzzled frown he mounted and followed her. 

Later he came up with her at the Double R corral gate and resumed theconversation. 

"Then I reckon you ain't got no use for rustlers?" he said. 

"Meaning Dakota?" she questioned, a smoldering fire in her eyes. 

"I reckon. "

"I wish, " she said, facing Duncan, her eyes flashing, "that you would killhim!"

"Why----" said Duncan, changing color. 

But Sheila had dismounted and was walking rapidly toward the ranchhouse, leaving Duncan alone with his unfinished speech and his wonder. 

CHAPTER V

DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE

With the thermometer at one hundred and five it was not to be expectedthat there would be much movement in Lazette. As a matter of fact, therewas little movement anywhere. On the plains, which began at the edge oftown, there was no movement, no life except when a lizard, seeking aretreat from the blistering sun, removed itself to a deeper shade underthe leaves of the sage-brush, or a prairie-dog, popping its head above thesurface of the sand, took a lightning survey of its surroundings, andapparently dissatisfied with the outlook whisked back into the bowels ofthe earth. 

There was no wind, no motion; the little whirlwinds of dust that arosesettled quickly down, the desultory breezes which had caused themdeparting as mysteriously as they had come. In the blighting heat thecountry lay, dead, spreading to the infinite horizons; in the sky no speckfloated against the dome of blue. More desolate than a derelict on thecalm surface of the trackless ocean Lazette lay, its huddled buildingsdingy with the dust of a continuing dry season, squatting in their dismallonesomeness in the shimmering, blinding sun. 

In a strip of shade under the eaves of the station sat the station agent, gazing drowsily from under the wide brim of his hat at the two glisteninglines of steel that stretched into the interminable distance. Somecowponies, hitched to rails in front of the saloons and the stores, stoodwith drooping heads, tormented by myriad flies; a wagon or two, minushorses, occupied a space in front of a blacksmith shop. 

In the Red Dog saloon some punchers on a holiday played cards at varioustables, quietly drinking. Behind the rough bar Pete Moulin, the proprietorstood, talking to his bartender, Blacky. 

"So that jasper's back again, " commented the proprietor. 

"Which?" The bartender followed the proprietor's gaze, which was on a manseated at a card table, his profile toward them, playing cards withseveral other men. The bartender's face showed perplexity. 

Moulin laughed. "I forgot you ain't been here that long, " he said. "Thatwas before your time. That fellow settin' sideways to us is TexasBlanca. "

"What's he callin' himself 'Texas' for?" queried the bartender. "He looksmore like a greaser. "

"Breed, I reckon, " offered the proprietor. "Claims to have punched cows inTexas before he come here. "

"What's he allowin' to be now?"

"Nobody knows. Used to own the Star--Dakota's brand. Sold out to Dakotafive years ago. Country got too hot for him an' he had to pull hisfreight. "

"Rustler?"

"You've said something. He's been suspected of it. But nobody's talkin'very loud about it. "

"Not safe?"

"Not safe. He's lightning with a six. Got his nerve to come back here, though. "

"How's that?"

"Ain't you heard about it? I thought everybody'd heard about that deal. Blanca sold Dakota the Star. Then he pulled his freight immediate. A weekor so later Duncan, of the Double R, rides up to Dakota's shack with abunch of Double R boys an' accuses Dakota of rustlin' Double R cattle. Duncan had found twenty Double R calves runnin' with the Star cattle whichhad been marked secret. Blanca had run his iron on them an' sold them toDakota for Star stock. Dakota showed Duncan his bill of sale, all regular, an' of course Duncan couldn't blame him. But there was some hard wordspassed between Duncan an' Dakota, an' Dakota ain't allowin' they'reparticular friends since. 

"Dakota had to give up the calves, sure enough, an' he did. But sore!Dakota was sure some disturbed in his mind. He didn't show it much, bein'one of them quiet kind, but he says to me one day not long after Duncanhad got the calves back: 'I've been stung, Pete, ' he says, soft an' evenlike; 'I've been stung proper, by that damned oiler. Not that I'm carin'for the money end of it; Duncan findin' them calves with my stock hasdamaged my reputation. ' Then he laffed--one of them little short laffswhich he gets off sometimes when things don't just suit him--the way he'slaffed a couple of times when someone's tried to run a cold leadproposition in on him. He fair freezes my blood when he gets it off. 

"Well, he says to me: 'Mebbe I'll be runnin' in with Blanca one of thesedays. ' An' that's all he ever says about it. Likely he expected Blanca tocome back. An' sure enough he has. Reckon he thinks that mebbe Dakotadidn't get wise to the calf deal. "

"In his place, " said Blacky, eyeing Blanca furtively, "I'd be makin' someinquiries. Dakota ain't no man to trifle with. "

"Trifle!" Moulin's voice was pregnant with awed admiration. "I reckonthere ain't no one who knows Dakota's goin' to trifle with him--he'sdiscouraged that long ago. Square, too, square as they make 'em. "

"The Lord knows the country needs square men, " observed Blacky. 

He caught a sign from a man seated at a table and went over to him with abottle and a glass. While Blacky was engaged in this task the door openedand Dakota came in. 

Moulin's admiration and friendship for Dakota might have impelled him towarn Dakota of the presence of Blanca, and he did hold up a covert finger, but Dakota at that moment was looking in another direction and did notobserve the signal. 

He continued to approach the bar and Blacky, having a leisure moment, cameforward and stood ready to serve him. A short nod of greeting passedbetween the three, and Blacky placed a bottle on the bar and reached for aglass. Dakota made a negative sign with his head--short and resolute. 

"I'm in for supplies, " he laughed, "but not that. "

"Not drinkin'?" queried Moulin. 

"I'm pure as the driven snow, " drawled Dakota. 

"How long has that been goin' on?" Moulin's grin was skeptical. 

"A month. "

Moulin looked searchingly at Dakota, saw that he was in earnest, andsuddenly reached a hand over the bar. 

"Shake!" he said. "I hate to knock my own business, an' you've been apretty good customer, but if you mean it, it's the most sensible thing youever done. Of course you didn't hit it regular, but there's been timeswhen I've thought that if I could have three or four customers like youI'd retire in a year an' spend the rest of my life countin' my dust!" Hewas suddenly serious, catching Dakota's gaze and winking expressively. 

"Friend of yourn here, " he said. 

Dakota took a flashing glance at the men at the card tables and Moulin sawhis lips straighten and harden. But in the next instant he was smilinggravely at the proprietor. 

"Thanks, Pete, " he said quietly. "But you're some reckless with theEnglish language when you're calling him my friend. Maybe he'll be provingthat he didn't mean to skin me on that deal. "

He smiled again and then left the bar and strode toward Blanca. The lattercontinued his card playing, apparently unaware of Dakota's approach, butat the sound of his former victim's voice he turned and looked up slowly, his face wearing a bland smile. 

It was plain to Moulin that Blanca had known all along of Dakota'spresence in the saloon--perhaps he had seen him enter. The other cardplayers ceased playing and leaned back in their chairs, watching, for someof them knew something of the calf deal, and there was that in Dakota'sgreeting to Blanca which warned them of impending trouble. 

"Blanca, " said Dakota quietly, "you can pay for those calves now. "

It pleased Blanca to dissemble. But it was plain to Moulin--as it musthave been plain to everybody who watched Blanca--that a shadow crossed hisface at Dakota's words. Evidently he had entertained a hope that hisduplicity had not been discovered. 

"Calves?" he said. "What calves, my frien'?" He dropped his cards to thetable and turned his chair around, leaning far back in it and hooking hisright thumb in his cartridge belt, just above the holster of his pistol. "I theenk it mus' be mistak'. "

"Yes, " returned Dakota, a slow, grimly humorous smile reaching his face, "it was a mistake. You made it, Blanca. Duncan found it out. Duncan tookthe calves--they belonged to him. You're going to pay for them. "

"I pay for heem?" The bland smile on Blanca's face had slowly faded withthe realization that his victim was not to be further misled by him. Inplace of the smile his face now wore an expression of sneering contempt, and his black eyes had taken on a watchful glitter. He spoke slowly: "Ipay for no calves, my frien'. "

"You'll pay, " said Dakota, an ominously quiet drawl in his voice, "or----"

"Or what?" Blanca showed his white teeth in a tigerish smirk. 

"This town ain't big enough for both of us, " said Dakota, his eyes coldand alert as they watched Blanca's hand at his cartridge belt. "One of uswill leave it by sundown. I reckon that's all. "

He deliberately turned his back on Blanca and walked to the door, steppingdown into the street. Blanca looked after him, sneering. An instant laterBlanca turned and smiled at his companions at the table. 

"It ain't my funeral, " said one of the card players, "but if I was in yourplace I'd begin to think that me stayin' here was crowdin' the populationof this town by one. "

Blanca's teeth gleamed. "My frien', " he said insinuatingly, "it's yourdeal. " His smile grew. "Thees is a nize country, " he continued. "I like itver' much. I come back here to stay. Dakota--hees got the Star too cheap. "He tapped his gun holster significantly. "To-night Dakota hees gosomewhere else. To-morrow who takes the Star? You?" He pointed to each ofthe card players in turn. "You?" he questioned. "You take it?" He smiledat their negative signs. "Well, then, Blanca take it. Peste! Dakota givehimself till sundown!"

 * * * * *

The six-o'clock was an hour and thirty minutes late. For two hours SheilaLangford had been on the station platform awaiting its coming. For a fullhalf hour she had stood at one corner of the platform straining her eyesto watch a thin skein of smoke that trailed off down the horizon, butwhich told her that the train was coming. It crawled slowly--like a hugeserpent--over the wilderness of space, growing always larger, steaming itsway through the golden sunshine of the afternoon, and after a time, with agrinding of brakes and the shrill hiss of escaping air, it drew alongsidethe station platform. 

A brakeman descended, the conductor strode stiffly to the telegrapher'swindow, two trunks came out of the baggage car, and a tall man of fiftyalighted and was folded into Sheila's welcoming arms. For a moment the twostood thus, while the passengers smiled sympathetically. Then the man heldSheila off at arm's length and looked searchingly at her. 

"Crying?" he said. "What a welcome!"

"Oh, daddy!" said Sheila. In this moment she was very near to telling himwhat had happened to her on the day of her arrival at Lazette, but shefelt that it was impossible with him looking at her; she could not at ablow cast a shadow over the joy of his first day in the country where, henceforth, he was to make his home. And so she stood sobbing softly onhis shoulder while he, aware of his inability to cope with anything somysterious as a woman's tears, caressed her gently and waited patientlyfor her to regain her composure. 

"Then nothing happened to you after all, " he laughed, patting her cheeks. "Nothing, in spite of my croaking. "

"Nothing, " she answered. The opportunity was gone now; she was committedirrevocably to her secret. 

"You like it here? Duncan has made himself agreeable?"

"It is a beautiful country, though a little lonesome after--after Albany. I miss my friends, of course. But Duncan's sister has done her best, and Ihave been able to get along. "

The engine bell clanged and they stood side by side as the train pulledslowly away from the platform. Langford solemnly waved a farewell to it. 

"This is the moment for which I have been looking for months, " he said, with what, it seemed to Sheila, was almost a sigh of relief. He turned toher with a smile. "I will look after the baggage, " he said, and leavingher he approached the station agent and together they examined the trunkswhich had come out of the baggage car. 

Sheila watched him while he engaged in this task. His face seemed a trifledrawn; he had aged much during the month that she had been separated fromhim. The lines of his face had grown deeper; he seemed, now that she sawhim at a distance, to be care-worn--tired. She had heard people call him ahard man; she knew that business associates had complained of what theywere pleased to call his "sharp methods"; it had even been hinted that his"methods" were irregular. 

It made no difference to her, however, what people thought of him, or whatthey said of him, he had been a kind and indulgent parent to her and shesupposed that in business it was everybody's business to look sharplyafter their own interests. For there were jealous people everywhere; envystalks rampant through the world; failure cavils at mediocrity, mediocritysneers at genius. And Sheila had always considered her father a genius, and the carping of those over whom her father had ridden roughshod hadalways sounded in her ears like tributes. 

As quite unconsciously we are prone to place the interests of self aboveconsiderations for the comfort and the convenience of others, so Sheilahad grown to judge her father through the medium of his treatment of her. Her own father--who had died during her infancy--could not have treatedher better than had Langford. Since her mother's death some years before, Langford had been both father and mother to her, and her affection for himhad flourished in the sunshine of his. No matter what other peoplethought, she was satisfied with him. 

As a matter of fact David Dowd Langford allowed no one--not evenSheila--to look into his soul. What emotions slumbered beneath the mask ofhis habitual imperturbability no one save Langford himself knew. Duringall his days he had successfully fought against betraying his emotions andnow, at the age of fifty, there was nothing of his character revealed inhis face except sternness. If addicted to sharp practice in business noone would be likely to suspect it, not even his victim. Could one havelooked steadily into his eyes one might find there a certain gleam to warnone of trickery, only one would not be able to look steadily into them, for the reason that they would not allow you. They were shifty, craftyeyes that took one's measure when one least expected them to do so. 

Over the motive which had moved her father to retire from business whilestill in his prime Sheila did not speculate. Nor had she speculated whenhe had bought the Double R ranch and announced his intention to spend theremainder of his days on it. She supposed that he had grown tired of theunceasing bustle and activity of city life, as had she, and longed forsomething different, and she had been quite as eager as he to take up herresidence here. This had been the limit of her conjecturing. 

He had told her when she left Albany that he would follow her in a month. And therefore, in a month to the day, knowing his habit of punctuality, Sheila had come to Lazette for him, having been driven over from theDouble R by one of the cowboys. 

She saw the station agent now, beckoning to the driver of the wagon, andshe went over to the edge of the station platform and watched while thetrunks were tumbled into the wagon. 

The driver was grumbling good naturedly to Langford. 

"That darned six-o'clock train is always late, " he was saying. "It's aquarter to eight now an' the sun is goin' down. If that train had been ontime we could have made part of the trip in the daylight. "

The day had indeed gone. Sheila looked toward the mountains and saw thatgreat long shadows were lengthening from their bases; the lower half ofthe sun had sunk behind a distant peak; the quiet colors of the sunsetwere streaking the sky and glowing over the plains. 

The trunks were in; the station agent held the horses by the bridles, quieting them; the driver took up the reins; Sheila was helped to the seatby her father, he jumped in himself, and they were off down the street, toward a dim trail that led up a slope that began at the edge of town andmelted into space. 

The town seemed deserted. Sheila saw a man standing near the front door ofa saloon, his hands on his hips. He did not appear interested in eitherthe wagon or its occupants; his gaze roved up and down the street and henervously fingered his cartridge belt. He was a brown-skinned man, almostolive, Sheila thought as her gaze rested on him, attired after the mannerof the country, with leathern chaps, felt hat, boots, spurs, neckerchief. 

"Why, it is sundown already!" Sheila heard her father say. "What a suddenchange! A moment ago the light was perfect!"

A subconscious sense only permitted Sheila to hear her father's voice, forher thoughts and eyes were just then riveted on another man who had comeout of the door of another saloon a little way down the street. Sherecognized the man as Dakota and exclaimed sharply. 

She felt her father turn; heard the driver declare, "It's comin' off, "though she had not the slightest idea of his meaning. Then she realizedthat he had halted the horses; saw that he had turned in his seat and waswatching something to the rear of them intently. 

"We're out of range, " she heard him say, speaking to her father. 

"What's wrong?" This was her father's voice. 

"Dakota an' Blanca are havin' a run-in, " announced the driver. "Dakota'sgive Blanca till sundown to get out of town. It's sundown now an' Blancaain't pulled his freight, an' it's likely that hell will be a-poppin'sorta sudden. "

Sheila cowered in her seat, half afraid to look at Dakota--who was walkingslowly toward the man who still stood in front of the saloon--though inspite of her fears and misgivings the fascination of the scene held hergaze steadily on the chief actors. 

Out of the corners of her eyes she could see that far down the street menwere congregated; they stood in doorways, at convenient corners, theireyes directed toward Dakota and the other man. In the sepulchral calmwhich had fallen there came to Sheila's ears sounds that in another timeshe would not have noticed. Somewhere a door slammed; there came to herears the barking of a dog, the neigh of a horse--sharply the sounds smotethe quiet atmosphere, they seemed odd to the point of unreality. 

However, the sounds did not long distract her attention from the chiefactors in the scene which was being worked out in front of her; the noisesdied away and she gave her entire attention to the men. She saw Dakotareach a point about thirty feet from the man in front of thesaloon--Blanca. As Dakota continued to approach, Sheila observed an evilsmile flash suddenly to Blanca's face; saw a glint of metal in the faintlight; heard the crash of his revolver; shuddered at the flame spurt. Sheexpected to see Dakota fall--hoped that he might. Instead, she saw himsmile--in much the fashion in which he had smiled that night in the cabinwhen he had threatened to shoot the parson if she did not consent to marryhim. And then his hand dropped swiftly to the butt of the pistol at hisright hip. 

Sheila's eyes closed; she swayed and felt her father's arm come out andgrasp her to keep her from falling. But she was not going to fall; she hadmerely closed her eyes to blot out the scene which she could not turnfrom. She held her breath in an agony of suspense, and it seemed an ageuntil she heard a crashing report--and then another. Then silence. 

Unable longer to resist looking, Sheila opened her eyes. She saw Dakotawalk forward and stand over Blanca, looking down at him, his pistol stillin hand. Blanca was face down in the dust of the street, and as Dakotastood over him Sheila saw the half-breed's body move convulsively and thenbecome still. Dakota sheathed his weapon and, without looking toward thewagon in which Sheila sat, turned and strode unconcernedly down thestreet. A man came out of the door of the saloon in front of whichBlanca's body lay, looking down at it curiously. Other men were runningtoward the spot; there were shouts, oaths. 

For the first time in her life Sheila had seen a man killed--murdered--andthere came to her a recollection of Dakota's words that night in thecabin: "Have you ever seen a man die?" She had surmised from his mannerthat night that he would not hesitate to kill the parson, and now she knewthat her sacrifice had not been made in vain. A sob shook her, the worldreeled, blurred, and she covered her face with her hands. 

"Oh!" she said in a strained, hoarse voice. "Oh! The brute!"

"Hey!" From a great distance the driver's voice seemed to come. "Hey!What's that? Well, mebbe. But I reckon Blanca won't rustle any morecattle. " "God!" he added in an awed voice; "both of them hit him!"

Blanca was dead then, there could be no doubt of that. Sheila felt herselfswaying and tried to grasp the end of the seat to steady herself. Sheheard her father's voice raised in alarm, felt his arm come out again andgrasp her, and then darkness settled around her. 

When she recovered consciousness her father's arms were still around herand the buckboard was in motion. Dusk had come; above her countless starsflickered in the deep blue of the sky. 

"I reckon she's plum shocked, " she heard the driver say. 

"I don't wonder, " returned Langford, and Sheila felt a shiver run overhim. "Great guns!" Sheila wondered at the tone he used. "That man is amarvel with a pistol! Did you notice how cool he took it?"

"Cool!" The driver laughed. "If you get acquainted with Dakota you'll findout that he's cool. He's an iceberg, that's what he is!"

"They'll arrest him, I suppose?" queried Langford. 

"Arrest him! What for? Didn't he give Blanca his chance? That's why I'mtellin' you he's cool!"

It was past two o'clock when the buckboard pulled up at the Double Rcorral gates and Langford helped Sheila down. She was still pale andtrembling and did not remain downstairs to witness her father'sintroduction to Duncan's sister, but went immediately to her room. Sleepwas far from her, however, for she kept dwelling over and over on the oddfortune which had killed Blanca and allowed Dakota to live, when thelatter's death would have brought to an end the distasteful relationshipwhich his freakish impulse had forced upon her. 

She remembered Dakota's words in the cabin. Was Fate indeed running thisgame--if game it might be called?

CHAPTER VI

KINDRED SPIRITS

Looking rather more rugged than when he had arrived at the station atLazette two weeks before, his face tanned, but still retaining the smooth, sleek manner which he had brought with him from the East, David DowdLangford sat in a big rocking chair on the lower gallery of the Double Rranchhouse, mentally appraising Duncan, who was seated near by, hisprofile toward Langford. 

"So this Ben Doubler has been a thorn in your side?" questioned Langfordsoftly. 

"That's just it, " returned Duncan, with an evil smile. "He has been andstill is. And now I'm willing him to you. I don't know when I've been moretickled over getting rid of a man. "

"Well, " said Langford, leaning farther back in his chair and clasping hishands, resting his chin on his thumbs, his lips curving with an ironicsmile, "I suppose I ought to feel extremely grateful to you--especiallysince when I was negotiating the purchase of the ranch you didn't hint ofa nester being on the property. "

"I didn't sell Doubler to you, " said Duncan. 

Langford's smile was shallow. "But I get him just the same, " he said. "Asa usual thing it is pretty hard to get rid of a nester, isn't it?"

"I haven't been able to get rid of this one, " returned Duncan. "He don'tseem to be influenced by anything I say, or do. Some obstinate. "

"Tried everything?"

"Yes. "

"The law?"

Duncan made a gesture of disgust. "The law!" he said. "What for? I haven'tbeen such a fool. He's got as much right to the open range as I have--asyou will have. I bought a section, and he took up a quarter section. Theonly difference between us is that I own mine--or did own it until youbought it--and he ain't proved on his. He is on the other side of theriver and I'm on this. Or rather, " he added with a grin, "he's on theother side and you are on this. He's got the best grass land in thecountry--and plenty of water. "

"His rights, then, " remarked Langford slowly, "equal yours--or mine. Thatis, " he added, "he makes free use of the grass and water. "

"That's so, " agreed Duncan. 

"Which reduces the profits of the Double R, " pursued Langford. 

"I reckon that's right. "

"And you knew that when you sold me the Double R, " continued Langford, hisvoice smooth and silky. 

Duncan flashed a grin at the imperturbable face of the new owner. "Ireckon I wasn't entirely ignorant of it, " he said. 

"That's bad business, " remarked Langford in a detached manner. 

"What is?" Duncan's face reddened slightly. "You mean that it was badbusiness for me to sell when I knowed Doubler owned land near the DoubleR?" There was a slight sneer in his voice as he looked at Langford. "You've never been stung before, eh? Well, there's always a first time foreverything, and I reckon--according to what I've heard--that you ain'tbeen exactly no Sunday school scholar yourself. "

Langford's eyes were narrowed to slits. "I meant that it was bad businessto allow Doubler's presence on the Two Forks to affect the profits of theDouble R. Perhaps I have been stung--as you call it--but if I have been Iam not complaining. "

Duncan's eyes glinted with satisfaction. He had expected a burst of angerfrom the new owner when he should discover that the value of his propertywas impaired by the presence of a nester near it, but the new ownerapparently harbored no resentment over this unforeseen obstacle. 

"I'm admitting, " said Duncan, "that Doubler being there is bad business. But how are you going to prevent him staying there?"

"Have you tried"--Langford looked obliquely at Duncan, drawlingsignificantly--"force?"

"I have tried everything, I told you. "

Duncan gazed at Langford with a new interest. It was the first time sincethe new owner had come to the Double R that he had dropped the mask ofsleek smoothness behind which he concealed his passions. Even now thesignificance was more in his voice than in his words, and Duncan began tocomprehend that Langford was deeper than he had thought. 

"I'm glad to see that you appreciate the situation, " he said, smilingcraftily. "Some men are mighty careful not to do anything to hurt anybodyelse. "

Langford favored Duncan with a steady gaze, which the latter returned, andboth smiled. 

"Business, " presently said Langford with a quiet significance which wasnot lost on Duncan, "good business, demands the application of certainmethods which are not always agreeable to the opposition. " He took anothersly glance at Duncan. "There ought to be a good many ways of making itplain to Doubler that he isn't wanted in this section of the country, " heinsinuated. 

"I've tried to make some of the ways plain, " said Duncan with a cold grin. "I got to the end of my string and hadn't any more things to try. That'swhy I decided to sell. I wanted to get away where I wouldn't be bothered. But I reckon that you'll be able to fix up something for him. "

During the two weeks that Langford had been at the Double R Duncan hadstudied him from many angles and this exchange of talk had convinced himthat he had not erred in his estimate of the new owner's character. As hehad hinted to Langford, he had tried many plans to rid the country of thenester, and he remembered a time when Doubler had seen through one of hisschemes to fasten the crime of rustling on him and had called him toaccount, and the recollection of what had happened at the interviewbetween them was not pleasant. He had not bothered Doubler since thattime, though there had lingered in his heart a desire for revenge. Manytimes, on some pretext or other, he had tried to induce his men to clashwith Doubler, but without success. It had appeared to him that his mensuspected his motives and deliberately avoided the nester. 

With a secret satisfaction he had watched Langford's face this morningwhen he had told him that Doubler had long been suspected of rustling;that the men of the Double R had never been able to catch him in the act, but that the number of cattle missing had seemed to indicate the nester'sguilt. 

Doubler's land was especially desirable, he had told Langford, and thiswas the truth. It was a quarter section lying adjacent to good water, andprovided the best grass in the vicinity. Duncan had had trouble withDoubler over the water rights, too, but had been unsuccessful in oustinghim because of the fact that since Doubler controlled the land he alsocontrolled the water rights of the river adjoining it. The Two Forks wasthe only spot which could be used by thirsty cattle in the vicinity, forthe river at other points was bordered with cliffs and hills and wasinaccessible. And Doubler would not allow the Double R cattle to water atthe Two Forks, though he had issued this edict after his trouble with theDouble R owner. Duncan, however, did not explain this to Langford. 

The latter looked at him with a smooth smile. "It is plain from what youhave been telling me, " he said, "that there is no possibility of yousucceeding in reaching a satisfactory agreement with Doubler, andtherefore I expect that I will have to deal with him personally. I shallride over some day and have a talk with him. "

The prospect of becoming involved with the nester gave Langford a throb ofjoy. All his life he had been engaged in the task of overcoming businessobstacles and he had reached the conclusion that the situation which nowconfronted him was nothing more or less than business. Of course it wasnot the business to which he had been accustomed, but it offered theopportunity for cold-blooded, merciless planning for personal gain; therewere the elements of profit and loss; it would give him an opportunity toapply his peculiar genius, to grapple, to battle, and finally overthrowthe opposing force. 

Though he had allowed Duncan to see nothing of the emotions that riotedwithin him over the discovery that he had been victimized by thelatter--at least to the extent of misrepresentation in the matter of thenester--there was in his mind a feeling of deep resentment against theformer owner; he felt that he could no longer trust him, but for the sakeof learning all the details of the new business he felt that he would haveto make the best of a bad bargain. He had already arranged with Duncan toremain at the Double R throughout the season, but he purposed to leave himout of any dealings that he might have with Doubler. He smiled as helooked at Duncan. 

"I like this country, " he said, leaning back in his chair and drawing adeep breath. "I was rather afraid at first that I would find it dull afterthe East. But this situation gives promise of action. "

Duncan was watching him with a crafty smile. "You reckon on running himoff, or----" He leered at Langford significantly. 

The latter's face was impassive, his smile dry. "Eh?" he said, abstractedly, as though his thoughts had been wandering from the subject. "Why, I really haven't given a thought to the method by which I ought todeal with Doubler. Perhaps, " he added with a genial smile, "I may make afriend of him. "

He observed Duncan's scowl and his smile grew. 

CHAPTER VII

BOGGED DOWN

Each day during the two weeks that her father had been at the Double RSheila had accompanied him on his rides of exploration. She had growntired of the continued companionship, and despite the novelty of the sightshe had become decidedly wearied of looking at the cowboys in their nativehaunts. Not that they did not appeal to her, for on the contrary she hadfound them picturesque and had admired their manliness, but she longed toride out alone where she could brood over her secret. The possession of ithad taken the flavor out of the joys of this new life, had left it flatand filled with bitter memories. 

She had detected a change in her father--he seemed coarse, domineering, entirely unlike his usual self. She attributed this change in him to thecountry--it was hard and rough, and of course it was to be expected thatLangford--or any man, for that matter--taking an active interest in ranchlife, must reflect the spirit of the country. 

She had developed a positive dislike for Duncan, which she took no troubleto conceal. She had discovered that the suspicions she had formed of hischaracter during the first days of their acquaintance were quitecorrect--he was selfish, narrow, and brutal. He had accompanied her andher father on all their trips and his manner toward her had grown to beone of easy familiarity. This was another reason why she wanted to ridealone. 

The day before she had spoken to Langford concerning the continuedpresence of Duncan on their rides, and he had laughed at her, assuring herthat Duncan was not a "bad fellow, " and though she had not taken issuewith him on this point she had decided that hereafter, in self protection, she would discontinue her rides with her father as long as he wasaccompanied by the former owner. 

Determined to carry out this decision, she was this morning saddling herpony at the corral gates when she observed Duncan standing near, watchingher. 

"You might have let me throw that saddle on, " he said. 

She flushed, angered that he should have been watching her without makinghis presence known. "I prefer to put the saddle on myself, " she returned, busying herself with it after taking a flashing glance at him. 

He laughed, pulled out a package of tobacco and some paper, and proceededto roll a cigarette. When he had completed it he held a match to it andpuffed slowly. 

"Cross this morning, " he taunted. 

There was no reply, though Duncan might have been warned by the dark redin her cheeks. She continued to work with the saddle, lacing the latigostrings and tightening the cinches. 

"We're riding down to the box canyon on the other side of the basin thismorning, " said Duncan. "We've got some strays penned up there. But yourdad won't be ready for half an hour yet. You're in something of a hurry, it seems. "

"You are going, I suppose?" questioned Sheila, pulling at the rear cinch, the pony displaying a disinclination to allow it to be buckled. 

"I reckon. "

"I don't see, " said Sheila, straightening and facing him, "why you have togo with father everywhere. "

Duncan flushed. "Your father's aiming to learn the business, " he said. "I'm showing him, telling him what I know about it. There's a chance thatI won't be with the Double R after the fall round-up, if a deal which Ihave got on goes through. "

"And I suppose you have a corner on all the knowledge of ranch life, "suggested Sheila sarcastically. 

He flushed darkly, but did not answer. 

After Sheila had completed the tightening of the cinches she led the ponybeside the corral fence, mounted, and without looking at Duncan started toride away. 

"Wait!" he shouted, and she drew the pony to a halt and sat in the saddle, looking down at him with a contemptuous gaze as he stood in front of her. 

"I thought you was going with your father?" he said. 

"You are mistaken. " She could not repress a smile over the expression ofdisappointment on his face. But without giving him any furthersatisfaction she urged her pony forward, leaving him standing beside thecorral gates watching her with a frown. 

She smiled many times while riding toward the river, thinking of hisdiscomfiture, reveling in the thought that for once she had shown him thatshe resented the attitude of familiarity which he had adopted toward her. 

She sat erect in the saddle, experiencing a feeling of elation whichbrought the color into her face and brightened her eyes. It was the firsttime since her arrival at the Double R that she had been able to ride outalone, and it was also the first time that she really appreciated thevastness and beauty of the country. For the trail to the river, which shehad decided she would follow, led through a fertile country where thebunch grass grew long and green, the barren stretches of alkali wereinfrequent, and where the low wooded hills and the shallow gullies seemedto hint at the mystery. Before long the depression which had made her lifemiserable had fled and she was enjoying herself. 

When she reached the river she crossed it at a shallow and urged her ponyup a sloping bank and out upon a grass plain that spread away like thelevel of a great, green sea. Once into the plain, though, she discoveredthat its promise of continuing green was a mere illusion, for the grassgrew here in bunches, the same as it grew on the Double R side of theriver. Yet though she was slightly disappointed she found many things tointerest her, and she lingered long over the odd rock formations that sheencountered and spent much time peering down into gullies and exploringsand draws which seemed to be on every side. 

About noon, when she became convinced that she had seen everything worthseeing in that section of the country, she wheeled her pony and headed itback toward the river. She reached it after a time and urged her beastalong its banks, searching for the shallow which she had crossed some timebefore. A dim trail led along the river and she felt certain that if shefollowed it long enough it would lead her to the crossing, but afterriding half an hour and encountering nothing but hills and rock cliffs shebegan to doubt. But she rode on for another half hour and then, slightlydisturbed over her inability to find the shallow, she halted the pony andlooked about her. 

The country was strange and unfamiliar and a sudden misgiving assailedher. Had she lost her idea of direction? She looked up at the sun and sawthat it was slightly past the zenith on its downward path. She smiled. Ofcourse all she had to do was to follow the river and in time she wouldcome in sight of the Double R buildings. Certain that she had missed theshallow because of her interest in other things, she urged her pony aboutand cantered it slowly over the back trail. A little later, seeing anarroyo which seemed to give promise of leading to the shallow she sought, she descended it and found that it led to a flat and thence to the river. The crossing seemed unfamiliar, and yet she supposed that one crossingwould do quite as well as another, and so she smiled and continued ontoward it. 

There was a fringe of shrubbery at the edge of what appeared to have oncebeen a swamp, though now it was dry and made fairly good footing for herpony. The animal acted strangely, however, when she tried to urge itthrough the fringing shrubbery, and she was compelled to use her quirtvigorously. 

Once at the water's edge she halted the pony and viewed the crossing withsatisfaction. She decided that it was a much better crossing than the oneshe had encountered on the trip out. It was very shallow, not over thirtyfeet wide, she estimated, and through the clear water she could easily seethe hard, sandy bottom. It puzzled her slightly to observe that there wereno wagon tracks or hoof prints in the sand anywhere around her, as therewould be were the crossing used ever so little. It seemed to be anisolated section of the country though, and perhaps the cattlemen used thecrossing little--there was even a chance that she was the first todiscover its existence. She must remember to ask someone about it when shereturned to the Double R. 

She urged the pony gently with her booted heel and voice, but the littleanimal would not budge. Impatient over its obstinacy, she again appliedthe quirt vigorously. Stung to desperation the pony stood erect for aninstant, pawing the air frantically with its fore hoofs, and then, as thequirt continued to lash its flanks, it lunged forward, snorting inapparent fright, made two or three eccentric leaps, splashing water highover Sheila's head, and then came to a sudden stop in the middle of thestream. 

Sheila nibbled at her lips in vexation. Again, convinced that the pony wasmerely exhibiting obstinacy, she applied the quirt to its flanks. Theanimal floundered and struggled, but did not move out of its tracks. 

Evidently something had gone wrong. Sheila peered over the pony's maneinto the water, which was still clear in spite of the pony's struggling, and sat suddenly erect, stifling cry of amazement. The pony was miredfast! Its legs, to a point just above the knees, had disappeared into theriver bottom!

As she straightened, a chilling fear clutching at her heart, she felt thecold water of the river splashing against her booted legs. And nowknowledge came to her in a sudden, sickening flood. She had ridden herpony fairly into a bed of quicksand!

For some minutes she sat motionless in the saddle, stunned and nerveless. She saw now why there were no tracks or hoof prints leading down into thecrossing. She remembered now that Duncan had warned her of the presence ofquicksand in the river, but the chance of her riding into any of it hadseemed to be so remote that she had paid very little attention to Duncan'swarning. Much as she disliked the man she would have given much to havehim close at hand now. If he had only followed her!

She was surprised at her coolness. She realized that the situation wasprecarious, for though she had never before experienced a quicksand, shehad read much of them in books, and knew that the pony was hopelesslymired. But it seemed that there could be no immediate danger, for theriver bottom looked smooth and hard; it was grayish-black, and she was socertain that the footing was good that she pulled her feet out of thestirrups, swung around, and stepped down into the water. 

She had stepped lightly, bearing only a little of her weight on the footwhile holding to the saddle, but the foot sank instantly into the sand andthe water darkened around it. She tried again in another spot, putting alittle more weight on her foot this time. She went in almost to the kneeand was surprised to find that she had to exert some little strength topull the foot out, there was so great a suction. 

With the discovery that she was really in a dangerous predicament came amental panic which threatened to take the form of hysteria. She heldtightly to the pommel of the saddle, shutting her eyes on the desolateworld around her, battling against the great fear that rose within her andchoked her. When she opened her eyes again the world was reeling andobjects around her were strangely blurred, but she held tightly to thesaddle, telling herself that she must retain her composure, and after atime she regained the mastery over herself. 

With the return of her mental faculties she began to give some thought toescape. But escape seemed to be impossible. Looking backward toward thebank she had left, she saw that the pony must have come fifteen or twentyfeet in the two or three plunges it had made. She found herself wonderinghow it could have succeeded in coming that distance. Behind her the waterhad become perfectly clear, and the impressions left by the pony's hoofshad filled up and the river bottom looked as smooth and inviting as it hadseemed when she had urged the pony into it. 

In front of her was a stretch of water of nearly the same width as thatwhich lay behind her. To the right and left the grayish-black sand spreadfar, but only a short distance beyond where she could discern the sandthere were rocks that stuck above the water with little ripples aroundthem. 

The rocks were too far away to be of any assistance to her, however, andher heart sank when she realized that her only hope of escape lay directlyahead. 

She leaned over and laid her head against the pony's neck, smoothing andpatting its shoulders. The animal whinnied appealingly and she stifled asob of remorse over her action in forcing it into the treacherous sand, for it had sensed the danger while obeying her blindly. 

How long she lay with her head against the pony's neck she did not know, but when she finally sat erect again she found that the water was touchingthe hem of her riding skirt and that her feet, dangling at each side ofthe pony, were deep in the sand of the river bottom. With a cry of frightshe drew them out and crossed them before her on the pommel of the saddle. With the movement the pony sank several inches, it seemed to her; she sawthe water suddenly flow over its back; heard it neigh loudly, appealingly, with a note of anguish and terror which seemed almost human, and feeling asudden, responsive emotion of horror and despair, Sheila bowed her headagainst the pony's mane and sobbed softly. 

They would both die, she knew--horribly. They would presently sink beneaththe surface of the sand, the water would flow over them and obliterate alltraces of their graves, and no one would ever know what had become ofthem. 

Some time later--it might have been five minutes or an hour--Sheila couldnot have told--she heard the pony neigh again, and this time it seemedthere was a new note in the sound--a note of hope! She raised her head andlooked up. And there on the bank before her, uncoiling his rope from thesaddle horn and looking very white and grim, was Dakota!

Sheila sat motionless, not knowing whether to cry or laugh, finallycompromising with the appeal, uttered with all the composure at hercommand:

"Won't you please get us out of here?"

"That's what I am aiming to do, " he said, and never did a voice soundsweeter in her ears; at that moment she almost forgave him for the greatcrime he had committed against her. 

[Illustration: "WON'T YOU PLEASE GET US OUT OF THIS?"]

He seemed not in the least excited, continuing to uncoil his rope andrecoil it again into larger loops. "Hold your hands over your head!" camehis command. 

She did as she was bidden. He had not dismounted from his pony, but hadridden up to the very edge of the quicksand, and as she raised her handsshe saw him twirl the rope once, watched as it sailed out, settled downaround her waist, and was drawn tight. 

There was now a grim smile on his face. "You're in for a wetting, " hesaid. "I'm sorry--but it can't be helped. Get your feet off to one side sothat you won't get mixed up with the saddle. And keep your head above thewater. "

"Ye-s, " she answered tremulously, dreading the ordeal, dreading still morethe thought of her appearance when she would finally reach the bank. 

His pony was in motion instantly, pulling strongly, following out itscustom of dragging a roped steer, and Sheila slipped off the saddle andinto the water, trying to keep her feet under her. But she overbalancedand fell with a splash, and in this manner was dragged, gasping, strangling, and dripping wet, to the bank. 

Dakota was off his pony long before she had reached the solid ground andwas at her side before she had cleared the water, helping her to her feetand loosening the noose about her waist. 

"Don't, please!" she said frigidly, as his hand touched her. 

"Then I won't. " He smiled and stepped back while she fumbled with the ropeand finally threw it off. "What made you try that shallow?" he asked. 

"I suppose I have a right to ride where I please?" He had saved her life, of course, and she was very grateful to him, but that was no reason why heshould presume to speak familiarly to her. She really believed--in spiteof the obligation under which he had placed her--that she hated him morethan ever. 

But he did not seem to be at all disturbed over her manner. On thecontrary, looking at him and trying her best to be scornful, he seemed tobe laboring heroically to stifle some emotion--amusement, she decided--andshe tried to freeze him with an icy stare. 

"Now, you don't look dignified, for a fact, " he grinned, brazenly allowinghis mirth to show in his eyes and in the sudden, curved lines that hadcome around his mouth. "Still, you couldn't expect to look dignified, nomatter how hard you tried, after being dragged through the water likethat. Now could you?"

"It isn't the first time that I have amused you!" she said with angrysarcasm. 

A cloud passed over his face, but was instantly superseded by a smile. 

"So you haven't forgotten?" he said. 

She did not deign to answer, but turned her back to him and looked at herpartially submerged pony. 

"Want to try it again?" he said mockingly. 

She turned slowly and looked at him, her eyes flashing. 

"Will you please stop being silly!" she said coldly. "If you were humanyou would be trying to get my pony out of that sand instead of standingthere and trying to be smart!"

"Did you think that I was going to let him drown?" His smile had in it aquality of subtle mockery which made her eyes blaze with anger. Evidentlyhe observed it for he smiled as he walked to his pony, coiling his ropeand hanging it from the pommel of the saddle. "I certainly am not going tolet your horse drown, " he assured her, "for in this country horses aresometimes more valuable than people. "

"Then why didn't you save the pony first?" she demanded hotly. 

"How could I, " he returned, fixing her with an amused glance, "with youlooking so appealingly at me?"

She turned abruptly and left him, walking to a flat rock and seatingherself upon it, wringing the water from her skirts, trying to get herhair out of her eyes, feeling very miserable, and wishing devoutly thatDakota might drown himself--after he had succeeded in pulling the ponyfrom the quicksand. 

But Dakota did not drown himself. Nor did he pull the pony out of thequicksand. She watched him as he rode to the water's edge and looked atthe animal. Her heart sank when he turned and looked gravely at her. 

"I reckon your pony's done for, ma'am, " he said. "There isn't anything ofhim above the sand but his head and a little of his neck. He's too fargone, ma'am. In half an hour he'll----"

Sheila stood up, wet and excited. "Can't you do something?" she pleaded. "Couldn't you pull him out with your lariat--like you did me?"

There was a grim humor in his smile. "What do you reckon would havehappened to you if I had tried to pull you out by the neck?" he asked. 

"But can't you do _something_?" she pleaded, her icy attitude toward himmelting under the warmth of her affection and sympathy for the unfortunatepony. "Please do something!" she begged. 

His face changed expression and he tapped one of his holsterssignificantly. "There's only this left, I reckon. Pulling him out by theneck would break it, sure. And it's never a nice thing to see--or hear--ahorse or a cow sinking in quicksand. I've seen it once or twice and----"

Sheila shuddered and covered her face with her hands, for his words hadset her imagination to working. 

"Oh!" she said and became silent. 

Dakota stood for a moment, watching her, his face grim with sympathy. 

"It's too bad, " he said finally. "I don't like to shoot him, any more thanyou want to see it done. I reckon, though, that the pony would thank mefor doing it if he could have anything to say about it. " He walked overclose to her, speaking in a low voice. "You can't stay here, of course. You'll have to take my horse, and you'll have to go right now, if youdon't want to be around when the pony----"

"Please don't, " she said, interrupting him. He relapsed into silence, andstood gravely watching her as she resumed her toilet. 

She disliked to accept his offer of the pony, but there seemed to be noother way. She certainly could not walk to the Double R ranchhouse, evento satisfy a desire to show him that she would not allow him to place herunder any obligation to him. 

"I've got to tell you one thing, " he said presently, standing erect andlooking earnestly at her. "If Duncan is responsible for your safety inthis country he isn't showing very good judgment in letting you run aroundalone. There are dangers that you know nothing about, and you don't know athing about the country. Someone ought to take care of you. "

"As you did, for example, " she retorted, filled with anger over hispresent solicitation for her welfare, as contrasted to his treatment ofher on another occasion. 

A slow red filled his cheeks. Evidently he did possess _some_self-respect, after all. Contrition, too, she thought she could detect inhis manner and in his voice. 

"But I didn't hurt you, anyway, " he said, eyeing her steadily. 

"Not if you call ruining a woman's name not 'hurting' her, " she answeredbitterly. 

"I am sorry for that, Miss Sheila, " he said earnestly. "I had an idea thatnight--and still have it, for that matter--that I was an instrument--Well, I had an idea, that's all. But I haven't told anybody about whathappened--I haven't even hinted it to anybody. And I told the parson toget out of the country, so he wouldn't do any gassing about it. And Ihaven't been over to Dry Bottom to have the marriage recorded--and I amnot going to go. So that you can have it set aside at any time. "

Yes, she could have the marriage annulled, she knew that. But thecontemplation of her release from the tie that bound her to him did notlessen the gravity of the offense in her eyes. She told herself that shehated him with a remorseless passion which would never cease until heceased to live. No action of his could repair the damage he had done toher. She told him so, plainly. 

"I didn't know you were so blood-thirsty as that, " he laughed in quietmockery. "Maybe it would be a good thing for you if I did die--or getkilled. But I'm not allowing that I'm ready to die yet, and certainly amnot going to let anybody kill me if I can prevent it. I reckon you're notthinking of doing the killing yourself?"

"If I told my father--" she began, but hesitated when she saw his lipssuddenly straighten and harden and his eyes light with a deep contempt. 

"So you haven't told your father?" he laughed. "I was sure you had takenhim into your confidence by this time. But I reckon it's a mighty goodthing that you didn't--for your father. Like as not if you'd tell him he'dget some riled and come right over to see me, yearning for my blood. Andthen I'd have to shoot him up some. And that would sure be too bad--youloving him as you do. "

"I suppose you would shoot him like you shot that poor fellow in Lazette, "she taunted, bitterly. 

"Like I did that poor fellow in Lazette, " he said, with broad, ironicemphasis. "You saw me shoot Blanca, of course, for you were there. But youdon't know what made me shoot him, and I am not going to tell you--it'snone of your business. "

"Indeed!" Her voice was burdened with contempt. "I suppose you take acertain pride in your ability to murder people. " She placed a venomousaccent on the "Murder. "

"Lots of people ought to be murdered, " he drawled, using the accent shehad used. 

Her contempt of him grew. "Then I presume you have others in mind--whomyou will shoot when the mood strikes you?" she said. 

"Perhaps. " His smile was mysterious and mocking, and she saw in his eyesthe reckless gleam which she had noted that night while in the cabin withhim. She shuddered and walked to the pony--his pony. 

"If you have quite finished I believe I will be going, " she said, holdingher chin high and averting her face. "I will have one of the men bringyour horse to you. "

"I believe I have quite finished, " he returned, mimicking her cold, precise manner of speech. 

She disdainfully refused his proffer of assistance and mounted the pony. He stood watching her with a smile, which she saw by glancing covertly athim while pretending to arrange the stirrup strap. When she started toride away without even glancing at him, she heard his voice, with itsabsurd, hateful drawl:

"And she didn't even thank me, " he said with mock bitterness anddisappointment. 

She turned and made a grimace at him. He bowed and smiled. 

"You are entirely welcome, " she said. 

He was standing on the edge of the quicksand, watching her, when shereached the long rise upon which she had sat on her pony on a day someweeks before, and when she turned he waved a hand to her. A little latershe vanished over the rise, and she had not ridden very far when she heardthe dull report of his pistol. She shivered, and rode on. 

CHAPTER VIII

SHEILA FANS A FLAME

Sheila departed from the quicksand crossing nursing her wrath against theman who had rescued her, feeling bitterly vindictive against him, yetaware that the Dakota who had saved her life was not the Dakota whom shehad feared during her adventure with him in his cabin on the night of herarrival in the country. He had changed, and though she assured herselfthat she despised him more than ever, she found a grim amusement in therecollection of his manner immediately following the rescue, and in areview of the verbal battle, in which she had been badly worsted. 

His glances had had in them the quality of inward mirth and satisfactionwhich is most irritating, and behind his pretended remorse she could see apleasure over her dilemma which made her yearn to inflict punishment uponhim that would cause him to ask for mercy. His demeanor had said plainlythat if she wished to have the marriage set aside all well and good--hewould offer no objection. But neither would he take the initiative. Decidedly, it was a matter in which she should consult her own desires. 

It was late in the afternoon when she rode up to the Double R corral gatesand was met there by her father and Duncan. Langford had been worried, hesaid, and was much concerned over her appearance. In the presence ofDuncan Sheila told him the story of her danger and subsequent rescue byDakota and she saw his eyes narrow with a strange light. 

"Dakota!" he said. "Isn't that the chap who shot that half-breed over inLazette the day I came?"

To Sheila's nod he ejaculated: "He's a trump!"

"He is a brute!" As the words escaped her lips--she had not meant to utterthem--Sheila caught a glint in Duncan's eyes which told her that she hadechoed the latter's sentiments, and she felt almost like retracting thecharge. She had to bite her lips to resist the impulse. 

"A brute, eh?" laughed Langford. "It strikes me that I wouldn't socharacterize a man who had saved my life. The chances are that aftersaving you he didn't seem delighted enough, or he didn't smile to suityou, or----"

"He ain't so awful much of a man, " remarked Duncan disparagingly. 

Langford turned and looked at Duncan with a comprehending smile. "Evidently you owe Dakota nothing, my dear Duncan, " he said. 

The latter's face darkened, and with Sheila listening he told the story ofthe calf deal, which had indirectly brought about the death of Blanca. 

"For a long time we had suspected Texas Blanca of rustling, " said Duncan, "but we couldn't catch him with the goods. Five years ago, after thespring round-up, I branded a bunch of calves with a secret mark, and thenwe rode sign on Blanca. 

"We had him then, for the calves disappeared and some of the boys foundsome of them in Blanca's corral, but we delayed, hoping he would run offmore, and while we were waiting he sold out to Dakota. We didn't know thatat the time; didn't find it out until we went over to take Blanca andfound Dakota living in his cabin. He had a bill of sale from Blanca allright, showing that he'd bought the calves from him. It looked regular, but we had our doubts, and Dakota and me came pretty near having a run-in. If the boys hadn't interfered----"

He hesitated and looked at Sheila, and as her gaze met his steadily hiseyes wavered and a slow red came into his face, for the recollection ofwhat had actually occurred at the meeting between him and Dakota was notpleasant, and since that day Duncan had many times heard the word "Yellow"spoken in connection with his name--which meant that he lacked courage. 

"So he wasn't a rustler, after all?" said Sheila pleasantly. For somereason which she could not entirely explain, she suspected that Duncan hadleft many things out of his story of his clash with Dakota. 

"Well, no, " admitted Duncan grudgingly. 

Sheila was surprised at the satisfaction she felt over this admission. Perhaps Duncan read her face as she had read his, for he frowned. 

"Him and Blanca framed up--making believe that Blanca had sold him theStar brand, " he said venomously. 

"I don't believe it!" Sheila's eyes met Duncan's and the latter's wavered. She was not certain which gave her the thrill she felt--her defense ofDakota or Duncan's bitter rage over the exhibition of that defense. 

"He doesn't appear to me to be the sort of man who would steal cows, " shesaid with a smile which made Duncan's teeth show. "Although, " shecontinued significantly, "it does seem that he is the sort of man I wouldnot care to trifle with--if I were a man. You told me yourself, if youremember, that you were not taking any chances with him. And now youaccuse him. If I were you, " she warned, "I would be more careful--I wouldkeep from saying things which I could not prove. "

"Meaning that I'm afraid of him, I reckon?" sneered Duncan. 

Sheila looked at him, her eyes alight with mischief. That day on the edgeof the butte overlooking the river, when Duncan had talked about Dakota, she had detected in his manner an inclination to belittle the latter;several times since then she had heard him speak venomously of him, andshe had suspected that all was not smooth between them. And now sinceDuncan had related the story of the calf incident she was certain that therelations between the two men were strained to the point of open rupture. Duncan had bothered her, had annoyed her with his attentions, had adoptedtoward her an air of easy familiarity, which she had deeply resented, andshe yearned to humiliate him deeply. 

"Afraid?" She appeared to hesitate. "Well, no, " she said, surveying himwith an appraising eye in which the mischief was partly concealed, "I donot believe that you are afraid. Perhaps you are merely careful where heis concerned. But I am certain that even if you were afraid of him youwould not refuse to take his pony back. I promised to send it back, youknow. "

A deep red suddenly suffused Duncan's face. A sharp, savage gleam in hiseyes--which Sheila met with a disarming smile--convinced her that he wasaware of her object. She saw also that he did not intend to allow her toforce him to perform the service. 

He bowed and regarded her with a shallow smile. 

"I will have one of the boys take the pony over to him the first thing inthe morning, " he said. 

Sheila smiled sweetly. "Please don't bother, " she said. "I wouldn't thinkof allowing one of the men to take the pony back. Perhaps I shall decideto ride over that way myself. I should not care to have you meet Dakota ifyou are afraid of him. "

Her rippling laugh caused the red in Duncan's face to deepen, but she gavehim no time to reply, for directly she had spoken she turned and walkedtoward the ranchhouse. Both Duncan and Langford watched her until she hadvanished, and then Langford turned to Duncan. 

"What on earth have you done to her?" he questioned. 

But Duncan was savagely pulling the saddle from Dakota's pony and did notanswer. 

Sheila really had no expectation of prevailing upon Duncan to returnDakota's horse, and had she anticipated that the manager would accept herchallenge she would not have given it, for after thinking over theincident of her rescue she had come to the conclusion that she had nottreated Dakota fairly, and by personally taking his horse to him she wouldhave an opportunity to proffer her tardy thanks for his service. She didnot revert to the subject of the animal's return during the evening meal, however, nor after it when she and her father and Duncan sat on thegallery of the ranchhouse enjoying the cool of the night breezes. 

After breakfast on the following morning she was standing near thewindmill, watching the long arms travel lazily in their wide circles, whenshe saw Duncan riding away from the ranchhouse, leading Dakota's pony. Shestarted toward the corral gates, intending to call to him to return, butthought better of the impulse and hailed him tauntingly instead:

"Please tell him to accept my thanks, " she said, and Duncan turned hishead, bowed mockingly, and continued on his way. 

Half an hour after the departure of Duncan Sheila pressed a loafingpuncher into service and directed him to rope a gentle pony for her. Afterthe puncher had secured a suitable appearing animal and had placed asaddle and bridle on it, she compelled him to ride it several times aroundthe confines of the pasture to make certain that it would not "buck. " Thenshe mounted and rode up the river. 

Duncan was not particularly pleased over his errand, and many times whilehe rode the trail toward Dakota's cabin his lips moved from his teeth in asnarl. Following the incident of the theft of the calves by Blanca, Duncanhad taken pains to insinuate publicly that Dakota's purchase of the Starfrom the half-breed had been a clever ruse to avert suspicion, intimatingthat a partnership existed between Dakota and Blanca. The shooting ofBlanca by Dakota, however, had exploded this charge, and until now Duncanhad been very careful to avoid a meeting with the man whom he hadmaligned. 

During the night he had given much thought to the circumstance which wassending him to meet his enemy. He had a suspicion that Sheila hadpurposely taunted him with cowardice--that in all probability Dakotahimself had suggested the plan in order to force a meeting with him. Thisthought suggested another. Sheila's defense of Dakota seemed to indicatethat a certain intimacy existed between them. He considered thiscarefully, and with a throb of jealously concluded that Dakota's action insaving Sheila's life would very likely pave the way for a closeracquaintance. 

Certainly, in spite of Sheila's remark about Dakota being a "brute, " shehad betrayed evidence of admiration for the man. In that case her veiledallusions to his own fear of meeting Dakota were very likely founded onsomething which Dakota had told her, and certainly anything which Dakotamight have said about him would not be complimentary. Therefore his rageagainst both Sheila and his enemy was bitter when he finally rode up tothe door of the latter's cabin. 

There was hope in his heart that Dakota might prove to be absent, andwhen, after calling once and receiving no answer, he dismounted andhitched Dakota's pony to a rail of the corral fence, there was a smile ofsatisfaction on his face. 

He took plenty of time to hitch the pony; he even lingered at the corralbars, leaning on them to watch several steers which were inside theenclosure. He found time, too, in spite of his fear of his enemy, to sneerover the evidences of prosperity which were on every hand. He wascongratulating himself on his good fortune in reaching Dakota's cabinduring a time when the latter was absent, when he heard a slight soundbehind him. He turned rapidly, to see Dakota standing in the doorway ofthe cabin, watching him with cold, level eyes, one of his heavysix-shooters in hand. 

Duncan's face went slowly pale. He did not speak at once and when he didhe was surprised at his hoarseness. 

"I've brought your cayuse back, " he said finally. 

"So I see, " returned Dakota. His eyes glinted with a cold humor, thoughthey were still regarding Duncan with an alertness which the other couldnot mistake. 

"So I see, " repeated Dakota. His slow drawl was in evidence again. "Idon't recollect, though, that I sent word to have _you_ bring him back. "

"I wasn't tickled to death over the job, " returned Duncan. 

Now that his first surprise was over and Dakota had betrayed no sign ofresenting his visit, Duncan felt easier. There had been a slight sneer inhis voice when he answered. 

"That isn't surprising, " returned Dakota. "There never was a time when youwere tickled a heap to stick your nose into my affairs. " His smile frozeDuncan. 

"I ain't looking for trouble, " said the latter, with a perfect knowledgeof Dakota's peculiar expression. 

"Then why did you come over here? I reckon there wasn't anyone else tosend my horse over by?" said Dakota, his voice coming with a truculentsnap. 

Duncan flushed. "Sheila Langford sent me, " he admitted reluctantly. 

Dakota's eyes lighted with incredulity. "I reckon you're a liar, " he saidwith cold emphasis. 

Duncan's gaze went to the pistol in Dakota's hand and his lips curled. Heknew that he was perfectly safe so long as he made no hostile move, for inspite of his derogatory remarks about the man he was aware that he neverused his weapons without provocation. 

Therefore he forced a smile. "You ain't running no Blanca deal on me, " hesaid. "Calling me a liar ain't going to get no rise out of me. But shesent me, just the same. I reckon, liking you as I do, that I ought to beglad she gave me the chance to come over and see you, but I ain't. We wasgassing about you and she told me I was scared to bring your cayuse back. "He laughed mirthlessly. "I reckon I've proved that I ain't any scared. "

"No, " said Dakota with a cold grin, "you ain't scared. You know that therewon't be any shooting done unless you get careless with that gun youcarry. " His eyes were filled with a whimsical humor, but they were stillalert, as he watched Duncan's face for signs of insincerity. He saw nosuch signs and his expression became mocking. "So she sent you over here?"he said, and his was the voice of one enemy enjoying some subtle advantageover another. "Why, I reckon you're a kind of handy man to havearound--sort of ladies' man--running errands and such. "

Duncan's face bloated with anger, but he dared not show open resentment. For behind Dakota's soft voice and gentle, over-polite manner, he felt thedeep rancor for whose existence he alone was responsible. So, trying tohold his passions in check, he grinned at Dakota, significantly, insinuatingly, unable finally to keep the bitter hatred and jealousy outof his voice. For in the evilness of his mind he had drawn many imaginarypictures of what had occurred between Dakota and Sheila immediately afterher rescue by the latter. 

"I reckon, " he said hoarsely, "that you take a heap of interest inSheila. "

"That's part of your business, I suppose?" Dakota's voice was suddenlyhard. 

Duncan had decided to steer carefully away from any trouble with Dakota;he had even decided that as a measure for his own safety he must saynothing which would be likely to arouse Dakota's anger, but the jealousthoughts in his mind had finally gotten the better of prudence, and themenace in Dakota's voice angered him. 

"I reckon, " he said with a sneer, "that I ain't as much interested in heras you are. "

He started back, his lips tightening over his teeth in a snarl of alarmand fear, for Dakota had stepped down from the doorway and was at hisside, his eyes narrowed with cold wrath. 

"Meaning what?" he demanded harshly, sharply, for he imagined that perhapsSheila had told of her marriage to him, and the thought that Duncan shouldhave been selected by her to share the secret maddened him. 

"Meaning what, you damned coyote?" he insisted, stepping closer toDuncan. 

"Meaning that she ain't admiring you for nothing, " flared Duncanincautiously, his jealously overcoming his better judgment. "Meaning thatany woman which has been pulled out of a quicksand like you pulled her outmight be expected to favor you with----"

The sunlight flashed on Dakota's pistol as it leaped from his right handto his left and was bolstered with a jerk. And with the same motion hisclenched fist was jammed with savage force against Duncan's lips, cuttingshort the slanderous words and sending him in a heap to the dust of thecorral yard. 

With a cry of rage Duncan grasped for his pistol and drew it out, but thehand holding it was stamped violently into the earth, the arm bent andtwisted until the fingers released the weapon. And then Dakota stood overhim, looking down at him with narrowed, chilling eyes, his face white andhard, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. He said no word whileDuncan clambered awkwardly to his feet and mounted his horse. 

[Illustration: DUNCAN GRASPED FOR HIS PISTOL, BUT THE HAND HOLDINGIT WAS STAMPED VIOLENTLY INTO THE EARTH. ]

"I'm telling you something, " he said quietly, as Duncan lifted the reinswith his uninjured hand, turning his horse to depart. "You and me havenever hitched very well and there isn't any chance of us ever falling oneach other's necks. I think what I've done to you about squares us forthat calf deal. I've been yearning to hand you something before you leftthe country, but I didn't expect you'd give me the chance in just thisway. I'm warning you that the next time you shove your coyote nose into mybusiness I'll muss it up some. That applies to Miss Sheila. If I ever hearof you getting her name on your dirty tongue again I'll tear you apart. Ireckon that's all. " He drew his pistol and balanced it in his right hand. "It makes me feel some reckless to be talking to you, " he added, a glintof intolerance in his eyes. "You'd better travel before I change my mind. 

"You don't need to mention this to Miss Sheila, " he said mockingly, asDuncan urged his horse away from the corral gate; "just let her goon--thinking you're a man. "

CHAPTER IX

STRICTLY BUSINESS

For two or three quiet weeks Sheila did not see much of Duncan, and herfather bothered her very little. Several nights on the gallery of theranchhouse she had seen the two men sitting very close together, and onone or two occasions she had overheard scraps of conversation carried onbetween them in which Doubler's name was mentioned. 

She remembered Doubler as one of the nesters whom Duncan had mentionedthat day on the butte overlooking the river, and though her father andDuncan had a perfect right to discuss him, it seemed to Sheila that therehad been a serious note in their voices when they had mentioned his name. 

She had become acquainted with Doubler. Since discontinuing her rides withher father and Duncan she had gone out every day alone, though she wascareful to avoid any crossing in the river which looked the leastsuspicious. Such crossings as she could ford were few, and for that reasonshe was forced to ride most of the time to the Two Forks, where there wasan excellent shallow, with long slopes sweeping up to the plains on bothsides. 

The first time that she crossed at the Two Forks she had come upon a smalladobe cabin situated a few hundred yards back from the water's edge. 

Sheila would have fled from the vicinity, for there was still fresh in hermind a recollection of another cabin in which she had once passed manyfearsome hours, but while she hesitated, on the verge of flight, Doublercame to the door, and when she saw that he was an old man with a kindlyface, much of her perturbation vanished, and she remained to talk. 

Doubler was hospitable and solicitous and supplied her with some sodabiscuit and fresh beef and a tin cup full of delicious coffee. She refusedto enter the cabin, and so he brought the food out to her and sat on thestep beside her while she ate, betraying much interest in her. 

Doubler asked no questions regarding her identity, and Sheila marveledmuch over this. But when she prepared to depart she understood why he hadbetrayed no curiosity concerning her. 

"I reckon you're that Langford girl?" he said. 

"Yes, " returned Sheila, wondering. "I am Sheila Langford. But who toldyou? I was not aware that anyone around here knew me--except the people atthe Double R. "

"Dakota told me. "

"Oh!" A chill came into her voice which instantly attracted Doubler'sattention. He looked at her with an odd smile. 

"You know Dakota?"

"I have met him. "

"You don't like him, I reckon?"

"No. "

"Well, now, " commented Doubler, "I reckon I've got things mixed. But fromDakota's talk I took it that you an' him was pretty thick. "

"His talk?" Sheila remembered Dakota's statement that he had told no oneof their relations. So he _had_ been talking, after all! She was notsurprised, but she was undeniably angry and embarrassed to think thatperhaps all the time she had been talking to Doubler he might have beenappraising her on the basis of her adventure with Dakota. 

"What has he been saying?" she demanded coldly. 

"Nothing, ma'am. That is, nothin' which any man wouldn't say about you, once he'd seen you an' talked some to you. " Doubler surveyed her withsparkling, appreciative eyes. 

"As a rule it don't pay to go to gossipin' with anyone--least of all witha woman. But I reckon I can tell you what he said, ma'am, without yougettin' awful mad. He didn't say nothin' except that he'd taken an awfulshine to you. An' he'd likely make things mighty unpleasant for me if he'dfind that I'd told you that. "

"Shine?" There was a world of scornful wonder in Sheila's voice. "Wouldyou mind telling me what 'taking a shine' to anyone means?"

"Why, no, I reckon I don't mind, ma'am, seein' that it's you. 'Takin' ashine' to you means that he's some stuck on you--likes you, that is. An' Ireckon you can't blame him much for doin' that. "

Sheila did not answer, though a sudden flood of red to her face made theuse of mere words entirely unnecessary so far as Doubler was concerned, for he smiled wisely. 

Sheila fled down the trail toward the crossing without a parting word toDoubler, leaving him standing at the door squinting with amusement at her. But on the morrow she had returned, determined to discover something ofDakota, to learn something of his history since coming into the country, or at the least to see if she could not induce Doubler to disclose hisreal name. 

She was unsuccessful. Dakota had never taken Doubler into his confidence, and the information that she succeeded in worming from the nester was notmore than he had already volunteered, or than Duncan had given her thatday when they were seated on the edge of the butte overlooking the river. 

She was convinced that Doubler had told her all he knew, and she wonderedat the custom which permitted friendship on the basis of such meagerknowledge. 

She quickly grew to like Doubler. He showed a fatherly interest in her andalways greeted her with a smile when during her rides she came to hiscabin, or when she met him, as she did frequently, on the open range. Hismanner toward her was always cordial, and he seemed not to have a care. One morning, however, she rode up to the door of the cabin and Doubler'sface was serious. He stood quietly in the doorway, watching her as she saton her pony, not offering to assist her down as he usually did, and sheknew instantly that something had happened to disturb his peace of mind. He did not invite her into the cabin. 

"Ma'am, " he said, and Sheila detected regret in his voice, "I'm a heapsorry, but of course you won't be comin' here any more. "

"I don't see why!" returned Sheila in surprise. "I like to come here. But, of course, if you don't want me----"

"It ain't that, " he interrupted quickly. "I thought you knowed. But youdon't, of course, or you wouldn't have come just now. Your dad an' Duncanwas over to see me yesterday. "

"I didn't know that, " returned Sheila. "But I can't see why a visit fromfather should----"

"He's wantin' me to pull my freight out of the country, " said Doubler "An'of course I ain't doin' it. Therefore I'm severin' diplomatic relationswith your family. "

"I don't see why----" began Sheila, puzzled to understand why a mere visiton her father's part should have the result Doubler had announced. 

"Of course you don't, " Doubler told her. "You're a woman an' don'tunderstand such things. But in this country when a little owner has gotsome land which a big owner wants--an' can't buy--there's likely to betrouble. I ain't proved on my land yet, an' if your dad can run me offhe'll be pretty apt to grab it somehow or other. But he ain't runnin' meoff an' so there's a heap of trouble comin'. An' of course while there'strouble you won't be comin' here any more after this. Likely your dadwouldn't have it. I'm sorry, too. I like you a lot. "

"I don't see why father should want your land, " Sheila told him gravely, much disturbed at this unexpected development. "There is plenty of landhere. " She swept a hand toward the plains. 

"There ain't enough for some people, " grimly laughed Doubler. "Some peopleis hawgs--askin' your pardon, ma'am. I wasn't expectin' your father to belike that, after seein' you. I was hopin' that we'd be able to get along. I've had some trouble with Duncan--not very long ago. Once I had to speakpretty plain to him. I expect he's been fillin' your dad up. "

"I'll see father about it. " Sheila's face was red with a painedembarrassment. "I am sure that father will not make any trouble foryou--he isn't that kind of man. "

"He's that kind of a man, sure enough, " said Doubler gravely. "I reckonI've got him sized up right. He ain't in no way like you, ma'am. If youhadn't told me I reckon I wouldn't have knowed he is your father. "

"He is my stepfather, " admitted Sheila. 

"I knowed it!" declared Doubler. "I'm too old to be fooled by what I seein a man's face--or in a woman's face either. Don't you go to say anythingabout this business to him. He's bound to try to run me off. He done saidso. I don't know when I ever heard a man talk any meaner than he did. Saidthat if I didn't sell he'd make things mighty unpleasant for me. An' so Ireckon there's goin' to be some fun. "

Sheila did not remain long at Doubler's cabin, for her mind was in a riotof rage and resentment against her father for his attitude toward Doubler, and she cut short her ride in the hope of being able to have a talk withhim before he left the ranchhouse. But when she returned she was told byDuncan's sister that Langford had departed some hours before--alone. Hehad not mentioned his destination. 

 * * * * *

Ben Doubler had omitted an important detail from his story of Langford'svisit to his cabin, for he had not cared to frighten Sheila unnecessarily. But as Langford rode toward Doubler's cabin this morning his thoughtspersisted in dwelling on Doubler's final words to him, spoken as he andDuncan had turned their horses to leave the nester's cabin the daybefore:

"If it's goin' to be war, Langford, it ain't goin' to be no pussy-kittenaffair. I'm warnin' you to stay away from the Two Forks. If I ketch you orany of your men nosin' around there I'm goin' to bore you some rapid. "

Langford had sneered then, and he sneered now as he rode toward the river, for he had no doubt that Doubler had uttered the threat in a spirit ofbravado. Of course, he told himself as he rode, the man was forced to saysomething, but the idea of him being serious in the threat to shoot anyone who came to the Two Forks was ridiculous. 

All his life Langford had heard threats from the lips of his victims, andthus far they had remained only threats. He had determined to see Doublerthis morning, for he had noticed that the nester had appeared ill at easein the presence of Duncan, and he anticipated that alone he could forcehim to accept terms. When he reached the crossing at Two Forks he urgedhis pony through its waters, his face wearing a confident smile. 

There was an open stretch of grass land between the crossing and Doubler'scabin, and when Langford urged his pony up the sloping bank of the riverhe saw the nester standing near the door of the cabin, watching. Langfordwas about to force his pony to a faster pace, when he saw Doubler raise arifle to his shoulder. Still, he continued to ride forward, but he pulledthe pony up shortly when he saw the flame spurt from the muzzle of therifle and heard the shrill hiss of the bullet as it passed dangerouslynear to him. 

No words were needed, and neither man spoke any. Without stopping to giveDoubler an opportunity to speak, Langford wheeled his pony, and with awhite, scared face, bending low over the animal's mane to escape anybullets which might follow the first, rapidly recrossed the river. Once onthe crest of the hill on the opposite side he turned, and trembling withrage and fear, shook a clenched hand at Doubler. The latter's reply was astrident laugh. 

Langford returned to the ranchouse, riding slowly, though in his heart wasa riot of rage and hatred against the nester. It was war, to be sure. Butnow that Doubler had shown in no unmistakable manner that he had not beentrifling the day before, Langford was no longer in doubt as to the methodhe would have to employ in his attempt to gain possession of his land. Doubler, he felt, had made the choice. 

The ride to the ranchhouse took long, but by the time Langford arrivedthere he had regained his composure, saying nothing to anyone concerninghis adventure. 

For three days he kept his own counsel, riding out alone, taciturn, givingmuch thought to the situation. Sheila had intended to speak to himregarding the trouble with Doubler, but his manner repulsed her and shekept silent, hoping that the mood would pass. However, the mood did notpass. Langford continued to ride out alone, maintaining a moody silence, sitting alone much with his own thoughts and allowing no one to break downthe barrier of taciturnity which he had erected. 

On the morning of the fifth day after his adventure with Doubler he wassitting on the ranchhouse gallery with Duncan, enjoying an after-breakfastcigar, when he said casually to the latter:

"I take it that folks in this country are mighty careless with theirweapons. "

Duncan grinned. "You might call it careless, " he returned. "No doubt thereare people--people who come out here from the East--who think that a manwho carries a gun out here is careless with it. But I reckon that when aman draws a gun here he draws it with a pretty definite purpose. "

"I have heard, " continued Langford slowly, "that there are men in thiscountry who do not hesitate to kill other people for money. "

"Meaning that there are road agents and such?" questioned Duncan. 

"Naturally, that particular kind would be included. I meant, howeveranother kind--I believe they are called 'bad men, ' are they not? Men whokill for hire?"

Duncan cast a furtive glance at Langford out of the corners of his eyes, but could draw no conclusions concerning the latter's motive in asking thequestion from the expression of his face. 

"Such men drift in occasionally, " he returned, convinced that Langford'scuriosity was merely casual--as Langford desired him to consider it. "Usually, though, they don't stay long. "

"I suppose there are none of that breed around here--in Lazette, forinstance. It struck me that Dakota was extraordinarily handy with a gun. "

He puffed long at his cigar and saw that, though Duncan did not answer, his face had grown suddenly dark with passion, as it always did whenDakota's name was mentioned. Langford smiled subtly. "I suppose, " he said, "that Dakota might be called a bad man. "

Duncan's eyes flashed with venom. "I reckon Dakota's nothing but a damnedsneak!" he said, not being able to conceal the bitterness in his voice. 

Langford did not allow his smile to be seen; he had not forgotten theincident of the returning of Dakota's horse by Duncan. 

"He's a dead shot, though, " he suggested. 

"I'm allowing that, " grudgingly returned Duncan. "And, " he added, "it'sbeen hinted that all his shooting scrapes haven't been on the level. "

"He is not straight, then?" said Langford, his eyes gleaming. "Not'square, ' as you say in this country?"

"I reckon there ain't nothing square about him, " returned Duncan, glad ofan opportunity to defame his enemy. 

Again Langford did not allow Duncan to see his smile, and he deftlydirected the current of the conversation into other channels. 

He rode out again that day, taking the river trail and passing Dakota'scabin, but Dakota himself was nowhere to be seen and at dusk Langfordreturned to the Double R. During the evening meal he enveloped himselfwith a silence which proved impenetrable. He retired early, to Duncan'ssurprise, and the next morning, without announcing his plans to anyone, saddled his pony and rode away toward the river trail. 

He took a circuitous route to reach it, riding slowly, with the air andmanner of a man who is thinking deep thoughts, smiling much, though manytimes grimly. 

"Dakota isn't square, " he said once aloud during one of his grim smiles. 

When he came to the quicksand crossing he halted and examined the earth inthe vicinity, smiling more broadly at the marks and hoof prints in thehard sand near the water's edge. Then he rode on. 

Two or three miles from the quicksand crossing he came suddenly uponDakota's cabin. Dakota himself was repairing a saddle in the shade of thecabin wall, and for all that Langford could see he was entirely unaware ofhis approach. He saw Dakota look up when he passed the corral gate, andwhen he reached a point about twenty feet distant he observed a faintsmile on Dakota's face. 

"Howdy, stranger, " came the latter's voice. 

"How are you, my friend?" greeted Langford easily. 

It was not hard for Langford to adopt an air of familiarity toward the manwho had figured prominently in his thoughts during a great many of theprevious twenty-four hours. He dismounted from his pony, hitched theanimal to a rail of the corral fence, and approached Dakota, standing infront of him and looking down at him with a smile. 

Dakota apparently took little interest in his visitor, for keeping hisseat on the box upon which he had been sitting when Langford had firstcaught sight of him, he continued to give his attention to the saddle. 

"I'm from the Double R, " offered Langford, feeling slightly lessimportant, conscious that somehow the familiarity that he had felt existedbetween them a moment before was a singularly fleeting thing. 

"I noticed that, " responded Dakota, still busy with his saddle. 

"How?"

"I reckon that you've forgot that your horse has got a brand on him?"

"You've got keen eyes, my friend, " laughed Langford. 

"Have I?" Dakota had not looked at Langford until now, and as he spoke heraised his head and gazed fairly into the latter's eyes. 

For a moment neither man moved or spoke. It seemed to Langford, as hegazed into the steely, fathomless blue of the eyes which held his--heldthem, for now as he looked it was the first time in his life that his gazehad met a fellow being's steadily--that he could see there anunmistakable, grim mockery. And that was all, for whatever other emotionsDakota felt, they were invisible to Langford. He drew a deep breath, suddenly aware that before him was a man exactly like himself in onerespect--skilled in the art of keeping his emotions to himself. Langfordhad not met many such men; usually he was able to see clear through aman--able to read him. But this man he could not read. He was puzzled andembarrassed over the discovery. His gaze finally wavered; he looked away. 

"A man don't have to have such terribly keen eyes to be able to see abrand, " observed Dakota, drawling; "especially when he's passed a wholelot of his time looking at brands. "

"That's so, " agreed Langford. "I suppose you have been a cowboy a longtime. "

"Longer than you've been a ranch owner. "

Langford looked quickly at Dakota, for now the latter was again busy withhis saddle, but he could detect no sarcasm in his face, though plainlythere had been a subtle quality of it in his voice. 

"Then you know me?" he said. 

"No. I don't know you. I've put two and two together. I heard that Duncanwas selling the Double R. I've seen your daughter. And you ride up here ona Double R horse. There ain't no other strangers in the country. Then, ofcourse, you're the new owner of the Double R. "

Langford looked again at the inscrutable face of the man beside him andfelt a sudden deep respect for him. Even if he had not witnessed thekilling of Texas Blanca that day in Lazette he would have known the manbefore him for what he was--a quiet, cool, self-possessed man of muchexperience, who could not be trifled with. 

"That's right, " he admitted; "I am the new owner of the Double R. And Ihave come, my friend, to thank you for what you did for my daughter. "

"She told you, then?" Dakota's gaze was again on Langford, an odd light inhis eyes. 

"Certainly. "

"She's told you what?"

"How you rescued her from the quicksand. "

Dakota's gaze was still on his visitor, quiet, intent. "She tell youanything else?" he questioned slowly. 

"Why, what else is there to tell?" There was sincere curiosity inLangford's voice, for Sheila had always told him everything that happenedto her. It was not like her to keep anything secret from him. 

"Did she tell you that she forgot to thank me for saving her?" There was aqueer smile on Dakota's lips, a peculiar, pleased glint in his eyes. 

"No, she neglected to relate that, " returned Langford. 

"Forgot it. That's what I thought. Do you think she forgot itintentionally?"

"It wouldn't be like her. "

"Of course not. And so she's sent _you_ over to thank me! Tell her nothanks are due. And if she inquires, tell her that the pony didn't make asound or a struggle when I shot him. "

"As it happens, she didn't send me, " smiled Langford. "There was theexcitement, of course, and I presume she forgot to thank you--possiblywill ride over herself some day to thank you personally. But she didn'tsend me--I came without her knowledge. "

"To thank me--for her?"

"No. "

"You're visiting then. Or maybe just riding around to look at your range. Sit down. " He motioned to another box that stood near the door of thecabin. 

Once Langford became seated Dakota again busied himself with the saddle, ignoring his visitor. Langford shifted uneasily on the box, for the seatwas not to his liking and the attitude of his host was most peculiar. Hefell silent also and kicked gravely and absently into a hummock with thetoe of his boot. 

Singularly enough, a plan which had taken form in his mind since Doublerhad shot at him seemed suddenly to have many defects, though until now ithad seemed complete enough. Out of the jumble of thoughts that had riotedin his brain after his departure from Two Forks crossing had risen aconviction. Doubler was a danger and a menace and must be removed. Andthere was no legal way to remove him, for though he had not proved on hisland he was entitled to it to the limit set by the law, or until hisdeath. 

Langford's purpose in questioning Duncan had been to learn of the presenceof someone in the country who would not be averse to removing Doubler. Thepossibility of disposing of the nester in this manner had been before himever since he had learned of his presence on the Two Forks. He had notbeen surprised when Duncan had mentioned Dakota as being a probable tool, for he had thought over the occurrence of the shooting in Lazette manytimes, and had been much impressed with Dakota's coolness and his sataniccleverness with a six-shooter, and it seemed that it would be a simplematter to arrange with him for the removal of Doubler. Yes, it had seemedsimple enough when he had planned it, and when Duncan had told him thatDakota was not on the "square. "

But now, looking covertly at the man, he found that he was not quitecertain in spite of what Duncan had said. He had mentally worked out hisplan of approaching Dakota many times. But now the defect in the planseemed to be that he had misjudged his man--that Duncan had misjudged him. Plainly he would make a mistake were he to approach Dakota with a boldrequest for the removing of the nester--he must clothe it. Thus, after along silence, he started obliquely. 

"My friend, " he said, "it must be lonesome out here for you. "

"Not so lonesome. "

"It's a big country, though--lots of land. There seems to be no end toit. "

"That's right, there's plenty of it. I reckon the Lord wasn't in a stingymood when he made it. "

"Yet there seem to be restrictions even here. "

"Restrictions?"

"Yes, " laughed Langford; "restrictions on a man's desires. "

Dakota looked at him with a saturnine smile. "Restrictions on a man'sdesires, " he repeated slowly. Then he laughed mirthlessly. "Some peoplewouldn't be satisfied if they owned the whole earth. They'd be wanting thesun, moon, and stars thrown in for good measure. "

Langford laughed again. "That's human nature, my friend, " he contended, determined not to be forced to digress from the main subject. "Have yougot everything you want? Isn't there anything besides what you alreadyhave that appeals to you? Have you no ambition?"

"There are plenty of things I want. Maybe I'd be modest, though, if I hadambition. We all want a lot of things which we can't get. "

"Correct, my friend. Some of us want money, others desire happiness, stillothers are after something else. As you say, some of use are neversatisfied--the ambitious ones. "

"Then you are ambitious?"

"You've struck it, " smiled Langford. 

Dakota caught his gaze, and there was a smile of derision on his lips. "What particular thing are _you_ looking for?" he questioned. 

"Land. "

"Mine?" Dakota's lips curled a little. "Doubler's, then, " he added asLangford shook his head with an emphatic, negative motion. "He's the onlyman who's got land near yours. "

"That's correct, " admitted Langford; "I want Doubler's land. "

There was a silence for a few minutes, while Langford watched Dakotafurtively as the latter gave his entire attention to his saddle. 

"You've got all the rest of those things you spoke about, then--happiness, money, and such?" said Dakota presently, in a low voice. 

"Yes. I am pretty well off there. "

"All you want is Doubler's land?" He stopped working with the saddle andlooked at Langford. "I reckon, if you've got all those things, that youought to be satisfied. But of course you ain't satisfied, or you wouldn'twant Doubler's land. Did you offer to buy it?"

"I asked him to name his own figure, and he wouldn't sell--wouldn't evenconsider selling, though I offered him what I considered a fair price. "

"That's odd, isn't it? You'd naturally think that money could buyeverything. But maybe Doubler has found happiness on his land. Youcouldn't buy that from a man, you know. I suppose you care a lot aboutDoubler's happiness--you wouldn't want to take his land if you knew he washappy on it? Or don't it make any difference to you?" There was faintsarcasm in his voice. 

"As it happens, " said Langford, reddening a little, "this isn't a questionof happiness--it is merely business. Doubler's land adjoins mine. I wantto extend my holdings. I can't extend in Doubler's direction becauseDoubler controls the water rights. Therefore it is my business to see thatDoubler gets out. "

"And sentiment has got no place in business. That right? It doesn't makeany difference to you that Doubler doesn't want to sell; you want hisland, and that settles it--so far as you are concerned. You don't considerDoubler's feelings. Well, I don't know but that's the way things arerun--one man keeps what he can and another gets what he is able to get. What are you figuring to do about Doubler?"

Langford glanced at Dakota with an oily, significant smile. "I am new tothe country, my friend, " he said. "I don't know anything about the usualcustom employed to force a man to give up his land. Could you suggestanything?"

Dakota deliberately took up a wax-end, rolled it, and squinted his eyes ashe forced the end of the thread through the eye of the needle which heheld in the other hand. So far as Langford could see he exhibited noemotion whatever; his face was inscrutable; he might not have heard. 

Yet Langford knew that he had heard; was certain that he grasped the fullmeaning of the question; probably felt some emotion over it, and wasmasking it by appearing to busy himself with the saddle. Langford'srespect for him grew and he wisely kept silent, knowing that in timeDakota would answer. But when the answer did come it was not the one thatLangford expected. Dakota's eyes met his in a level gaze. 

"Why don't you shoot him yourself?" he said, drawling his words a little. 

"Not taking any chances?" Dakota's voice was filled with a cold sarcasm ashe continued, after an interval during which Langford kept a discreetlystill tongue. "Your business principles don't take you quite that far, eh?And so you've come over to get me to shoot him? Why didn't you say so inthe beginning--it would have saved all this time. " He laughed coldly. 

"What makes you think that you could hire me to put Doubler out ofbusiness?"

"I saw you shoot Blanca, " said Langford. "And I sounded Duncan. " It didnot disturb him to discover that Dakota had all along been aware of theobject of his visit. It rather pleased him, in fact, to be given proof ofthe man's discernment--it showed that he was deep and clever. 

"You saw me shoot Blanca, " said Dakota with a strange smile, "and Duncantold you I was the man to put Doubler away. Those are my recommendations. "His voice was slightly ironical, almost concealing a slight harshness. "Did Duncan mention that he was a friend of mine?" he asked. "No?" Hissmile grew mocking. "Just merely mentioned that I was uncommonly clever inthe art of getting people--undesirable people--out of the way. Don't getthe idea, though, because Duncan told you, that I make a business ofshooting folks. I put Blanca out of the way because it was a question ofhim or me--I shot him to save my own hide. Shooting Doubler would be quiteanother proposition. Still----" He looked at Langford, his eyes narrowingand smoldering with a mysterious fire. 

It seemed that he was inviting Langford to make a proposal, and the lattersmiled evilly. "Still, " he said, repeating Dakota's word with asignificant inflection, "you don't refuse to listen to me. It would beworth a thousand dollars to me to have Doubler out of the way, " he added. 

It was out now, and Langford sat silent while Dakota gazed into thedistance that reached toward the nester's cabin. Langford watched Dakotaclosely, but there was an absolute lack of expression in the latter'sface. 

"How are you offering to pay the thousand?" questioned Dakota. "Andwhen?"

"In cash, when Doubler isn't here any more. "

Dakota looked up at him, his face a mask of immobility. "That _sounds_ allright, " he said, with slow emphasis. "I reckon you'll put it in writing?"

Langford's eyes narrowed; he smiled craftily. "That, " he said smoothly, "would put me in your power. I have never been accused of being a fool byany of the men with whom I have done business. Don't you think that at myage it is a little late to start?"

"I reckon we don't make any deal, " laughed Dakota shortly. 

"We'll arrange it this way, " suggested Langford. "Doubler is not the onlyman I want to get rid of. I want your land, too. But"--he added as he sawDakota's lips harden--"I don't purpose to proceed against you in themanner I am dealing with Doubler. I flatter myself that I know men quitewell. I'd like to buy your land. What would be a fair price for it?"

"Five thousand. "

"We'll put it this way, then, " said Langford, briskly and silkily. "I willgive you an agreement worded in this manner: 'One month after date Ipromise to pay to Dakota the sum of six thousand dollars, in considerationof his rights and interest in the Star brand, provided that within onemonth from date he persuades Ben Doubler to leave Union county. '" Helooked at Dakota with a significant smile. "You see, " he said, "that I amnot particularly desirous of being instrumental in causing Doubler'sdeath--you have misjudged me. "

Dakota's eyes met his with a glance of perfect knowledge. His smilepossessed a subtly mocking quality--which was slightly disconcerting toLangford. 

"I reckon you'll be an angel--give you time, " he said. "I am acceptingthat proposition, though, " he added. "I've been wanting to leavehere--I've got tired of it. And"--he continued with a mysterioussmile--"if things turn out as I expect, you'll be glad to have me go. " Herose from the bench. "Let's write that agreement, " he suggested. 

They entered the cabin, and a few minutes later Dakota sat again on thebox in the lee of the cabin wall, mending his saddle, the signed agreementin his pocket. Smiling, Langford rode the river trail, satisfied with theresult of his visit. Turning once--as he reached the rise upon whichSheila had halted that morning after leaving Dakota's cabin, Langfordlooked back. Dakota was still busy with his saddle. Langford urged hispony down the slope of the rise and vanished from view. Then Dakota ceasedworking on the saddle, drew out the signed agreement and read it throughmany times. 

"That man, " he said finally, looking toward the crest of the slope whereLangford had disappeared, "thinks he has convinced me that I ought to killmy best friend. He hasn't changed a bit--not a damned bit!"

CHAPTER X

DUNCAN ADDS TWO AND TWO

Had Langford known that there had been a witness to his visit to Dakota hemight not have ridden away from the latter's cabin so entirely satisfiedwith the result of his interview. 

Duncan had been much interested in Langford's differences with Doubler. Hehad agitated the trouble, and he fully expected Langford to take him intohis confidence should any aggressive movement be contemplated. He had evenexpected to be allowed to plan the details of the scheme which would haveas its object the downfall of the nester, for thus he hoped to satisfy hispersonal vengeance against the latter. 

But since the interview with Doubler at Doubler's cabin, Langford had beenstrangely silent regarding his plans. Not once had he referred to thenester, and his silence had nettled Duncan. Langford had ignored hishints, had returned monosyllabic replies to his tentative questions, causing the manager to appear to be an outsider in an affair in which hefelt a vital interest. 

It was annoying, to say the least, and Duncan's nature rebelled againstthe slight, whether intentional or accidental. He had waited patientlyuntil the morning following his conversation with Langford about Dakota, certain that the Double R owner would speak, but when after breakfast thenext morning Langford had ridden away without breaking his silence, themanager had gone into the ranchhouse, secured his field glasses, mountedhis pony, and followed. 

He kept discreetly in the rear, lingering in the depressions, skirting thebases of the hills, concealing himself in draws and behind boulders--neveronce making the mistake of appearing on the skyline. And when Langford wassitting on the box in front of Dakota's cabin, the manager was deep intothe woods that surrounded the clearing where the cabin stood, watchingintently through his field glasses. 

He saw Langford depart, remained after his departure to see Dakotarepeatedly read the signed agreement. Of course, he was entirely ignorantof what had transpired, but there was little doubt in his mind that thetwo had reached some sort of an understanding. That their conversation andsubsequent agreement concerned Doubler he had little doubt either, forfresh in his mind was a recollection of his conversation with Langford, distinguished by Langford's carefully guarded questions regarding Dakota'sability with the six-shooter. He felt that Langford was deliberatelyleaving him out of the scheme, whatever it was. 

Puzzled and raging inwardly over the slight, Duncan did not return to theranchhouse that day and spent the night at one of the line camps. Thefollowing day he rode in to the ranchhouse to find that Langford had goneout riding with Sheila. Morose, sullen, Duncan again rode abroad, returning with the dusk. In his conversation with Langford that night theDouble R owner made no reference to Doubler, and, studying Sheila, Duncanthought she seemed depressed. 

During her ride that day with her father Sheila had received a startlingrevelation of his character. She had questioned him regarding histreatment of Doubler, ending with a plea for justice for the latter. Forthe first time during all the time she had known Langford she had seen anangry intolerance in his eyes, and though his voice had been as bland andsmooth as ever, it did not heal the wound which had been made in her heartover the discovery that he could feel impatient with her. 

"My dear Sheila, " he said, "I should regret to find that you areinterested in my business affairs. "

"Doubler declares that you are unjust, " she persisted, determined to doher best to avert the trouble that seemed impending. 

"Doubler is an obstacle in the path of progress and will get theconsideration he deserves, " he said shortly. "Please do not meddle withwhat does not concern you. "

Thus had an idol which Sheila worshiped been tumbled from its pedestal. Sheila surveyed it, lying shattered at her feet, with moist eyes. It mightbe restored, patched so that it would resemble its original shape, butnever again would it appear the same in her eyes. She had received aglimpse of her father's real character; she saw the merciless, designing, real man stripped of the polished veneer that she had admired; his soullay naked before her, seared and rendered unlovely by the blackness ofdeceit and trickery. 

As the days passed, however, she collected the fragments of the shatteredidol and began to replace them. Piece by piece she fitted them together, cementing them with her faith, so that in time the idol resembled itsoriginal shape. 

She had been too exacting, she told herself. Men had ways of dealing withone another which women could not understand. Her ideas of justice weretempered with mercy and pity; she allowed her heart to map out her line ofconduct toward her fellow men, and as a consequence her sympathies werebroad and tender. In business, though, she supposed, it must be different. There mind must rule. It was a struggle in which the keenest wit and thesharpest instinct counted, and in which the emotion of mercy wassubordinate to the love of gain. And so in time she erected her idol againand the cracks and seams in it became almost invisible. 

While she had been restoring her idol there had been other things tooccupy her mind. A thin line divides tragedy from comedy, and after thetragedy of discovering her father's real character Sheila longed forsomething to take her mind out of the darkness. A recollection of Duncan'sjealousy, which he had exhibited on the day that she had related the storyof her rescue by Dakota, still abided with her, and convinced that shemight secure diversion by fanning the spark that she had discovered, shebegan by inducing Duncan to ask her to ride with him. 

Sitting on the grass one day in the shade of some fir-balsams on a slopeseveral miles down the river, Sheila looked at Duncan with a smile. 

"I believe that I am beginning to like the country, " she said. 

"I expected you would like it after you were here a while. Everybody does. It grows into one. If you ever go back East you will never becontented--you'll be dreaming and longing. The West improves onacquaintance, like the people. "

"Meaning?" she said, with a defiant mockery so plain in her eyes thatDuncan drew a deep breath. 

"Meaning that you ought to begin to like us--the people, " he said. 

"Perhaps I do like some of the people, " she laughed. 

"For instance, " he said, his face reddening a little. 

She looked at him with a taunting smile. "I don't believe that I likeyou--so very well. You get too cross when things don't suit you. "

"I think you are mistaken, " he challenged. "When have I been cross?"

Sheila laughed. "Do you remember the night that I came home and told youand father how Dakota had rescued me from the quicksand? Well, " shecontinued, noting his nod and the frown which accompanied it, "you werecross that night--almost boorish. You moped and went off to bed withoutsaying good-night. "

It pleased Duncan to tell her that he had forgotten if he had ever actedthat way, and she did not press him. And so a silence fell between them. 

"You said you were beginning to like some of the people, " said Duncanpresently. "You don't like me. Then who do you like?"

"Well, " she said, appearing to meditate, but in reality watching himclosely so that she might catch his gaze when he looked up. "There's BenDoubler. He seems to be a very nice old man. And"--Duncan looked at herand she met his gaze fairly, her eyes dancing with mischief--"and Dakota. He is a character, don't you think?"

Duncan frowned darkly and removed his gaze from her face, directing itdown into the plain on the other side of the river. What strange fatalityhad linked her sympathies and admiration with his enemies? A rage which hedared not let her see seized him, and he sat silent, clenching andunclenching his hands. 

She saw his condition and pressed him without mercy. 

"He _is_ a character, isn't he? An odd one, but attractive?"

Duncan sneered. "He pulled you out of the quicksand, of course. Anybodycould have done that, if they'd been around. I reckon that's what makeshim 'attractive' in your eyes. On the other hand, he put Texas Blanca outof business. Does that killing help to make him attractive?"

"Wasn't Blanca his enemy. If you remember, you told father and me thatBlanca sold him some stolen cattle. Then, according to what I have heardof the story, he met Blanca in Lazette, ordered him to leave, and when hedidn't go he shot him. I understand that that is the code in matters ofthat sort--people have to take the law in their own hands. But he gaveBlanca the opportunity to shoot first. Wasn't that fair?"

It seemed odd to her that she was defending the man who had wronged her, yet strangely enough she discovered that defending him gave her a thrillof satisfaction, though she assured herself that the satisfaction camefrom the fact that she was engaged in the task of arousing Duncan'sjealousy. 

"You've been inquiring about him, then?" said Duncan, his face dark withrage and hatred. "What I told you about that calf deal is the story thatDakota himself tells about it. A lot of people in this country don'tbelieve Dakota's story. They believe what I believe, that Dakota andBlanca were in partnership on that deal, and that Dakota framed up thatstory about Blanca selling out to him to avert suspicion. It's likely thatthey wised up to the fact that we were on to them. "

"I believe you mentioned your suspicions to Dakota himself, didn't you?The day you went over after the calves? You had quite a talk with himabout them, didn't you?" said Sheila, sweetly. 

Duncan's face whitened. "Who told you that?" he demanded. 

"And he told you that if you ever interfered with him again, or that if heheard of you repeating your suspicions to anyone, he would do something toyou--run you out of the country, or something like that, didn't he?"

"Who told you that?" repeated Duncan. 

"Doubler told me, " returned Sheila with a smile. 

Duncan's face worked with impotent wrath as he looked at her. "SoDoubler's been gassing again?" he said with a sneer. "Well, there's neverbeen any love lost between Doubler and me, and so what he says don'tamount to much. " He laughed oddly. "It's strange to think how thick youare with Doubler, " he said. "I understand that your dad and Doubler ain'texactly on a friendly footing, that your dad was trying to buy him out andthat he won't sell. There's likely to be trouble, for your dad isdetermined to get Doubler's land. "

However, that was a subject upon which Sheila did not care to dwell. 

"I don't think that I am interested in that, " she said. "I presume thatfather is able to take care of his own affairs without any assistance fromme. "

Duncan's eyes lighted with interest. Her words showed that she was awareof Langford's differences with the nester. Probably her father had toldher--taking her into his confidence while ignoring his manager. Perhaps hehad even told her of his visit to Dakota; perhaps there had been more thanone visit and Sheila had accompanied him. Undoubtedly, he told himself, Sheila's admiration for Dakota had resulted from not one, but many, meetings. He flushed at the thought, and was forced to look away fromSheila for fear that she might see the passion that flamed in his eyes. 

"You seen Dakota lately?" he questioned, after he had regained sufficientcontrol of himself to be able to speak quietly. 

"No. " Sheila was flecking some dust from her skirts with her riding whip, and her manner was one of absolute lack of interest. 

"Then you ain't been riding with your father?" said Duncan. 

"Some. " Sheila continued to brush the dust from her skirts. Afteranswering Duncan's question, however, she realized that there had been asubtle undercurrent of meaning in his voice, and she turned and lookedsharply at him. 

"Why?" she demanded. "Do you mean that father has visited Dakota?"

"I reckon I'm meaning just that. "

Sheila did not like the expression in Duncan's eyes, and her chin wasraised a little as she turned from him and gave her attention to fleckingthe grass near her with the lash of her riding whip. 

"Father attends to his own business, " she said with some coldness, for sheresented Duncan's apparent desire to interfere. "I told you that before. What he does in a business way does not interest me. "

"No?" said Duncan mockingly. "Well, he's made some sort of a deal withDakota!" he snapped, aware of his lack of wisdom in telling her this, butunable to control his resentment over the slight which had been imposed onhim by Langford, and by her own chilling manner, which seemed to emphasizethe fact that he had been left outside their intimate councils. 

"A deal?" said Sheila quickly, unable to control her interest. 

For a moment he did not answer. He felt her gaze upon him, and he met it, smiling mysteriously. Under the sudden necessity of proving his statement, his thoughts centered upon the conclusion which had resulted from hissuspicions--that Langford's visit to Dakota concerned Doubler. Equivocation would have taken him safely away from the pitfall into whichhis rash words had almost plunged him, but he felt that any evasion nowwould only bring scorn into the eyes which he wished to see alight withsomething else. Besides, here was an opportunity to speak a derogatoryword about his enemy, and he could not resist--could not throw itcarelessly aside. There was a venomous note in his voice when he finallyanswered:

"The other day your father was speaking to me about gun-men. I told himthat Dakota would do anything for money. "

A slow red appeared in Sheila's cheeks, mounted to her temples, disappeared entirely and was succeeded by a paleness. She kept her gazeaverted, and Duncan could not see her eyes--they were turned toward theslumberous plains that stretched away into the distance on the other sideof the river. But Duncan knew that he had scored, and was not botheredover the possibility of there being little truth in his implied charge. Hewatched her, gloating over her, certain that at a stroke he hadeffectually eliminated Dakota as a rival. 

Sheila turned suddenly to him. "How do you know that Dakota would doanything like that?"

Duncan smiled as he saw her lips, straight and white, and tighteningcoldly. 

"How do I know?" he jeered. "How does a man know anything in this country?By using his eyes, of course. I've used mine. I've watched Dakota for fiveyears. I've known all along that he isn't on the square--that he has beenrunning his branding iron on other folks' cattle. I've told you that heworked a crooked deal on me, and then sent Blanca over the divide when hethought there was a chance of Blanca giving the deal away. I am told thatwhen he met Blanca in the Red Dog Blanca told him plainly that he didn'tknow anything about the calf deal. That shows how he treats his friends. He'll do anything for money. 

"The other day I saw your father at his cabin, talking to him. They hadquite a confab. Your father has had trouble with Doubler--you know that. He has threatened to run Doubler off the Two Forks. I heard that myself. He wouldn't try to run Doubler off himself--that's too dangerous abusiness for him to undertake. Not wanting to take the chance himself hehires someone else. Who? Dakota's the only gunman around these parts. Therefore, your dad goes to Dakota. He and Dakota signed a paper--I sawDakota reading it. I've just put two and two together, and that's theresult. I reckon I ain't far out of the way. "

Sheila laughed as she might have laughed had someone told her that sheherself had plotted to murder Doubler--a laugh full of scorn and mockery. Yet in her eyes, which were wide with horror, and in her face, which wassuddenly drawn and white, was proof that Duncan's words had hurt hermortally. 

She was silent; she did not offer to defend Dakota, for in her thoughtsstill lingered a recollection of the scene of the shooting in Lazette. Andwhen she considered her father's distant manner toward her and BenDoubler's grave prediction of trouble, it seemed that perhaps Duncan wasright. Yet in spite of the shooting of Blanca and the evil light which wasnow thrown on Dakota through Duncan's deductions, she felt confident thatDakota would not become a party to a plot in which the murder of a man wasdeliberately planned. He had wronged her and he had killed a man, but atthe quicksand crossing that day--despite the rage which had been in herheart against him--she had studied him and had become convinced thatbehind his recklessness, back of the questionable impulses that seemed attimes to move him, there lurked qualities which were wholly admirable, andwhich could be felt by anyone who came in contact with him. Certainlythose qualities which she had seen had not been undiscovered byDuncan--and others. 

She remembered now that on a former occasion the manager had practicallyadmitted his fear of Dakota, and then there was his conduct on that daywhen she had asked him to return Dakota's pony. Duncan's manner then hadseemed to indicate that he feared Dakota--at the least did not like him. Ben Doubler had given her a different version of the trouble betweenDakota and Duncan; how Duncan had accused Dakota of stealing the Double Rcalves, and how in the presence of Duncan's own men Dakota had forced himto apologize. Taken altogether, it seemed that Duncan's present suspicionswere the result of his dislike, or fear, of Dakota. Convinced of this, hereyes flashed with contempt when she looked at the manager. 

"I believe you are lying, " she said coldly. "You don't like Dakota. But Ihave faith in him--in his manhood. I don't believe that any man who hasthe courage to force another man to apologize to him in the face of greatodds, would, or could, be so entirely base as to plan to murder a poor, unoffending old man in cold blood. Perhaps you are not lying, " sheconcluded with straight lips, "but the very least that can be said for youis that you have a lurid imagination!"

In Duncan's gleaming, shifting eyes, in the lips which were tensed overhis teeth in a snarl, she could see the bitterness that was in his heartover the incident to which she had just referred. 

"Wait, " he said smiling evilly. "You'll know more about Dakota beforelong. "

Sheila rose and walked to her pony, mounting the animal and riding slowlyaway from the river. She did not see the queer smile on Duncan's face asshe rode, but looking back at the distance of a hundred yards, she sawthat he did not intend to follow her. He was still sitting where she hadleft him, his back to her, his face turned toward the plains which spreadaway toward Dakota's cabin, twenty miles down the river. 

CHAPTER XI

A PARTING AND A VISIT

The problem which filled Duncan's mind as he sat on the edge of the slopeoverlooking the river was a three-sided one. To reach a conclusion theemotions of fear, hatred, and jealousy would have to be considered in thelight of their relative importance. 

There was, for example, his fear of Dakota, which must be taken intoaccount when he meditated any action prompted by his jealousy, and hisfear of Dakota was a check on his desires, a damper which must control theheat of his emotions. He might hate Dakota, but his fear of him wouldprevent his taking any action which might expose his own life to risk. Onthe other hand, jealousy urged him to accept any risk; it kept telling himover and over that he was a fool to allow Dakota to live. But Duncan knewbetter than to attempt an open clash with Dakota; each time that he hadlooked into Dakota's eyes he had seen there something which told himplainer than words of his own inferiority--that he would have no chance ina man-to-man encounter with him. And his latest experience with Dakota hadproved that. 

However, Duncan's character would not permit him to concede defeat, andhis revenge was not a thing to be considered lightly. Therefore, though hesat for a long time on the slope, meditating over his problem, in the endhe smiled. It was not a good smile to see, for his eyes were alight with acrafty, designing gleam, and there was a cruel curve in the lines of hislips. When he finally mounted his pony and rode away from the slope he waswhistling. 

During the next few days he did not see much of Sheila, for he avoided theranchhouse as much as possible. He rode out with Langford many times, andthough he covertly questioned the Double R owner concerning the affairwith Doubler he could gain no satisfying information. Langford's reticencefurther aggravated the passions which rioted in his heart, and finally oneafternoon when they rode up to the ranchhouse his curiosity could be heldin check no longer, and he put the blunt question:

"What have you done about Doubler?"

Langford's shifting eyes rested for the fraction of a second on the faceof his manager, and then the old, bland smile came into his own and heanswered smoothly: "Nothing. "

"I have been thinking, " said Duncan carelessly, but with a sharp sideglance at his employer, "that it wouldn't be a half bad idea to set agunman on Doubler--a man like Dakota, for instance. "

The manager saw Langford's lips straighten a little, and his eyes flashedwith a sudden fire. The expression on Langford's face strengthened theconviction already in Duncan's mind concerning the motive of hisemployer's visit to Dakota. 

"I don't think I care to have any dealings with Dakota, " said Langfordshortly. 

Duncan's eyes blazed again. "I reckon if you'd go talk to him, " hepersisted, turning his head so that Langford could not see the suppressedrage in his eyes, "you might be able to make a deal with him. "

"I don't wish to deal with him. I have decided not to bother Doubler atpresent. And I have no desire to talk with Dakota. Frankly, my dearDuncan, I don't like the man. "

"You been in the habit of forming opinions of men you've never talked to?"said Duncan. He could not keep the sneer out of his voice. 

Langford noticed it and laughed softly. 

"It is my recollection that a certain man of my acquaintance advised me atlength of Dakota's shortcomings, " he said significantly. "For me to talkto Dakota after that would be to consider this man's words valueless. Iwill have nothing to do with Dakota. That is, " he added, "unless you havealtered your opinion of him. "

Duncan did not reply, and he said nothing more to Langford on the subject, but he had discovered that for some reason Langford had chosen to keep theknowledge of his visit to Dakota secret, and Duncan's suspicions that thevisit concerned Doubler became a conviction. Filled with resentment overLangford's attitude toward him, and with his mind definitely fixed uponthe working out of his problem, Duncan decided to visit Doubler. 

He chose a day when Langford had ridden away to a distant cow camp, and aswhen he was following the Double R owner, he did not ride the beaten trailbut kept behind the ridges and in the depressions, and when he came withinsight of Doubler's cabin he halted to reconnoiter. A swift survey of thecorral showed him a rangy, piebald pony, which he knew to belong toDakota. As the animal had on a bridle and a saddle he surmised thatDakota's visit would not be of long duration, and having no desire tovisit Doubler in the presence of his rival, he shunted his own horse offthe edge of a sand dune and down into the bed of a dry arroyo. Urging theanimal along this, he presently reached a sand flat on whose edge arose agrove of fir-balsam and cottonwood. 

For an hour, deep in the grove, he watched the cabin, and at length he sawDakota come out; saw a smile on his face; heard him laugh. His lipswrithed at the sound, and he listened intently to catch the conversationwhich was carried on between the two men, but the distance was too great. However, he was able to judge from the actions of the two that theirrelations were decidedly friendly, and this discovery immediately raised adoubt in his mind as to the correctness of his deductions. 

Yet the doubt did not seriously affect his determination to carry out theplan he had in mind, and when a few moments after coming out of the cabin, Dakota departed down the river trail, Duncan slowly rode out of the groveand approached the cabin. 

Doubler stood in the open doorway, looking after Dakota, and when thelatter finally disappeared around a bend in the river the nester turnedand saw Duncan. Instantly he stepped inside the cabin door, reappearingimmediately, holding a rifle. Duncan continued to ride forward, raisingone hand, with the palm toward Doubler, as a sign of the peacefulness ofhis intentions. The latter permitted him to approach, though he held therifle belligerently. 

"I want to talk, " said Duncan, when he had come near enough to makehimself heard. 

"Pull up right where you are, then, " commanded Doubler. He was silentwhile Duncan drew his pony to a halt and sat motionless in the saddlelooking at him. Then his voice came with a truculent snap:

"You alone?"

Duncan nodded. 

"Where's your new boss?" sarcastically inquired Doubler. "Ain't you scaredhe'll git lost--runnin' around alone without anyone to look after him?"

"I ain't his keeper, " returned Duncan shortly. 

Doubler laughed unbelievingly. "You was puttin' in a heap of your timebein' his keeper, the last I saw of you, " he declared coldly. 

"Mebbe I was. We've had a falling out. " The venom in Duncan's voice wasnot at all pretended. "He's double crossed me. "

"Double crossed you?" There was disbelief and suspicion in Doubter'slaugh. "How's he done that? I reckoned you was too smart for anyone to dothat to you?" The sarcasm in this last brought a dark red into Duncan'sface, but he successfully concealed his resentment and smiled. 

"That's all right, " he said; "I've got more than that coming from you. I'mtelling you about what he done to me if you ain't got any objections to megetting off my horse. "

"Tell me from where you are. " In spite of the coldness in the nester'svoice there was interest in his eyes. "Mebbe you an' him have had afallin' out, but I ain't takin' any chances on you bein' my friend--not adurned chance. "

"That's right. I don't blame you for not wanting to take a chance, and I'mnot pretending to be your friend. And I sure ain't any friendly toLangford. He's double crossed me, but I ain't telling how he doneit--that's between him and me. But I want to tell you something that willinterest you a whole lot. It's about some guy which is trying to doublecross you. To prove that I ain't thinking to plug you when you ain'tlooking I'm leaving my gun here. " He drew out his six-shooter and stuck itbehind his slicker, dismounted, and threw the reins over the pony's head. 

In silence Doubler suffered him to approach, though he kept his rifleready in his hand and his eyes still continued to wear a belligerentexpression. 

"You and me ain't been what you might call friendly for a long time, "offered Duncan when he had halted a few feet from Doubler. "We've hadwords, but I've never tried to take any mean advantage of you--which Imight have done if I'd wanted to. " He smiled ingratiatingly. 

"We ain't goin' to go over what's happened between us, " declared Doublercoldly. "We're lettin' that go by. If you'll stick to the palaver that youspoke about mebbe we'll be able to git along for a minute or two. Meanwhile, you'll excuse me if I keep this here gun in shape for you ifyou try any monkey business. "

Duncan masked his dislike of Doubler under a deprecatory smile. "That'sright, " he agreed. "We'll let what's happened pass without talking aboutit. What's between us now is something different. I've never pretended tobe your friend, and I'm not pretending to be your friend now. But I'vealways been square with you, and I'm square now. Can you say that abouthim?" He jerked his thumb in the direction of the river trail, on whichDakota had vanished some time before. 

"Him?" inquired Doubler. "You mean Dakota?" He caught Duncan's nod andsmiled slowly. "I reckon you're some off your range, " he said. "Thereain't no comparin' Dakota to you--he's always been my friend. "

"A man's got a friend one day and he's an enemy the next, " said Duncanmysteriously. 

"Meanin'?"

"Meaning that Dakota ain't so much of a friend as you think he is. "

Doubler's lips grew straight and hard. "I reckon that ends the palaver, "he said coldly, while he fingered the rifle in his hand significantly. "Ifthat's what you come for you can be hittin' the breeze right back to theDouble R. I'm givin' you----"

"You're traveling too fast, " remonstrated Duncan, a hoarseness coming intohis voice. "You'll talk different when you hear what I've got to say. Ireckon you know that Langford ain't any friendly to you?"

"I don't see--" began Doubler. 

He was interrupted by Duncan's harsh laugh. "Of course you don't see, " hesaid. "I've come over here to make you open your eyes. Langford ain't nofriend of yours, and I reckon that you wouldn't consider any man yourfriend which sets in his cabin a couple of hours talking to Langford, about you?"

"Meanin' that Langford's been to see Dakota?" Doubler's voice was suddenlyharsh and his eyes glinted with suspicion. Certain that he had scored, Duncan turned and smiled into the distance. When he again faced Doublerhis face wore an expression of sympathy. 

"When a man's been a friend to you and you find that he's going to doublecross you, it's apt to make you feel pretty mean, " he said. "I'm allowingthat. But there's a lot of us get double crossed. I got it and I'm seeingthat they don't ring in any cold deck on you. "

"How do you know Dakota's tryin' to do that?" demanded Doubler. 

Duncan laughed. "I've kept my eyes open. Also, I've been listening righthard. I wasn't so far away when Langford went to Dakota's shack, and Iheard considerable of what they said about you. "

Doubler's interest was now intense; he spoke eagerly: "What did theysay?"

"I reckon you ought to be able to guess what they said, " said Duncan witha crafty smile. "I reckon you know that Langford wants your land mightybad, don't you? And you won't sell. Didn't he tell you in front of me thathe was going to make trouble for you? He wants me to make it, though; hewants me to set the boys on you. But I won't do it. Then he shuts up likea clam and don't say anything more to me about it. He saw Dakota sendBlanca over the divide and he's some impressed by his shooting. He figuresthat if Dakota puts one man out of business he'll put another out. "

"Meanin' that Langford's hired Dakota to look for me?" Doubler's eyes weregleaming brightly. 

"You're some keen, after all, " taunted Duncan. 

Doubler's jaws snapped. "You're a liar!" he said; "Dakota wouldn't doit!"

"Maybe I'm a liar, " said Duncan, his face paling but his voice low andquiet. He was not surprised that Doubler should exhibit emotion over thecharge that his friend was planning to murder him, yet he knew that thesuspicion once established in Doubler's mind would soon grow to thestature of a conviction. 

"Maybe I'm a liar, " repeated Duncan. "But if you'll use your brain alittle you'll see that things look bad for you. Dakota's been here. Did hetell you about Langford coming to see him? I reckon not, " he added as hecaught Doubler's blank stare; "he'd likely not tell you about it. But Ireckon that if he was your friend he'd tell you. I reckon you told himabout Langford wanting your land--about him telling you he'd make thingshot for you?"

Doubler nodded silently, and Duncan continued. "Well, " he said, with ashort laugh, "I've told you, and it's up to you. They were talking aboutyou, and if Dakota's your friend, as you're claiming him to be, he'd havetold you what they was talking about--if it wasn't what I say it was--himknowing how Langford feels toward you. And they didn't only talk. Langfordwrote something on a paper and gave it to Dakota. I don't know what hewrote, but it seemed to tickle Dakota a heap. Leastways, he done a heap oflaffing over it. Likely Langford's promised him a heap of dust to do thejob. Mebbe he's your friend, but if I was you I wouldn't give him nochance to say I drawed first. "

Doubler placed his rifle down and passed a hand slowly and hesitatinglyover his forehead. "I don't like to think that of Dakota, " he said, faithand suspicion battling for supremacy. "Dakota just left here; he acted aheap friendly--as usual--mebbe more so. "

"I reckon that when a man goes gunning for another man he don't advertisea whole lot, " observed Duncan insinuatingly. 

"No, " agreed Doubler, staring blankly into the distance where he had lastseen his supposed friend, "a man don't generally do a heap of advertisin'when he's out lookin' for a man. " He sat for a time staring straightahead, and then he suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with a savagefierceness. "How do I know you ain't lyin' to me?" he demanded, glaring atDuncan, his hands clenched in an effort to control himself. 

Duncan's eyes did not waver. "I reckon you _don't_ know whether I'mlying, " he returned, showing his teeth in a slight smile. "But I reckonyou're twenty-one and ought to have your eye-teeth cut. Anyway, you oughtto know that a man like Langford, who's wanting your land, don't go totalk with a man like Dakota, who's some on the shoot, for nothing. How doyou know that Langford and Dakota ain't friends? How do you know but thatthey've been friends back East? Do you know where Dakota came from? Mebbehe's from the East, too. I'm telling you one thing, " added Duncan, and nowhis voice was filled with passion, "Dakota and Sheila Langford are prettythick. She makes believe that she don't like him, but he saved her from aquicksand, and she's been running with him considerable. Takes his part, too; does it, but she makes you believe that she don't like him. I reckonshe's pretty foxy. "

Doubler's memory went back to a conversation he had had with Sheila inwhich Dakota had been the subject under discussion. He remembered that shehad shown a decided coldness, suggesting by her manner that she and Dakotawere not on the best of terms. Could it be that she had merely pretendedthis coldness? Could it be that she was concerned in the plot against him, that she and her father and Dakota were combined against him for thecommon purpose of taking his life?

He was convinced that any such suspicion against Sheila must be unjust, for he had studied her face many times and was certain that there was nota line of deceit in it. And yet, was it not odd that, when he had told herof the trouble between him and her father, she had not immediately takenher parent's side? To be sure, she had told him that Langford was merelyher stepfather, but could not that statement also have been a misleadingone? And even if Langford were only her stepfather, would she not havefelt it her duty to align herself with him?

"I reckon you know a heap about Dakota, don't you?" came Duncan's voice, breaking into Doubler's reflections. "You know, for instance, that Dakotacame here from Dakota--or anyway, he says he came here from there. We'llsay you know that. But what do you know about Langford? Didn't he tell youthat he was going to 'get' you?"

Duncan turned his back to Doubler and walked to his pony. He drew out hissix-shooter, stuck it into its holster, and placed one foot in a stirrup, preparatory to mounting. Then he turned and spoke gravely to Doubler. 

"I've done all I could, " he said. "You know how you stand and the rest ofit is up to you. You can go on, letting Dakota and Sheila pretend to befriendly to you, and some day you'll get wise awful sudden--when it's toolate. Or, you can wise up now and fix Dakota before he gets a chance atyou. I reckon that's all. You can't say that I didn't put you wise to thegame. "

He swung into the saddle and urged the pony toward the crossing. Lookingback from a crest of a rise on the other side of the river, he saw Doublerstill standing in the doorway, his head bowed in his hands. Duncan smiled, his lips in cold, crafty curves, for he had planted the seed of suspicionand was satisfied that it would presently flourish and grow until it wouldfinally accomplish the destruction of his rival, Dakota. 

CHAPTER XII

A MEETING ON THE RIVER TRAIL

About ten o'clock in the morning of a perfect day Sheila left the Double Rranchhouse for a ride to the Two Forks to visit Doubler. This new worldinto which she had come so hopefully had lately grown very lonesome. Ithad promised much and it had given very little. The country itself was notto blame for the state of her mind, though, she told herself as she rodeover the brown, sun-scorched grass of the river trail, it was the people. They--even her father--seemed to hold aloof from her. 

It seemed that she would never be able to fit in anywhere. She wasconvinced that the people with whom she was forced to associate wereentirely out of accord with the principles of life which had been herguide--they appeared selfish, cold, and distant. Duncan's sister, the onlywoman beside herself in the vicinity, had discouraged all her littleadvances toward a better acquaintance, betraying in many ways adisinclination toward those exchanges of confidence which are the delightof every normal woman. Sheila had become aware very soon that there couldbe no hope of gaining her friendship or confidence and so of late she hadceased her efforts. 

Of course, she could not attempt to cultivate an acquaintance with any ofthe cowboys--she already knew _one_ too well, and the knowledge of herrelationship to him had the effect of dulling her desire for seeking thecompany of the others. 

For Duncan she had developed a decided dislike which amounted almost tohatred. She had been able to see quite early in their acquaintance thedefects of his character, and though she had played on his jealousy in aspirit of fun, she had been careful to make him see that anything morethan mere acquaintance was impossible. At least that was what she hadtried to do, and she doubted much whether she had succeeded. 

Doubler was the only one who had betrayed any real friendship for her, andto him, in her lonesomeness, she turned, in spite of the warning he hadgiven her. She had visited him once since the day following her father'svisit, and he had received her with his usual cordiality, but she had beenable to detect a certain constraint in his manner which had caused her todetermine to stay away from the Two Forks. But this morning she felt thatshe must go somewhere, and she selected Doubler's cabin. 

Since that day when on the edge of the butte overlooking the river Duncanhad voiced his suspicions that her father had planned to remove Doubler, Sheila had felt more than ever the always widening gulf that separated herfrom her parent. From the day on which he had become impatient with herwhen she had questioned him concerning his intentions with regard toDoubler he had treated her in much the manner that he always treated her, though it had seemed to her that there was something lacking; there was acertain strained civility in his manner, a veneer which smoothed over thebreach of trust which his attitude that day had created. 

Many times, watching him, Sheila had wondered why she had never been ableto peer through the mask of his imperturbability at the real, unlovelycharacter it concealed. She believed it was because she had always trustedhim and had not taken the trouble to try to uncover his real character. She had tried for a long time to fight down the inevitable, growingestrangement, telling herself that she had been, and was, mistaken in herestimate of his character since the day he had told her not to meddle withhis affairs, and she had nearly succeeded in winning the fight when Duncanhad again destroyed her faith with the story of her father's visit toDakota. 

Duncan had added two and two, he had told her when furnishing her with thethreads out of which he had constructed the fabric of his suspicions, andshe was compelled to acknowledge that they seemed sufficiently strong. Contemplation of the situation, however, had convinced her that Dakota waspartly to blame, and her anger against him--greatly softened since therescue at the quicksand--flared out again. 

Two weeks had passed since Duncan had told her of his suspicions, and theyhad been two weeks of constant worry and dread to her. 

Unable to stand the suspense longer she had finally decided to seek outDakota to attempt to confirm Duncan's story of her father's visit and toplead with Dakota to withhold his hand. But first she would see Doubler. 

The task of talking to Dakota about anything was not to her liking, butshe compromised with her conscience by telling herself that she owed it toherself to prevent the murder of Doubler--that if the nester should bekilled with her in possession of the plan for his taking off, and able tolift a hand in protest or warning, she would be as guilty as her father orDakota. 

As she rode she could not help contrasting Dakota's character to those ofher father and Duncan. She eliminated Duncan immediately, as being notstrong enough to compare either favorably or unfavorably with either ofthe other two. And, much against her will, she was compelled to admit thatwith all his shortcomings Dakota made a better figure than her father. Butthere was little consolation for her in this comparison, for she bitterlyassured herself that there was nothing attractive in either. Both hadwronged her--Dakota deliberately and maliciously; her father had placedthe bar of a cold civility between her and himself, and she could nolonger go to him with her confidences. She had lost his friendship, and hehad lost her respect. 

Of late she had speculated much over Dakota. That day at the quicksandcrossing he had seemed to be a different man from the one who had stoodwith revolver in hand before the closed door of his cabin, giving her achoice of two evils. For one thing, she was no longer afraid of him; inhis treatment of her at the crossing he had not appeared as nearly soforbidding as formerly, had been almost attractive to her, in thosemoments when she could forget the injury he had done her. Those momentshad been few, to be sure, but during them she had caught flashes of thereal Dakota, and though she fought against admiring him, she knew thatdeep in her heart lingered an emotion which must be taken into account. Hehad really done her no serious injury, nothing which would not be undonethrough the simple process of the law, and in his manner on the day of therescue there had been much respect, and in spite of the mocking levitywith which he had met her reproaches she felt that he felt some slightremorse over his action. 

For a time she forgot to think about Dakota, becoming lost incontemplation of the beauty of the country. Sweeping away from the crestof the ridge on which she was riding, it lay before her, basking in thewarm sunlight of the morning, wild and picturesque, motionless, silent--asquiet and peaceful as might have been that morning on which, his workfinished, the Creator had surveyed the new world with a satisfied eye. 

She had reached a point about a mile from Doubler's cabin, still drinkingin the beauty that met her eyes on every hand, when an odd sound broke theperfect quiet. 

Suddenly alert, she halted her pony and listened. 

The sound had been strangely like a pistol shot, though louder, shedecided, as she listened to its echo reverberating in the adjacent hills. It became fainter, and finally died away, and she sat for a long timemotionless in the saddle, listening, but no other sound disturbed thesolemn quiet that surrounded her. 

It seemed to her that the sound had come from the direction of Doubler'scabin, but she was not quite certain, knowing how difficult it was todetermine the direction of sound in so vast a stretch of country. 

She ceased to speculate, and once more gave her attention to the country, urging her pony forward, riding down the slope of the ridge to the levelof the river trail. 

Fifteen minutes later, still holding the river trail, she saw a horsemanapproaching, and long before he came near enough for her to distinguishhis features she knew the rider for Dakota. He was sitting carelessly inthe saddle, one leg thrown over the pommel, smoking a cigarette, and whenhe saw her he threw the latter away, doffed his broad hat, and smiledgravely at her. 

"Were you shooting?" she questioned, aware that this was an odd greeting, but eager to have the mystery of that lone shot cleared up. 

"I reckon I ain't been shooting--lately, " he returned. "It must have beenDoubler. I heard it myself. I've just left Doubler, and he was cleaninghis rifle. He must have been trying it. I do that myself, often, afterI've cleaned mine, just to make sure it's right. " He narrowed his eyeswhimsically at her. "So you're riding the fiver trail again?" he said. "Ithought you'd be doing it. "

"Why?" she questioned, defiantly. 

"Well, for one thing, there's a certain fascination about a place whereone has been close to cashing in--I expect that when we've been in such aplace we like to come back and look at it just to see how near we came togoing over the divide. And there's another reason why I expected to seeyou on the river trail again. You forgot to thank me for pulling youout. "

He deserved thanks for that, she knew. But there were in his voice andeyes the same subtle mockery which had marked his manner that other time, and as before she experienced a feeling of deep resentment. Why could henot have shown some evidence of remorse for his crime against her? Shebelieved that had he done so now she might have found it in her heart togo a little distance toward forgiving him. But there was only mockery inhis voice and words and her resentment against him grew. Mingling with it, moreover, was the bitterness which had settled over her within the lastfew days. It found expression in her voice when she answered him:

"This country is full of--of savages!"

"Indians, you mean, I reckon? Well, no, there are none aroundhere--excepting over near Fort Union, on the reservation. " He drawledhatefully and regarded her with a mild smile. 

"I mean white savages!" she declared spitefully. 

His smile grew broader, and then slowly faded and he sat quiet, studyingher face. The silence grew painful; she moved uneasily under his directgaze and a dash of color swept into her cheeks. Then he spoke quietly. 

"You been seeing white savages?"

"Yes!" venomously. 

"Not around here?" The hateful mockery of that drawl!

"I am talking to one, " she said, her eyes blazing with impotent anger. 

"I thought you was meaning me, " he said, without resentment. "I reckonI've got it coming to me. But at the same time that isn't exactly the wayto talk to your----" He hesitated and smiled oddly, apparently aware thathe had made a mistake in referring to his crime against her. He hastenedto repair it. "Your rescuer, " he corrected. 

However, she saw through the artifice, and the bitterness in her voicegrew more pronounced. "It is needless for you to remind me of ourrelationship, " she said; "I am not likely to forget. "

"Have you told your father yet?"

In his voice was the quiet scorn and the peculiar, repressed venom whichshe had detected when he had referred to her father during that otheroccasion at the crossing. It mystified her, and yet within the past fewdays she had felt this scorn herself and knew that it was not remarkable. Undoubtedly he, having had much experience with men, had been able to seethrough Langford's mask and knew him for what he was. For the first timein her life she experienced a sensation of embarrassed guilt over hearingher name linked with Langford's, and she looked defiantly at Dakota. 

"I have not told him, " she said. "I won't tell him. I told you thatbefore--I do not care to undergo the humiliation of hearing my namementioned in the same breath with yours. And if you do not already knowit, I want to tell you that David Langford is not my father; my realfather died a long time ago, and Langford is only my stepfather. "

A sudden moisture was in her eyes and she did not see Dakota start, didnot observe the queer pallor that spread over his face, failed to detectthe odd light in his eyes. However, she heard his voice--sharp in tone andfilled with genuine astonishment. 

"Your stepfather?" He had spurred his pony beside hers and looking up shesaw that his face had suddenly grown stern and grim. "Do you mean that?"he demanded half angrily. "Why didn't you tell me that before? Why didn'tyou tell me when--the night I married you?"

"Would it have made any difference to you?" she said bitterly. "Does itmake any difference now? You have treated me like a savage; you aretreating me like one now. I--I haven't any friends at all, " she continued, her voice breaking slightly, as she suddenly realized her entirehelplessness before the combined evilness of Duncan, her father, and theman who sat on his pony beside her. A sob shook her, and her hands went toher face, covering her eyes. 

She sat there for a time, shuddering, and watching her closely, Dakota'sface grew slowly pale, and grim, hard lines came into his lips. 

"I know what Duncan's friendship amounts to, " he said harshly. "But isn'tyour stepfather your friend?"

"My friend?" She echoed his words with a hopeless intonation that closedDakota's teeth like a vise. "I don't know what has come over him, " shecontinued, looking up at Dakota, her eyes filled with wonder for thesympathy which she saw in his face and voice; "he has changed since hecame out here; he is so selfish and heartless. "

"What's he been doing? Hurting you?" She did not detect the anger in hisvoice, for he had kept it so low that she scarcely heard the words. 

"Hurting me? No; he has not done anything to me. Don't you know?" she saidscornfully, certain that he was mocking her again--for how could hisinterest be genuine when he was a party to the plot to murder Doubler? Yetperhaps not--maybe Duncan _had_ been lying. Determined to get to thebottom of the affair as quickly as possible, Sheila continued rapidly, herscorn giving way to eagerness. "Don't you know?" And this time her voicewas almost a plea. "What did father visit you for? Wasn't it aboutDoubler? Didn't he hire you to--to kill him?"

She saw his lips tighten strangely, his face grow pale, his eyes flashwith some mysterious emotion, and she knew in an instant that he wasguilty--guilty as her father!

"Oh!" she said, and the scorn came into her voice again. "Then it is true!You and my father have conspired to murder an inoffensive old man!You--you cowards!"

He winced, as though he had received an unexpected blow in the face, butalmost immediately he smiled--a hard, cold, sneering smile which chilledher. 

"Who has been telling you this?" The question came slowly, without theslightest trace of excitement. 

"Duncan told me. "

"Duncan?" There was much contempt in his voice. "Not your father?"

She shook her head negatively, wondering at his cold composure. No wonderher father had selected him!

He laughed mirthlessly. "So that's the reason Doubler was so friendly tohis rifle this morning?" he said, as though her words had explained amystery which had been puzzling him. "Doubler and me have been friends fora long time. But this morning while I was talking to him he kept his riflebeside him all the time. He must have heard from someone that I wasgunning for him. "

"Then you haven't been hired to kill him?"

He smiled at her eagerness, but spoke gravely and with an earnestnesswhich she could not help but feel. "Miss Sheila, " he said, "there isn'tmoney enough in ten counties like this to make me kill Doubler. " His lipscurled with a quiet sarcasm. "You are like a lot of other people in thiscountry, " he added. "Because I put Blanca away they think I am aprofessional gunman. But I want _you_"--he placed a significant emphasison the word--"to understand that there wasn't any other way to deal withBlanca. By coming back here after selling me that stolen Star stock andrefusing to admit the deed in the presence of other people--even denyingit and accusing me--he forced me to take the step I did with him. Eventhen, I gave him his chance. That he didn't take it isn't my fault. 

"I suppose I look pretty black to you, because I treated you like I did. But it was partly your fault, too. Maybe that's mysterious to you, but itwill have to stay a mystery. I had an idea in my head that night--andsomething else. I've found something out since that makes me feel a lotsorry. If I had known what I know now, that wouldn't have happened toyou--I've got my eyes open now. "

Their ponies were very close together, and leaning over suddenly he placedboth hands on her shoulders and gazed into her eyes, his own flashing witha strange light. She did not try to escape his hands, for she felt thathis sincerity warranted the action. 

"I've treated you mean, Sheila, " he said; "about as mean as a man couldtreat a woman. I am sorry. I want you to believe that. And maybe someday--when this business is over--you'll understand and forgive me. "

"This business?" Sheila drew back and looked at him wonderingly. "What doyou mean?"

There was no mirth in his laugh as he dropped his hands to his sides. Herquestion had brought about a return of that mocking reserve which shecould not penetrate. Apparently he would let her no farther into themystery whose existence his words had betrayed. He had allowed her to geta glimpse of his inner self; had shown her that he was not the despicablecreature she had thought him; had apparently been about to take her intohis confidence. And she had felt a growing sympathy for him and had beenprepared to meet him half way in an effort to settle their differences, but she saw that the opportunity was gone--was hidden under the cloak ofmystery which had been about him from the beginning of theiracquaintance. 

"This Doubler business, " he answered, and she nibbled impatiently at herlips, knowing that he had meant something else. 

"That's evasion, " she said, looking straight at him, hoping that he wouldrelent and speak. 

"Is it?" In his unwavering eyes she saw a glint of grim humor. "Well, that's the answer. I am not going to kill Doubler--if it will do you anygood to know. I don't kill my friends. "

"Then, " she said eagerly, catching at the hope which he held out to her, "father didn't hire you to kill him? You didn't talk to father aboutthat?"

His lips curled. "Why don't you ask your father about that?"

The hope died within her. Dakota's words and manner implied that herfather had tried to employ him to make way with the nester, but that hehad refused. She had not been wrong--Duncan had not been wrong in hissuspicion that her father was planning the death of the nester. Duncan'sonly mistake was in including Dakota in the scheme. 

She had hoped against hope that she might discover that Duncan had beenwrong altogether; that she had done her father an injury in believing himcapable of deliberately planning a murder. She looked again at Dakota. There was no mistaking his earnestness, she thought, for there was noevidence of deceit or knavery in his face, nor in the eyes that weresteadily watching her. 

She put her hands to her face and shivered, now thoroughly convinced ofher father's guilt; feeling a sudden repugnance for him, for everybody andeverything in the country, excepting Doubler. 

She had done all she could, however, to prevent them killing Doubler--allshe could do except to warn Doubler of his danger, and she would go to himimmediately. Without looking again at Dakota she turned, dry eyed andpale, urging her pony up the trail toward the nester's cabin, leavingDakota sitting silent in his saddle, watching her. 

She lingered on the trail, riding slowly, halting when she came to a spotwhich offered a particularly good view of the country surrounding her, forin spite of her lonesomeness she could not help appreciating the beauty ofthe land, with its towering mountains, its blue sky, its vast, yawningdistances, and the peacefulness which seemed to be everywhere except inher heart. 

She presently reached the Two Forks and urged her pony through the shallowwater of its crossing, riding up the slight, intervening slope and upon astretch of plain beside a timber grove. A little later she came to thecorral gates, where she dismounted and hitched her pony to a rail, smilingto herself as she thought of how surprised Doubler would be to see her. 

Then she left the corral gate and stole softly around a corner of thecabin, determined to steal upon Doubler unawares. Once at the corner, shehalted and peered around. She saw Doubler lying in the open doorway, hisbody twisted into a peculiarly odd position, face down, his armsoutstretched, his legs doubled under him. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE SHOT IN THE BACK

For an instant after discovering Doubler lying in the doorway, Sheilastood motionless at the corner of the cabin, looking down wonderingly athim. She thought at first that he was merely resting, but his body wasdoubled up so oddly that a grave doubt rose in her mind. A vague fearclutched at her heart, and she stood rigid, her eyes wide as she lookedfor some sign that would confirm her fears. And then she saw a moist redpatch on his shirt on the right side just below the shoulder blade, and itseemed that a band of steel had been suddenly pressed down over herforehead. Something had happened to Doubler!

The world reeled, objects around her danced fantastically, the trees inthe grove near her seemed to dip toward her in derision, her knees saggedand she held tightly to the corner of the cabin for support in herweakness. 

She saw it all in a flash. Dakota had been to visit Doubler and had shothim. She had heard the shot. Duncan had been right, and Dakota--how shedespised him now!--was probably even now picturing in his imagination thescene of her discovering the nester lying on his own threshold, murdered. An anger against him, which arose at the thought, did much to help herregain control of herself. 

She must be brave now, for there might still be life in Doubler's body, and she went slowly toward him, cringing and shrinking, along the wall ofthe cabin. 

She touched him first, lightly with the tips of her fingers, callingsoftly to him in a quavering voice. Becoming more bold, she took hold ofhim by the left shoulder and shook him slightly, and her heart seemed toleap within her when a faint moan escaped his lips. Her fear fledinstantly as she realized that he was alive, that she had not to deal witha dead man. 

Stifling a quivering sob she took hold of him again, tugging and pullingat him, trying to turn him over so that she might see his face. Sheobserved that the red patch on his shoulder grew larger with the effort, and her face grew paler with apprehension, but convinced that she mustpersist she shut her eyes and tugged desperately at him, finallysucceeding in pulling him over on his back. 

He moaned again, though his face was ashen and lifeless, and with hopefilling her heart she redoubled her efforts and finally succeeded indragging him inside the cabin, out of the sun, where he lay inert, withwide-stretched arms, a gruesome figure to the girl. 

Panting and exhausted, some stray wisps of hair sweeping her temples, therest of it threatening to come tumbling down around her shoulders, sheleaned against one of the door jambs, thinking rapidly. She ought to havehelp, of course, and her thoughts went to Dakota, riding unconcernedlyaway on the river trail. She could not go to him for assistance, such acourse was not to be considered, she would rather let Doubler die than togo to his murderer; she could never have endured the irony of such anaction. Besides, she was certain that even were she to go to him, he wouldfind some excuse to refuse her, for having shot the nester, he certainlywould do nothing toward bringing the help which might possibly restore himto life. 

She put aside the thought with a shudder of horror, yet conscious thatsomething must be done for Doubler at once if he was to live. Perhaps itwas already too late to go for assistance; there seemed to be but verylittle life in his body, and trembling with anxiety she decided that shemust render him whatever aid she could. There was not much that she coulddo, to be sure, but if she could do something she might keep him aliveuntil other help would come. 

She stood beside the door jamb and watched him for some time, for shedreaded the idea of touching him again, but after a while her couragereturned, and she again went to him, kneeling down beside him, laying herhead on his breast and listening. His heart was beating, faintly, butstill it was beating, and she rose from him, determined. 

She found a sheath knife in one of his pockets, and with this she cut theshirt away from the wound, discovering, when she drew the pieces of clothaway, that there was a large, round hole in his breast. She came near toswooning when she thought of the red patch on his back, for that seemed toprove that the bullet had gone clear through him. It had missed a vitalspot, though, she thought, for it seemed to be rather high on theshoulder. 

She got some water from a pail that stood just inside the door, and withthis and some white cloth which she tore from one of her skirts, shebathed and bandaged the wound and laid a wet cloth on his forehead. Shetried to force some of the water down his throat, but he could notswallow, lying there with closed eyes and drawing his breath in short, painful gasps. 

After she had worked with him for a quarter of an hour or more she stoodup, convinced that she had done all she could for him and that the nextmove would be to get a doctor. 

She had heard Duncan say that it was fifty miles to Dry Bottom, and sheknew that it was at least forty to Lazette. She had never heard anyonemention that there was a doctor nearer, and so of course she would have togo to Lazette--ten miles would make a great difference. 

She might ride to the Double R ranchhouse, and she thought of going there, but it was at least ten miles off the Lazette trail, and even though atthe Double R she might get a cowboy to make the ride to Lazette, she wouldbe losing much valuable time. She drew a deep breath over thecontemplation of the long ride--at best it would take her four hours--butshe did not hesitate long and with a last glance at Doubler she was out ofthe door and walking to the corral, where she unhitched her pony, mounted, and sent the animal over the level toward the crossing at a sharp gallop. 

Once over the crossing and on the river trail where the riding was better, she held the pony to an even, steady pace. One mile, two miles, five orsix she rode with her hair flying in the breeze, her cheeks pale, exceptfor a bright red spot in the center of each--which betrayed the excitementunder which she was laboring. There was a resolute gleam in her eyes, though, and she rode lightly, helping her pony as much as possible. However, the animal was fresh and did not seem to mind the pace, cavortingand lunging up the rises and pulling hard on the reins on the levels, showing a desire to run. She held it in, though, realizing that during theforty mile ride the animal would have plenty of opportunity to prove itsmettle. 

She reached and passed the quicksand crossing from which she had beenpulled by Dakota, the pony running with the sure regularity of a machine, and was on a level which led into some hills directly ahead, when the ponystumbled. 

She tried to jerk it erect with the reins, but in spite of the effort shefelt it sink under her, and with a sensation of dismay clutching at herheart she slid out of the saddle. 

A swift examination showed her that the pony's right fore-leg was deep inthe sand of the trail, and she surmised instantly that it had stepped intoa prairie dog hole. When she went to it and raised its head it lookedappealingly at her, and she stifled a groan of sympathy and began lookingabout for some means to extricate it. 

She found this no easy task, for the pony's leg was deep in the sand, andwhen she finally dug a space around it with a branch of tree which sheprocured from a nearby grove, the animal struggled out, only to limpbadly. The leg, Sheila decided, after a quick examination, was not broken, but badly sprained, and she knew enough about horses to be certain thatthe injured pony would never be able to carry her to Lazette. 

She would be forced to go to the Double R now, there was nothing else thatshe could do. Standing beside the pony, debating whether she had notbetter walk than try to ride him, even to the Double R, she heard aclatter of hoofs and turned to see Dakota riding the trail toward her. Hewas traveling in the direction she had been traveling when the accidenthad happened, and apparently had left the trail somewhere back in thedistance, or she would have seen him. Perhaps, she speculated, with aflash of dull anger, he had followed her near to Doubler's cabin, perhapshad been near when she had dragged the wounded nester into it. 

His first word showed her that there was ground for this suspicion. Hedrew up beside her and looked at her with a queer smile, and she, aware ofhis guilt, wondered at his composure. 

"You didn't stay long at Doubler's shack, " he said. "I was on a ridge, back on the trail a ways, and I saw you hitting the breeze away from theresome rapid. I was thinking to intercept you, but you went tearing by sofast that I didn't get a chance. You're in an awful hurry. What's wrong?"

"You ought to know that, " she said, bitterly angry because of hispretended serenity. "You--you murderer!"

His face paled instantly, but his voice was clear and sharp. 

"Murderer?" he said sternly. "Who has been murdered?"

"You don't know, of course, " she said scornfully, her face flaming, hereyes alight with loathing and contempt. "You shot him and then let me rideon alone to--to find him, shot--shot in the back! Oh!"

She shuddered at the recollection, held her hands over her eyes for aninstant to keep from looking at the expression of amazement in his eyes, and while she stood thus she heard a movement, and withdrew her hands fromher eyes to see him standing beside her, so close that his body touchedhers, his eyes ablaze with curiosity and interest and repressed anxiety. She cringed and cried with pain as he seized her arm and twisted herforcibly around so that she faced him. 

"Stop this fooling and tell me what has happened!" he said, with short, incisive accents. "Who did you find shot? Who has been murdered?"

Oh, it was admirable acting, she told herself as she tore herself awayfrom him and stood back a little, her eyes flashing with scorn and horror. "You don't know, of course, " she flared. "You shot him--shot him in theback and sent me on to find him. You gloried in the thought of me findinghim dead. But he isn't dead, thank God, and will live, if I can get adoctor, to accuse you!" She pointed a finger at him, but he ignored it andtook a step toward her, his eyes cold and boring into hers. 

"Who?" he demanded. "Who?"

"Ben Doubler. Oh!" she cried, in an excess of rage and horror, "to thinkthat I should have to tell you!"

But if he heard her last words he paid no attention to them, for he wassuddenly at his pony's side, buckling the cinches tighter. She watchedhim, fascinated at the repressed energy of his movements, and became sointerested that she started when he suddenly looked up at her. 

"He isn't dead, then, " he said rapidly, sharply, the words coming withshort, metallic snaps. "You were going to Lazette for a doctor. I'm glad Ihappened along--glad I saw you. I'll be able to make better time thanyou. "

"Where are you going?" she demanded, scarcely having heard his words, though aware that he was preparing to leave. She took a step forward andseized his pony's bridle rein, her eyes blazing with wrath over thethought that he should attempt to deceive her with so bald a ruse. 

"For the doctor, " he said shortly. "This is no time for melodramatics, ma'am, if Doubler is badly hurt. Will you please let go of that bridle?"

"Do you think, " she demanded, her cheeks aflame, her hair, loosened fromthe long ride, straggling over her temples and giving her a singularlydisheveled appearance, "that I am going to let you go for the doctor?You!"

"This isn't a case where your feelings should be considered, ma'am, " hesaid. "If Ben Doubler has been hurt like you think he has I'm going to getthe doctor mighty sudden, whether you think I ought to or not!"

"You won't!" she declared, stamping a; foot furiously. "You shot him andnow you want to disarm suspicion by going after the doctor for him. Butyou won't! I won't let you!"

"You'll have to, " he said rapidly. "The doctor isn't at Lazette; he isover on Carrizo Creek, taking care of Dave Moreland's wife, who is downbad. I saw Dave yesterday, and he was telling me about her; that thedoctor is to stay there until she is out of danger. You don't know whereMoreland's place is. Be sensible, now, " he said gruffly. "I'll talk to youlater about you suspecting me. "

"You shan't go, " she protested; "I am going myself. I will find Moreland'splace. I can't let you go--it would be horrible!"

For answer he swung quickly down from the saddle, seized her by the waist, disengaged her hands from the bridle rein, and picking her up bodilycarried her, struggling and fighting and striking blindly at his face, tothe side of the trail. When he set her down he pinned her arms to hersides. He did not speak, and she was entirely helpless in his grasp, butwhen he released his grasp of her arms and tried to leave her she seizedthe collar of his vest. With a grim laugh he slipped out of the garment, leaving it dangling from her hand. 

"Keep it for me, ma'am, " he said with a cold chuckle. "But get back toDoubler's cabin and see what you can do for him. You'll be able to do alot. I'll be back with the doctor before sundown. "

In an instant he was at his pony's side, mounting with the animal at arun, and in a brief space had vanished around a turn in the trail, leavinga cloud of dust to mark the spot where Sheila had seen him disappear. 

For a long time Sheila stood beside the trail, looking at the spot wherehe had disappeared, holding his vest with an unconscious grasp. Lookingdown she saw it and with an exclamation of rage threw it from her, watching it fall into the sand. But after an instant she went over andtook it up, recovering, at the same time, a black leather pocket memorandawhich had slipped out of it. She put the memoranda back into one of thepockets, handling both the book and the vest gingerly, for she felt anaversion to touching them. She conquered this feeling long enough to tuckthe vest into the slicker behind the saddle, and then she mounted and senther pony up the trail toward Doubler's cabin. 

She found Doubler where she had left him, and he was still unconscious. The water pail was empty and she went down to the river and refilled it, returning to the cabin and again bathing and bandaging Doubler's wound, and placing a fresh cloth on his forehead. 

For a time she sat watching the injured man, revolving the incident of herdiscovery of him in her mind, going over and over again the gruesomedetails. She did not dwell long on the latter, for she could not preventher mind reviewing Dakota's words and actions--his satanic cleverness inpretending to be on the verge of taking her into his confidence, hisprediction that she would understand when this "business" was over. Shedid not need to wait, she understood now!

Finding the silence in the cabin irksome, she rose, placed Doubler's headin a more comfortable position, and went outside into the bright sunshineof the afternoon. She took a turn around the corral, abstractedly watchedthe awkward antics of several yearlings which were penned in a corner, andthen returned to the cabin door, where she sat on the edge of the step. 

Near the side of the cabin door, leaning against the wall, she saw arifle. She started, not remembering to have seen it there before, butpresently she found courage to take it up gingerly, turning it over andover in her hands. 

Some initials had been carved on the stock and she examined them, makingthem out finally as "B. D. "--Doubler's. Examining the weapon she found anempty shell in the chamber, and she nearly dropped the rifle when thethought struck her that perhaps Doubler had been shot with it. She set itdown quickly, shuddering, and for diversion walked to her pony, examiningthe injured leg and rubbing it, the pony nickering gratefully. Returningto the cabin she sat for a long time on the step, but she did not againtake up the rifle. Several times while she sat on the step she heardDoubler moan, and once she got up and went to him, again bathing hiswound, but returning instantly to the door step, for she could not bearthe silence of the interior. 

Suddenly remembering Dakota's vest and the black leather memoranda whichhad dropped from one of the pockets, she got up again and went to thebench where she had laid the garment, taking out the book and regarding itwith some curiosity. 

There was nothing on the cover to suggest what might be the nature of itscontents--time had worn away any printing that might have been on it. Shehesitated, debating the propriety of an examination, but her curiosity gotthe better of her and with a sharp glance at Doubler she turned her backand opened the book. 

Almost the first object that caught her gaze was a piece of paper, detached from the leaves, with some writing on it. The writing seemedunimportant, but as she turned it, intending to replace it between theleaves of the book, she saw her father's name, and she read, holding herbreath with dread, for fresh in her mind was Duncan's charge that herfather had entered into an agreement with Dakota for the murder ofDoubler. She read the words several times, standing beside the bench andswaying back and forth, a sudden weakness gripping her. 

"One month from to-day"--ran the words--"I promise to pay to Dakota thesum of six thousand dollars in consideration of his rights and interest inthe Star brand, provided that within one month from date he persuades BenDoubler to leave Union County. "

Signed: "David Dowd Langford. "

There it was--conclusive, damning evidence of her father's guilt--and ofDakota's!

How cleverly that last clause covered the evil intent of the document!Sheila read it again and again with dry eyes. Her horror and grief weretoo great for tears. She felt that the discovery of the paper removed thelast lingering doubt, and though she had been partially prepared forproof, she had not been prepared to have it thrust so quickly andconvincingly before her. 

How long she sat on the door step she did not know, or care, for at astroke she had lost all interest in everything in the country. Even itspeople interested her only to the point of loathing--they were murderers, even her father. Time represented to her nothing now except a dreary spacewhich, if she endured, would bring the moment in which she could leave. For within the last few minutes she seemed to have been robbed of all thethings which had made existence here endurable and she was determined toend it all. When she finally got up and looked about her she saw that thesun had traveled quite a distance down the sky. A sorrowful smile reachedher face as she watched it. It was going away, and before it couldcomplete another circle she would go too--back to the East from where shehad come, where there were at least _some_ friends who could be dependedupon to commit no atrocious crimes. 

No plan of action formed in her mind; she could not think lucidly with theknowledge that her father was convicted of complicity in an attemptedmurder. 

Would she be able to face her father again? To bid him good-bye? Shethought not. It would be better for both if she departed without him beingaware of her going. He would not care, she told herself bitterly; latelyhe had withheld from her all those little evidences of affection to whichshe had grown accustomed, and it would not be hard for him, he would notmiss her, perhaps would even be glad of her absence, for then he couldcontinue his murderous schemes without fear of her "meddling" with them. 

There was a fascination in the paper on which was written the signedagreement. She read it carefully again, and then concealed it in herbodice, pinning it there so that it would not become lost. Then she roseand went into the cabin, placing the memoranda on a shelf where Dakotawould be sure to find it when he returned with the doctor. She did notcare to read anything contained in it. 

Marveling at her coolness, she went outside again and resumed her seat onthe door step. It was not such a blow to her, after all, and there arosein her mind as she sat on the step a wonder, as to how her father wouldact were she to confront him with evidence of his guilt. Perhaps she wouldnot show him the paper, but she finally became convinced that she musttalk to him, must learn from him in some manner his connection with theattempted murder of Doubler. Then, after receiving from him some signwhich would convince her, she would take her belongings and depart for theEast, leaving him to his own devices. 

Looking up at the sun, she saw that it still had quite a distance totravel before it reached the mountains. Stealing into the cabin, she oncemore fixed the bandages on the wounded man. Then she went out, mounted herpony, and rode through the shallow water of the crossing toward the DoubleR ranch. 

CHAPTER XIV

LANGFORD LAYS OFF THE MASK

The sun was still an hour above the horizon when Sheila rode up to thecorral gates. While removing the saddle and bridle from her pony she notedwith satisfaction that the horse which her father had been accustomed toride was inside the corral. Therefore her father was somewhere about. 

Hanging the saddle and bridle from a rail of the corral fence, she wentinto the house to find that Langford was not there. Duncan's sister curtlyinformed her that she had seen him a few minutes before down at thestables. Sheila went into the office, which was a lean-to addition to theranchhouse, and seating herself at her father's desk picked up a sixmonth's old copy of a magazine and tried to read. 

Finding that she could not concentrate her thoughts, she dropped themagazine into her lap and leaned back with a sigh. From where she sat shehad a good view of the stables, and fifteen minutes later, while she stillwatched, she saw Langford come out of one of the stable doors and walktoward the house. She felt absolutely no emotion whatever over his coming;there was only a mild curiosity in her mind as to the manner in which hewould take the news of her intended departure from the Double R. Sheobserved, with a sort of detached interest, that he looked twice at hersaddle and bridle as he passed them, and so of course he surmised that shehad come in from her ride. For a moment she lost sight of him behind somebuildings, and then he opened the door of the office and entered. 

He stopped on the threshold for an instant and looked at her, evidentlyexpecting her to offer her usual greeting. He frowned slightly when it didnot come, and then smiled. 

"Hello!" he said cordially. "You are back, I see. And tired, " he added, noting her position. He walked over and laid a hand on her forehead andshe involuntarily shrank from his touch, shuddering, for the hand which hehad placed on her forehead was the right one--the hand with which he hadsigned the agreement with Dakota--Doubler's death warrant. 

"Don't, please, " she said. 

"Cross, too?" he said jocularly. 

"Just tired, " she lied listlessly, and with an air of great indifference. 

He looked critically at her for an instant, then smiled again and draggeda chair over near a window and looked out, apparently little concernedover her manner. But she noted that he glanced furtively at her severaltimes, and that he seemed greatly satisfied over something. She wonderedif he had seen Dakota; if he knew that the latter had already attempted tocarry out the agreement to "Persuade Doubler to leave the county. "

"Ride far?" he questioned, turning and facing her, his voice casual. 

"Not very far. "

"The river trail?"

Sheila nodded, and saw a sudden interest flash into his eyes. 

"Which way?" he asked quickly. 

"Down, " she returned. She had not lied, for she _had_ ridden "down, " andthough she had also ridden up the river she preferred to let him guess alittle, for she resented the curiosity in his voice and was determined tobroach the subject which she had in mind in her own time and after themanner that suited her best. 

He had not been interested in her for a long time, had not appeared tocare where she spent her time. Why should he betray interest now? She sawa mysterious smile on his face and knew before he spoke that his apparentinterest in her was not genuine--that he was merely curious. 

"Then you haven't heard the news?" he said softly. He was looking out ofthe window now, and she could not see his face. 

She took up the magazine and turned several pages, pretending to read, butin reality waiting for him to continue. When he made no effort to do soher own curiosity got the better of her. 

"What news?" she questioned, without looking at him. 

"About Doubler, " he said. "He is dead. "

Her surprise was genuine, and her hands trembled as the leaves of themagazine fluttered and closed. Had the nester died since she had left hiscabin? A moment's thought convinced her that this could not be theexplanation, for assuredly she would have seen anyone who had arrived atDoubler's cabin; she had scanned the surrounding country before and afterleaving the vicinity of the crossing and had seen no signs of anyone. Besides, Langford's news seemed to have abided with him a long time--itseemed to her that he had known it for hours. She could not tell why shefelt this, but she was certain that he had not received wordrecently--within an hour or two at any rate--unless he had seen Dakota. 

This seemed to be the secret of his knowledge, and the more she consideredthe latter's excitement during her meeting with him on the trail, the morefully she became convinced that Langford had talked to him. The latter'sanxiety to relieve her of the task of riding to Lazette for the doctor hadbeen spurious; he had merely wanted to be the first to carry the news ofDoubler's death to Langford, and after leaving her he had undoubtedlytaken a roundabout trail for the Double R. Possibly by this time he hadsettled with Langford and was on his way out of the country. 

"Dead?" she said, turning to Langford. "Who----" In her momentaryexcitement she had come very near to asking him who had brought him thenews. She hesitated, for she saw a glint of surprise and suspicion in hiseyes. 

"My dear girl, did I say that he had been 'killed'?"

His smile was without humor. Evidently he had expected that she had beenabout to ask who had killed the nester. 

He looked at her steadily, an intolerant smile playing about the cornersof his mouth. "I am aware that you have been suspicious of me ever sinceyou heard that I had a quarrel with Doubler. But, thank God, my dear, Ihave not that crime to answer for. Doubler, however, has beenkilled--murdered. "

Sheila repressed a desire to shudder, and turned from Langford so that hewould not be able to see the disgust that had come into her eyes over thediscovery that in addition to being a murderer her father was that mostdespicable of all living things--a hypocrite! It required all of hercomposure to be able to look at him again. 

"Who killed him?" she asked evenly. 

"Dakota, my dear. "

"Dakota!" She pronounced the name abstractedly, for she was surprised atthe admission. 

"How do you know that Dakota killed him?" she said, looking straight athim. He changed color, though his manner was still smooth and his smilebland. 

"Duncan was fortunate enough to be in the vicinity when the deed wascommitted, " he told her. "And he saw Dakota shoot him in the back. Withhis own rifle, too. "

There was a quality in his voice which hinted at satisfaction; a peculiaremphasis on the word "fortunate" which caused Sheila to wonder why heshould consider it fortunate that Duncan had seen the murder done, when itwould have been much better for the success of Dakota's and her father'sscheme if there had been no witness to it at all. 

"However, " continued Langford, with a sigh of resignation that causedSheila a shiver of repugnance and horror, "Doubler's death will not be avery great loss to the country. Duncan tells me that he has long beensuspected of cattle stealing, and sooner or later he would have beencaught in the act. And as for Dakota, " he laughed harshly, with a note ofsuppressed triumph that filled her with an unaccountable resentment;"Dakota is an evil in the country, too. Do you remember how he killed thatMexican half-breed over in Lazette that day?--the day I came? Wantonmurder, I call it. Such a man is a danger and a menace, and I shall not besorry to see him hanged for killing Doubler. "

"Then you will have Duncan charge Dakota with the murder?"

"Of course, my dear; why shouldn't I? Assuredly you would not allow Dakotato go unpunished?"

"No, " said Sheila, "Doubler's murderer should be punished. "

Two things were now fixed in her mind as certainties. Dakota had not beento see her father since she had left him on the river trail; he had notreceived his blood-money--would never receive it. Her father had nointention of living up to his agreement with Dakota and intended to allowhim to be hanged. She thought of the signed agreement in her bodice. Langford had given it to Dakota, but she had little doubt that in caseDakota still had it in his possession and dared to produce it, Langfordwould deny having made it--would probably term it a forgery. It washarmless, too; who would be likely to intimate that the clause regardingDakota inducing Doubler to leave the country meant that Langford had hiredDakota to kill the nester? Sheila sat silent, looking at Langford, wondering how it happened that he had been able to masquerade so longbefore her; why she had permitted herself to love a being so depraved, soentirely lacking in principle. 

But a thrill of hope swept over her. Perhaps Doubler would not die? Shehad been considering the situation from the viewpoint of the nester'sdeath, but if Dakota had really been in earnest and had gone for a doctor, there was a chance that the tragedy which seemed so imminent would beturned into something less serious. Immediately her spirits rose and shewas able to smile quietly at Langford when he continued:

"Dakota will be hung, of course; decency demands it. When Duncan came tome with the news I sent him instantly to Lazette to inform the sheriff ofwhat had happened. Undoubtedly he will take Dakota into custody at once. "

"But not for murder, " said Sheila evenly, unable to keep a quiver oftriumph out of her voice. 

"Not?" said Langford, startled. "Why not?"

"Because, " returned Sheila, enjoying the sudden consternation that wasrevealed in her father's face, and drawling her words a little to furtherconfound him; "because Doubler isn't dead. "

"Not dead!" Langford's jaws sagged, and he sat looking at Sheila withwide, staring, vacuous eyes. "Not dead?" he repeated hoarsely. "Why, Duncan told me he had examined him, that he had been shot through thelungs and had bled to death before he left him! How do you know that he isnot dead?" he suddenly demanded, leaning toward her, a wild hope in hiseyes. 

"I went to his cabin before noon, " said Sheila. "I found him lying in thedoorway. He had been shot through the right side, near the shoulder, butnot through the lung, and he was still alive. I dragged him into the cabinand did what I could for him. Then I started for the doctor. "

"For the doctor?" he said incredulously. "Then how does it happen that youare here? You couldn't possibly ride to Lazette and return by this time!"

"I believe I said that I 'started' for the doctor, " said Sheila with aquiet smile. She was enjoying his excitement. "I met Dakota on the trail, and he went. "

Langford continued to stare at her; it seemed that he could not realizethe truth. Then suddenly he was out of his chair and standing over her, his face bloated poisonously, his eyes ablaze with a malignant light. 

"Damn you!" he shrieked. "This is what comes of your infernal meddling!What business had you to interfere? Why didn't you let him die? I've anotion----"

His hands clenched and unclenched before her eyes, and she sat withblanched face, certain that he was about to attack her--perhaps kill her. She did not seem to care much, however, and looked up into his facesteadily and defiantly. 

After a moment, however, he regained control of himself, leaving her sideand pacing rapidly back and forth in the office, cursing bitterly. 

Curiously, Sheila was not surprised at this outburst; she had ratherexpected it since she had become aware of his real character. Nor was shesurprised to discover that he had dropped pretense altogether--he wasbound to do that sooner or later. Her only surprise was at her ownfeelings. She did not experience the slightest concern over him--it was asthough she were talking to a stranger. She was interested to the point oftaking a grim enjoyment out of his confusion, but beyond that she was notinterested in anything. 

It made little difference to her what became of Langford, Dakota, Duncan--any of them, except Doubler. She intended to return to thenester's cabin, to help the doctor make him comfortable--for he had beenthe only person in the country who had shown her any kindness; he was theonly one who had not wronged her, and she was grateful to him. 

Langford was standing over her again, his breath coming short and fast. 

"Where did you see Dakota?" he questioned hoarsely. "Answer!" he added, when she did not speak immediately. 

"On the river trail. "

"Before you found Doubler?"

"Before, yes--and after. I met him twice. "

She discerned his motive in asking these questions, but it made nodifference to her and she answered truthfully. She did not intend toshield Dakota; the fact that Doubler had not been killed outright did notlessen the gravity of the offense in her eyes. 

"Before you found Doubler!" Langford's voice came with a vicious snap. "You met him coming from Doubler's cabin, I suppose?"

"Yes, " she answered wearily, "I met him coming from there. I was on thetrail--going there--and I heard the shot. I know Dakota killed him. "

Langford made an exclamation of satisfaction. 

"Well, it isn't so bad, after all. You'll have to be a witness againstDakota. And very likely Doubler will die--probably is dead by this time;will certainly be dead before the Lazette doctor can reach his cabin. No, my dear, " he added, smiling at Sheila, "it isn't so bad, after all. "

Sheila rose. Her poignant anger against him was equaled only by herdisgust. He expected her to bear witness against Dakota; desired her toparticipate in his scheme to fasten upon the latter the entire blame forthe commission of a crime in which he himself was the moving factor. 

"I shall not bear witness against him, " she told Langford coldly. "For Iam going away--back East--to-morrow. Don't imagine that I have been incomplete ignorance of what has been going on; that I have been unaware ofthe part you have played in the shooting of Doubler. I have known forquite a long while that you had decided to have Doubler murdered, and onlyrecently I learned that you hired Dakota to kill him. And this morning, when I met Dakota on the river trail, he dropped this from a pocket of hisvest. " She fumbled at her bodice and produced the signed agreement, holding it out to him. 

As she expected, he repudiated it, though his face paled a little as heread it. 

"This is a forgery, my dear, " he said, in the old, smooth, even voice thatshe had grown to despise. 

"No, " she returned calmly, "it is not a forgery. You forget that only aminute ago you practically admitted it to be a true agreement by tellingme that I should have allowed Doubler to die. You are an accomplice in theshooting of Doubler, and if I am compelled to testify in Dakota's trial Ishall tell everything I know. "

She watched while he lighted a match, held it to the paper, smiling as thelicking flames consumed it. He was entirely composed now, and through thegathering darkness of the interior of the office she saw a sneer come intohis face. 

"I shall do all I can to assist you to discontinue the associations whichare so distasteful to you. You will start for the East immediately, Ipresume?"

"To-morrow, " she said. "In the afternoon. I shall have my trunks takenover to Lazette in the morning. "

"In the morning?" said Langford, puzzled. "Why not ride over with them, inthe afternoon, in the buckboard?"

"I shall ride my pony. The man can return him. " She took a step toward thedoor, but halted before reaching it, turning to look back at him. 

"I don't think it is necessary for me to say good-by. But you have nottreated me badly in the past, and I thank you--for that--and wish youwell. "

"Where are you going?"

Sheila had walked to the door and stood with one hand on the latch. Hecame and stood beside her, a suppressed excitement in his manner, his eyesgleaming brightly in the dusk which had suddenly fallen. 

"I think I told you that before. Ben Doubler is alone, and he needs care. I am going to him--to stay with him until the doctor arrives. He will dieif someone does not take care of him. "

"You are determined to continue to meddle, are you?" he said, his voicequivering with anger, his lips working strangely. "I am sick of yourdamned interference. Sick of it, I tell you!" His voice lowered to aharsh, throaty whisper. "You won't leave this office until to-morrowafternoon! Do you hear? What business is it of yours if Doubler dies?"

Sheila did not answer, but pressed the door latch. His arm suddenlyinterposed, his fingers closing on her arm, gripping it so tightly thatshe cried out with pain. Then suddenly his fingers were boring into hershoulders; she was twisted, helpless in his brutal grasp, and flung bodilyinto the chair beside the desk, where she sat, sobbing breathlessly. 

She did not cry out again, but sat motionless, her lips quivering, rubbingher shoulders where his iron fingers had sunk into the flesh, her soulfilled with a revolting horror for his brutality. 

For a moment there was no movement. Then, in the semi-darkness she saw himleave the door; watched him as he approached a shelf on which stood akerosene lamp, lifted the chimney and applied a match to the wick. For aninstant after replacing the chimney he stood full in the glare of light, his face contorted with rage, his eyes gleaming with venom. 

"Now you know exactly where I stand, you--you huzzy!" he said, grinningsatyrically as she winced under the insult. "I'm your father, damn you!Your father--do you hear? And I'll not have you go back East to gab andgossip about me. You'll stay here, and you'll bear witness against Dakota, and you'll keep quiet about me!" He was trembling horribly as he cameclose to her, and his breath was coughing in his throat shrilly. 

"I won't do anything of the kind!" Sheila got to her feet, and stood, rigid with anger, her eyes flaming defiance. "I am going to Doubler'scabin this minute, and if you molest me again I shall go to the sheriffwith my story!"

He seemed about to attack her again, and his hands were raised as thoughto grasp her throat, when there came a sound at the door, it swung open, and Dakota stepped in, closing the door behind him. 

Dakota's face was white--white as it had been that other day at thequicksand crossing when Sheila had looked up to see him sitting on hispony, watching her. There was an entire absence of excitement in hismanner, though; no visible sign to tell that what he had seen on enteringthe cabin disturbed him in the least. Yet the whiteness of his face beliedthis apparent composure. It seemed to Sheila that his eyes betrayed thestrong emotion that was gripping him. 

She retreated to the chair beside the desk and sank into it. Langford hadwheeled and was now facing Dakota, a shallow smile on his face. 

There was a smile on Dakota's face, too; a mysterious, cold, prepared grinthat fascinated Sheila as she watched him. The smile faded a little whenhe spoke to Langford, his voice vibrating, as though he had been running. 

"When you're fighting a woman, Langford, you ought to make sure thereisn't a man around!"

Mingling with Sheila's recognition of the obvious and admirable philosophyof this statement was a realization that Dakota must have been ridinghard. There was much dust on his clothing, the scarf at his neck was thickwith it; it streaked his face, his voice was husky, his lips dry. 

Langford did not answer him, stepping back against the desk and regardinghim with a mirthless, forced smile which, Sheila was certain, he hadassumed in order to conceal his fear of the man who stood before him. 

"So you haven't got any thoughts just at this minute, " said Dakota withcold insinuation. "You are one of those men who can talk bravely enough towomen, but who can't think of anything exactly proper for a man to hear. Well, you'll do your talking later. " He looked at Sheila, ignoringLangford completely. 

"I expect you've been wondering, ma'am, why I'm here, when I ought to beover at the Two Forks, trying to do something for Doubler. But thedoctor's there, taking care of him. The reason I've come is that I'vefound this in Doublet's cabin. " He drew out the memoranda which Sheila hadplaced on the shelf in the cabin, holding it up so that she might see. 

"You took my vest, " he went on. "And I was looking for it. I found it allright, but something was missing. You're the only one who has been toDoubler's cabin since I left there, I expect, and it must have been youwho opened this book. It isn't in the same shape it was when you pulled itoff me when I was talking to you down there on the river trail--somethinghas been taken out of it, a paper. That's why I rode over here--to see ifyou'd got it. Have you, ma'am?"

Sheila pointed mutely to the floor, where a bit of thin, crinkled ash wasall that remained of the signed agreement. 

"Burned!" said Dakota sharply. 

He caught Sheila's nod and questioned coldly:

"Who burned it?"

"My--Mr. Langford, " returned Sheila. 

"You found it and showed it to him, and he burned it, " said Dakota slowly. "Why?"

"Don't you see?" Sheila's eyes mocked Langford as she intercepted hisgaze, which had been fixed on Dakota. "It was evidence against him, " sheconcluded, indicating her father. 

"I reckon I see. " The smile was entirely gone out of Dakota's face now, and as he turned to look at Langford there was an expression in his eyeswhich chilled the latter. 

"You've flunked on the agreement. You've burned it--won't recognize it, eh? Well, I'm not any surprised. "

Langford had partially recovered from the shock occasioned by Dakota'sunexpected appearance, and he shook his head in emphatic, brazen denial. 

"There was no agreement between us, my friend, " he said. "The paper Iburned was a forgery. "

Dakota's lips hardened. "You called me your friend once before, Langford, "he said coldly. "Don't do it again or I'll forget that you are Sheila'sfather. I reckon she has told you about Doubler. That's why I came overhere to get the paper, for I knew that if you got hold of it you'd makeshort work of it. I know something else. " He took a step forward and triedto hold Langford's gaze, his own eyes filled with a snapping menace. "Iknow that you've sent Duncan to Lazette for the sheriff. The doctor toldme he'd met him, --Duncan--and the doctor says Duncan told him that you'dsaid that I fixed Doubler. How do you know I did?"

"Duncan saw you, " said Langford. 

Dakota's lips curled. "Duncan tell you that?" he questioned. 

At Langford's nod he laughed harshly. "So it's a plant, eh?" he said, witha mirthless chuckle. "You are figuring to get two birds with onestone--Doubler and me. You've already got Doubler, or think you have, andnow it's my turn. It does look pretty bad for me, for a fact, doesn't it?You've burned the agreement you made with me, so that you could slip outof your obligation. I reckon you think that after the sheriff gets meyou'll be able to take the Star without any trouble--like you expect totake Doubler's land. 

"You've got Duncan to swear that he saw me do for Doubler, and you've gotyour daughter to testify that she saw me on the trail, coming fromDoubler's cabin right after she heard the shooting. It was a right cleverscheme, but it was my fault for letting you get anything on me--I ought tohave known that you'd try some dog's trick or other. "

His voice was coming rapidly, sharply, and was burdened with a lashingsarcasm. "Yes, it's a right clever scheme, Mister Langford, and it oughtto be successful. But there's one thing you've forgot. I've lived too longin this country to let anyone tangle me up like you'd like to have me. When a man gets double crossed in this country, he can't go to the law forredress--he makes his own laws. I'm making mine. You've double crossed me, and damn your hide, I'm going to send you over the divide in a hurry!"

One of his heavy revolvers leaped from its holster and showed for aninstant in his right hand. Sheila had been watching closely, forewarned byDakota's manner, and when she saw his right hand drop to the holster shesprang upon him, catching the weapon by the muzzle. 

Langford had covered his face with his hands, and stood beside the desk, trembling, and Sheila cried aloud in protest when she saw Dakota draw theweapon that swung at his other hip, holding her off with the hand whichshe had seized. But when Dakota saw Langford's hands go to his face hehesitated, smiling scornfully. He turned to Sheila, looking down at herface close to his, his smile softening. 

"I forgot, " he said gently; "I forgot he is your father. "

"It isn't that, " she said. "He isn't my father, any more. But--" shelooked at Dakota pleadingly--"please don't shoot him. Go--leave thecountry. You have plenty of time. You have enough to answer for. Pleasego!"

For answer he grasped her by the shoulders, swinging her around so thatshe faced him, --as he had forced her to face him that day on the rivertrail--and there was a regretful, admiring gleam in his eyes. 

"You told him--" he jerked a thumb toward Langford--"that you wouldn'tbear witness against me. I heard you. You're a true blue girl, and yourfather's a fool or he wouldn't lose you, like he is going to lose you. IfI had you I would take mighty good care that you didn't get away from me. You've given me some mighty good advice, and I would act on it if I wasguilty of shooting Doubler. But I didn't shoot him--your father and Duncanhave framed up on me. Doubler isn't dead yet, and so I'm not running away. If Doubler had someone to nurse him, he might--" He hesitated and lookedat her with a strange smile. "You think I shot Doubler, too, don't you?Well, there's a chance that if we can get Doubler revived he can tell whodid shoot him. Do you want to know the truth? I heard you say a while ago, while I was standing at the window, looking in at your father giving ademonstration of his love for you, that you intended going over toDoubler's shack to nurse him. If you're still of the same mind, I'll takeyou over there. "

Sheila was at the door in an instant, but halted on the threshold tolisten to Dakota's parting word to Langford. 

"Mister man, " he said enigmatically, "there's just one thing that I wantto say to you. There's a day coming when you'll think thoughts--plenty ofthem. "

In a flash he had stepped outside the door and closed it after him. 

A few minutes later, still standing beside the desk, Langford heard therapid beat of hoofs on the hard sand of the corral yard. Faint theybecame, and their rhythmic beat faster, until they died away entirely. ButDakota's words still lingered in Langford's mind, and it seemed to himthat they conveyed a prophecy. 

CHAPTER XV

THE PARTING ON THE RIVER TRAIL

"I'll be leaving you now, ma'am. " There was a good moon, and its mellowlight streamed full into Dakota's grim, travel-stained face as he haltedhis pony on the crest of a slope above the Two Forks and pointed out alight that glimmered weakly through the trees on a level some distance onthe other side of the river. 

"There's Doubler's cabin--where you see that light, " he continued, speaking to Sheila in a low voice. "You've been there before, and youwon't get lost going the rest of the way alone. Do what you can forDoubler. I'm going down to my shack. I've done a heap of riding to-day, and I don't feel exactly like I want to keep going on, unless it'simportant. Besides, maybe Doubler will get along a whole lot better if Idon't hang around there. At least, he'll do as well. "

Sheila had turned her head from him. He was exhibiting a perfectly naturalaversion toward visiting the man he had nearly killed, she assured herselfwith a shudder, and she felt no pity for him. He had done her a service, however, in appearing at the Double R at a most opportune time, and shewas grateful. Therefore she lingered, finding it hard to choose words. 

"I am sorry, " she finally said. 

"Thank you. " He maneuvered his pony until the moonlight streamed in herface. "I reckon you've got the same notion as your father--that I shotDoubler?" he said, watching her narrowly. "You are willing to takeDuncan's word for it?"

"Duncan's word, and the agreement which I found in the pocket of yourvest, " she returned, without looking at him. "I suppose that is proofenough?"

"Well, " he said with a bitter laugh, "it does look bad for me, for a fact. I can't deny that. And I don't blame you for thinking as you do. But youheard what I told your father about the shooting of Doubler being aplant. "

"A plant?"

"A scheme, a plot--to make an innocent man seem guilty. That is what hasbeen done with me. I didn't shoot Doubler. I wouldn't shoot him. "

She looked at him now, unbelief in her eyes. 

"Of course you would deny it, " she said. 

"Well, " he said resignedly, "I reckon that's all. I can't say that Iexpected anything else. I've done some things in my life that I'veregretted, but I've never told a lie when the truth would do as well. There is no reason now why I should lie, and so I want you to know that Iam telling the truth when I say that I didn't shoot Doubler. Won't youbelieve me?"

"No, " she returned, unaffected by the earnestness in his voice. "You wereat Doubler's cabin when I heard the shot--I met you on the trail. Youkilled that man, Blanca, over in Lazette, for nothing. You didn't need tokill him; you shot him in pure wantonness. But you killed Doubler formoney. You would have killed my father had I not been there to preventyou. Perhaps you can't help killing people. You have my sympathy on thataccount, and I hope that in time you will do better--will reform. But Idon't believe you. "

"You forgot to mention one other crime, " he reminded her in a low voice, not without a trace of sarcasm. 

"I have not forgotten it. I will never forget it. But I forgive you, forin comparison to your other crimes your sin against me was trivial--thoughit was great enough. "

Again his bitter laugh reached her ears. "I thought, " he began, and thenstopped short. "Well, I reckon it doesn't make much difference what Ithought. I would have to tell you many things before you would understand, and even then I suppose you wouldn't believe me. So I am keeping quietuntil--until the time comes. Maybe that won't be so long, and then you'llunderstand. I'll be seeing you again. "

"I am leaving this country to-morrow, " she informed him coldly. 

She saw him start and experienced a sensation of vindictive satisfaction. 

"Well, " he said, with a queer note of regret in his voice, "that's toobad. But I reckon I'll be seeing you again anyway, if the sheriff doesn'tget me. "

"Do you think they will come for you to-night?" she asked, suddenlyremembering that her father had told her that Duncan had gone to Lazettefor the sheriff. "What will they do?"

"Nothing, I reckon. That is, they won't do anything except take me intocustody. They can't do anything until Doubler dies. "

"If he doesn't die?" she said. "What can they do then?"

"Usually it isn't considered a crime to shoot a man--if he doesn't die. Likely they wouldn't do anything to me if Doubler gets well. They mightwant me to leave the country. But I don't reckon that I'm going to letthem take me--whether Doubler dies or not. Once they've got a man it'spretty easy to prove him guilty--in this country. Usually they hang a manand consider the evidence afterward. I'm not letting them do that to me. If I was guilty, I suppose I might look at it differently, but maybenot. "

Sheila was silent; he became silent, too, and looked gravely at her. 

"Well, " he said presently, "I'll be going. " He urged his pony forward, butwhen it had gone only a few steps he turned and looked back at her. "Doyour best to keep Doubler alive, " he said. 

There was a note of the old mockery in his voice, and it lingered long inSheila's ears after she had watched him vanish into the mysterious shadowsthat surrounded the trail. Stiffling a sigh of regret and pity, she spoketo her pony, and the animal shuffled down the long slope, forded theriver, and so brought her to the door of Doubler's cabin. 

The doctor was there; he was bending over Doubler at the instant Sheilaentered the cabin, and he looked up at her with grave, questioning eyes. 

"I am going to nurse him, " she informed the doctor. 

"That's good, " he returned softly; "he needs lots of care--the care that awoman can give him. "

Then he went off into a maze of medical terms and phrases that left herconfused, but out of which she gathered the fact that the bullet hadmissed a vital spot, that Doubler was suffering more from shock than fromreal injury, and that the only danger--his constitution being strongenough to withstand the shock--would be from blood poisoning. He had somefever, the doctor told Sheila, and he left a small vial on a shelf withinstructions to administer a number of drops of its contents in a spoonfulof water if Doubler became restless. The bandages were to be changedseveral times a day, and the wound bathed. 

The doctor was glad that she had come, for he had a very sick patient inMrs. Moreland, and he must return to her immediately. He would try to lookin in a day or two. No, he said, in answer to her question, she could notleave Doubler to-morrow, even to go home--if she wanted the patient to getwell. 

And so Sheila watched him as he went out and saddled his horse and rodeaway down the river trail. Then with a sigh she returned to the cabin, closed the door, and took up her vigil beside the nester. 

CHAPTER XVI

SHERIFF ALLEN TAKES A HAND

The sheriff's posse--three men whom he had deputized in Lazette andhimself--had ridden hard over the twenty miles of rough trail fromLazette, for Duncan had assured Allen that he would have to get intoaction before Dakota could discover that there had been a witness to hisdeed, and therefore when they arrived at the edge of the clearing nearDakota's cabin at midnight, they were glad of an opportunity to dismountand stretch themselves. 

There was no light in Dakota's cabin, no sign that the man the sheriff wasafter was anywhere about, and the latter consulted gravely with his men. 

"This ain't going to be any picnic, boys, " he said. "We've got to take ourtime and keep our eyes open. Dakota ain't no spring chicken, and if hedon't want to come with us peaceable, he'll make things plumb lively. "

A careful examination of the horses in the corral resulted in thediscovery of one which had evidently been ridden hard and unsaddled but afew minutes before, for its flanks were in a lather and steam rose fromits sides. 

However, the discovery of the pony told the sheriff nothing beyond thefact that Dakota had ridden to the cabin from somewhere, some time before. Whether he was asleep, or watching the posse from some vantage pointwithin or outside of the cabin was not quite clear. Therefore Allen, thesheriff, a man of much experience, advised caution. After another carefulreconnoiter, which settled beyond all reasonable doubt the fact thatDakota was not secreted in the timber in the vicinity of the cabin, Allentold his deputies to remain concealed on the edge of the clearing, whilehe proceeded boldly to the door of the cabin and knocked loudly. He andDakota had always been very friendly. 

At the sound of the knock, Dakota's voice came from within the cabin, burdened with mockery. 

"Sorry, Allen, " it said, "but I'm locked up for the night. Can't take anychances on leaving my door unbarred--can't tell who's prowling around. Ifyou'd sent word, now, so I would have had time to dress decently, I mighthave let you in, seeing it's you. I'm sure some sorry. "

"Sorry, too. " Allen grinned at the door. "I told the boys you'd bewatching. Well, it can't be helped, I reckon. Only, I'd like mighty wellto see you. Coming out in the morning?"

"Maybe. Missed my beauty sleep already. " His voice was dryly sarcastic. "It's too bad you rode this far for nothing; can't even get a look at me. But it's no time to visit a man, anyway. You and your boys flop outside. We'll swap palaver in the morning. Good night. "

"Good night. "

Allen returned to the edge of the clearing, where he communicated to hismen the result of the conference. 

"He ain't allowing that he wants to be disturbed just now, " he told them. "And he's too damned polite to monkey with. We'll wait. Likely he'llchange his mind over-night. "

"Wait nothing, " growled Duncan. "Bust the door in!"

Allen grinned mildly. "Good advice, " he said quietly. "Me and my men willset here while you do the busting. Don't imagine that we'll be sorebecause you take the lead in such a little matter as that. "

"If I was the sheriff----" began Duncan. 

"Sure, " interrupted Allen with a dry laugh; "if you was the sheriff. There's a lot of things we'd do if we was somebody else. Maybe breakingdown Dakota's door is one of them. But we don't want anyone killed if wecan help it, and it's a dead sure thing that some one would cash in if wetried any monkey business with that door. If you're wanting to dosomething that amounts to something to help this game along, swap yourcayuse for one of Dakota's and hit the breeze to the Double R for grub. We'll be needing it by the time you get back. "

Duncan had already ridden over sixty miles within the past twenty-fourhours, and he made a grumbling rejoinder. But in the end he roped one ofDakota's horses, saddled it, and presently vanished in the darkness. Allenand his men built a fire near the edge of the clearing and rolled intotheir blankets. 

At eight o'clock the following morning, Langford appeared on the rivertrail, leading a pack horse loaded with provisions and cooking utensilsfor the sheriff and his men. Duncan, Langford told Allen while theybreakfasted, had sought his bunk, being tired from the day's activities. 

"You're the owner of the Double R?" questioned Allen. 

"You and Dakota friendly?" he questioned again, noting Langford's nod. 

"We've been quite friendly, " smiled Langford. 

"But you ain't now?"

"Not since this has happened. We must have law and order, even at theprice of friendship. "

Allen squinted a mildly hostile eye at Langford. "That's a good principleto get back of--for a weak-kneed friendship. But most men who have gotfriends wouldn't let a little thing like law and order interfere betweenthem. "

Langford reddened. "I haven't known Dakota long of course, " he defended. "Perhaps I erred in saying we were friends. Acquaintances would betterdescribe it I think. "

Allen's eye narrowed again with an emotion that Langford could not fathom. "I always had a heap of faith in Dakota's judgment, " he said. And then, when Langford's face flushed with a realization of the subtle insult, Allen said gruffly:

"You say Doubler's dead?"

"I don't remember to have said that to you, " returned Langford, his voicesnapping with rage. "What I did say was that Duncan saw him killed andcame to me with the news. I sent him for you. Since then my daughter hasbeen over to Doubler's cabin. He is quite dead, she reported, " he lied. "There can be no doubt of his guilt, if that is what bothers you, " hecontinued. "Duncan saw him shoot Doubler in the back with Doubler's ownrifle, and my daughter heard the shot and met Dakota coming from Doubler'scabin, immediately after. It's a clear case, it seems to me. "

"Yes, clear, " said Allen. "The evidence is all against him. "

Yet it was not all quite clear to Langford. To be sure, he had expected toreceive news that Dakota had accomplished the destruction of Doubler, buthe had not anticipated the fortunate appearance of Duncan at the nester'scabin during the commission of the murder, nor had he expected Sheila tobe near the scene of the crime. It had turned out better than he hadplanned, for since he had burned the agreement that he had made withDakota, the latter had no hold on him whatever, and if it were finallyproved that he had committed the crime there would come an end to bothDakota and Doubler. 

Only one thing puzzled him. Dakota had been to his place, he knew that hewas charged with the murder and that the agreement had been burned. Healso knew that Duncan and Sheila would bear witness against him. And yet, though he had had an opportunity to escape, he had not done so. Why not?

He put this interrogation to Allen, carefully avoiding reference toanything which would give the sheriff any idea that he possessed anysuspicion that Dakota was not really guilty. 

"That's what's bothering me!" declared the latter. "He's had time enoughto hit the breeze clear out of the Territory. Though, " he added, squintingat Langford, "Dakota ain't never been much on the run. He'd a heap ratherface the music. Damn the cuss!" he exploded impatiently. 

He finished his breakfast in silence, and then again approached the doorof Dakota's cabin, knocking loudly, as before. 

"I'm wanting that palaver now, Dakota, " he said coaxingly. 

He heard Dakota laugh. "Have you viewed the corpse, Allen?" came hisvoice, burdened with mockery. 

"No, " said Allen. 

"You're a hell of a sheriff--wanting to take a man when you don't knowwhether he's done anything. "

"I reckon you ain't fooling me none, " said Allen slowly. "The evidence isdead against you. "

"What evidence?"

"Duncan saw you fixing Doubler, and Langford's daughter met you comingfrom his cabin. "

"Who told you that?"

"Langford. He's just brought some grub over. "

The silence that followed Allen's words lasted long, and the sherifffidgeted impatiently. When he again spoke there was the sharpness ofintolerance in his voice. 

"If talking to you was all I had to do, I might monkey around here allsummer, " he said. "I've give you about eight hours to think this thingover, and that's plenty long enough. I don't like to get into any gunargument with you, because I know that somebody will get hurt. Why in helldon't you surrender decently? I'm a friend of yours and you hadn't oughtto want to make any trouble for me. And them's good boys that I've gotover there and I wouldn't want to see any of them perforated. And I'd hatelike blazes to have to put you out of business. Why don't you act decentand come out like a man?"

"Go and look at the corpse, " insisted Dakota. 

"There'll be plenty of time to look at the corpse after you're took. "

There was no answer. Allen sighed regretfully. "Well, " he said presently, "I've done what I could. From now on, I'm looking for you. "

"Just a minute, Allen, " came Dakota's voice. To Allen's surprise he hearda fumbling at the fastenings of the door, and an instant later it swungopen and Dakota stood in the opening, one of his six-shooters in hand. 

"I reckon I know you well enough to be tolerably sure that you'll get mebefore you leave here, " he said, as Allen wheeled and faced him, his armsfolded over his chest as a declaration of his present peaceful intentions. "But I want you to get this business straight before anything is started. And then you'll be responsible. I'm giving it to you straight. Somebody'sframed up on me. I didn't shoot Doubler. When I left him he was cleaninghis rifle. After I left him I heard shooting. I thought it was him tryinghis rifle, or I would have gone back. 

"Then I met Sheila Langford on the river trail, near the cabin. She'dheard the shooting, too. She thinks I did it. You think I did it, andDuncan says he saw me do it. Doubler isn't dead. At least he wasn't deadwhen I left the doctor with him at sundown. But he wasn't far from it, andif he dies without coming to it's likely that things will look bad for me. But because I knew he wasn't dead I took a chance on staying here. I amnot allowing that I'm going to let anyone hang me for a thing I didn't do, and so if you're determined to get me without making sure that Doubler'sgoing to have mourners immediately, it's a dead sure thing that some one'sgoing to get hurt. I reckon that's all. I've given you fair warning, andafter you get back to the edge of the clearing our friendship don't countany more. "

He stepped back and closed the door. 

Allen walked slowly toward the clearing, thinking seriously. He saidnothing to Langford or his men concerning his conversation with Dakota, and though he covertly questioned the former he could discover nothingmore than that which the Double R owner had already told him. Severaltimes during the morning he was on the point of planning an attack on thecabin, but Dakota's voice had a ring of truth in it and he delayed action, waiting for some more favorable turn of events. 

And so the hours dragged. The men lounged in the shade of the trees andtalked; Langford--though he had no further excuse for staying--remained, concealing his impatience over Allen's inaction by taking short rides, butalways returning; Allen, taciturn, morose even, paid no attention to him. 

The afternoon waned; the sun descended to the peaks of the mountains, andthere was still inaction on Allen's part, still silence from the cabin. Just at sundown Allen called his men to him and told them to guard thecabin closely, not to shoot unless forced by Dakota, but to be certainthat he did not escape. 

He said they might expect him to return by dawn of the following morning. Then, during Langford's absence on one of his rides, he loped his pony upthe river trail toward Ben Doubler's cabin. 

CHAPTER XVII

DOUBLER TALKS

After the departure of the doctor Sheila entered the cabin and closed thedoor, fastening the bars and drawing a chair over near the table. Doublerseemed to be resting easier, though there was a flush in his cheeks thattold of the presence of fever. However, he breathed more regularly andwith less effort than before the coming of the doctor, and as aconsequence, Sheila felt decidedly better. At intervals during the nightshe gave him quantities of the medicine which the doctor had left, butonly when the fever seemed to increase, forcing the liquid through hislips. Several times she changed the bandages, and once or twice during thenight when he moaned she pulled her chair over beside him and smoothed hisforehead, soothing him. When the dawn came it found her heavy eyed andtired. 

She went to the river and procured fresh water, washed her hands and face, prepared a breakfast of bacon and soda biscuit--which she found in a tinbox in a corner of the cabin, and then, as Doubler seemed to be doingnicely, she saddled her pony and took a short gallop. Returning, sheentered the cabin, to find Doubler tossing restlessly. 

She gave him a dose of the medicine--an extra large one--but it had littleeffect, quieting him only momentarily. Evidently he was growing worse. Thethought aroused apprehension in her mind, but she fought it down andstayed resolutely at the sick man's side. 

Through the slow-dragging hours of the morning she sat beside him, givinghim the best care possible under the circumstances, but in spite of herefforts the fever steadily rose, and at noon he sat suddenly up in thebunk and gazed at her with blazing, vacuous eyes. 

"You're a liar!" he shouted. "Dakota's square!"

Sheila stifled a scream of fear and shrank from him. But recovering, shewent to him, seizing his shoulders and forcing him back into the bunk. Hedid not resist, not seeming to pay any attention to her at all, but hemumbled, inexpressively:

"It ain't so, I tell you. He's just left me, an' any man which could talklike he talked to me ain't--I reckon not, " he said, shaking his head witha vigorous, negative motion; "you're a heap mistaken--you ain't got himright at all. "

He was quiet for a time after this, but toward the middle of the afternoonSheila saw that his gaze was following her as she paced softly back andforth in the cabin. 

"So you're stuck on that Langford girl, are you?" he demanded, laughing. "Well, it won't do you any good, Dakota, she's--well, she's some sore atyou for something. She won't listen to anything which is said about you. "The laughter died out of his eyes; they became cold with menace. "I ain'tlistenin' to any more of that sorta talk, I tell you! I've got my eyesopen. Why!" he said in surprise, starting up, "he's gone!" He suddenlyshuddered and cursed. "In the back, " he said. "You--you----" And profanitygushed from his lips. Then he collapsed, closing his eyes, and lay silentand motionless. 

Out of the jumble of disconnected sentences Sheila was able to gather twothings of importance--perhaps three. 

The first was that some one had told him of Dakota's complicity in theplan to murder him and that he refused to believe his friend capable ofsuch depravity. The second was that he knew who had shot him; he also knewthe man who had informed him of Dakota's duplicity--though this knowledgewould amount to very little unless he recovered enough to be able tosupply the missing threads. 

Sheila despaired of him supplying anything, for it seemed that he wassteadily growing worse, and when the dusk came she began to feel a dreadof remaining with him in the cabin during the night. If only the doctorwould return! If Dakota would come--Duncan, her father, anybody! Butnobody came, and the silence around the cabin grew so oppressive that shefelt she must scream. When darkness succeeded dusk she lighted thekerosene lamp, placed a bar over the window, secured the door fastenings, and seated herself at the table, determined to take a short nap. 

It seemed that she had scarcely dropped off to sleep--though in realityshe had been unconscious for more than two hours--when she awoke suddenly, to see Doubler sitting erect in the bunk, watching her with a wan, sympathetic smile. There was the light of reason in his eyes and her heartgave an ecstatic leap. 

"Could you give me a drink of water, ma'am?" he said, in the voice thatshe knew well. 

She sprang to the pail, to find that it contained very little. She hadlifted it, and was about to unfasten the door, intending to go to theriver to procure fresh water, when Doubler's voice arrested her. 

"There's some water there--I can hear it splashin': It'll do well enoughjust now. I don't want much. You can get some fresh after a while. I wantto talk to you. "

She placed the pail down and went over to him, standing beside him. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"How long have you been here? I knowed you was here all the time--I keptseein' you, but somehow things was a little mixed. But I know that you'vebeen here quite a while. How long?"

"This is the second night. "

"You found me layin' there--in the door. I dropped there, not bein' ableto go any further. I felt you touchin' me--draggin' me. There was someoneelse here, too. Who was it?"

"The doctor and Dakota. "

"Where's Dakota now?"

"At his cabin, I suppose. He didn't stay here long--he left right after hebrought the doctor. I imagine you know why he didn't stay. He was afraidthat you would recognize him and accuse him. "

"Accuse him of what, ma'am?"

"Of shooting you. "

He smiled. "I reckon, ma'am, that you don't understand. It wasn't Dakotathat shot me. "

"Who did, then?" she questioned eagerly. "Who?"

"Duncan. "

"Why--why----" she said, sitting suddenly erect, a mysterious elationfilling her, her eyes wide with surprise and delight, and a fear thatDoubler might have been mistaken--"Why, I saw Dakota on the river trailjust after you were shot. "

"He'd just left me. He hadn't been gone more than ten minutes or so whenDuncan rode up--comin' out of the timber just down by the crick. Likelyhe'd been hidin' there. I was cleanin' my rifle; we had words, and when Iset my rifle down just outside the shack, he grabbed it an' shot me. Afterthat I don't seem to remember a heap, except that someone was touchin'me--which must have been you. "

"Oh!" she said. "I am _so_ glad!"

She was thinking now of Dakota's parting words to her the night before onthe crest of the slope above the river, --of his words, of the truth of hisstatement denying his guilt, and she was glad that she had not spoken someof the spiteful things which had been in her mind. How she had misjudgedhim!

"I reckon it's something to be glad for, " smiled Doubler, misunderstandingher elation, "but I reckon I owe it to you--I'd have pulled my freightsure, if you hadn't come when you did. An' I told you not to be comin'here any more. " He laughed. "Ain't it odd how things turn out--sometimes. I'd have died sure, " he repeated. 

"You are going to live a long while, " she said. And then, to his surprise, she bent over and kissed his forehead, leaving his side instantly, hercheeks aflame, her eyes alight with a mysterious fire. To conceal heremotion from Doubler she seized the water pail. 

"I will get some fresh water, " she said, with a quick, smiling glance athim. "You'll want a fresh drink, and your bandages must be changed. "

She opened the door and stepped down into the darkness. 

There was a moon, and the trail to the river was light enough for her tosee plainly, but when she reached the timber clump in which Doubler hadsaid Duncan had been hiding, she shuddered and made a detour to avoidpassing close to it. This took her some distance out of her way, and shereached the river and walked along its bank for a little distance, searching for a deep accessible spot into which she could dip the pail. 

The shallow crossing over which she had ridden many times was not faraway, and when she stooped to fill the pail she heard a sudden clatter andsplashing, and looked up to see a horseman riding into the water from theopposite side of the river. 

He saw her at the instant she discovered him, and once over the ford heturned his horse and rode directly toward her. 

After gaining the bank he halted his pony and looked intently at her. 

"You're Langford's daughter, I reckon, " he said. 

"Yes, " she returned, seeing that he was a stranger; "I am. "

"I'm Ben Allen, " he said shortly; "the sheriff of this county. What areyou doing here?"

"I am taking care of Ben Doubler, " she said; "he has been----"

"Then he ain't dead, of course, " said Allen, interrupting her. It seemedto Sheila that there was relief and satisfaction in his voice, and shepeered closer at him, but his face was hidden in the shadow of his hatbrim. 

"He is very much better now, " she told him, scarcely able to conceal herdelight. "But he has been very bad. "

"Able to talk?"

"Yes. He has just been talking to me. " She took a step toward him, speaking earnestly and rapidly. "I suppose you are looking for Dakota, "she said, remembering what her father had told her about sending Duncan toLazette for the sheriff. "If you are looking for him, I want to tell youthat he didn't shoot Doubler. It was Duncan. Doubler told me so not overfive minutes ago. He said----"

But Allen had spurred his pony forward, and before she could finish he wasout of hearing distance, riding swiftly toward the cabin. 

Sheila lingered at the water's edge, for now suddenly she saw much beautyin the surrounding country, and she was no longer lonesome. She stood onthe bank of the river, gazing long at the shadowy rims of the distantmountains, at their peaks, rising majestically in the luminous mist of thenight; at the plains, stretching away and fading into the mysteriousshadows of the distance; watching the waters of the river, shimmering likequicksilver--a band of glowing ribbon winding in and out and around themoon-touched buttes of the canyons. 

"Oh!" she said irrelevantly, "he isn't so bad, after all!"

Stooping over again to fill the pail, she heard a sharp clatter of hoofsbehind her. A horseman was racing toward the river--toward her--bendinglow over his pony's mane, riding desperately. She placed the pail down andwatched him. Apparently he did not see her, for, swerving suddenly, hemade for the crossing without slackening speed. He had almost reached thewater's edge when there came a spurt of flame from the door of Doubler'scabin, followed by the sharp whip like crack of a rifle!

In the doorway of the cabin, clearly outlined against the flickering lightof the interior, was a man. And as Sheila watched another streak of fireburst from the door, and she heard the shrill sighing of the bullet, heardthe horseman curse. But he did not stop in his flight, and in an instanthe had crossed the river. She saw him for an instant as he was outlinedagainst the clear sky in the moonlight that bathed the crest of the slope, and then he was gone. 

Dropping the pail, Sheila ran toward the cabin, fearing that Doubler hadsuddenly become delirious and had attacked Allen. But it seemed to herthat it had not been Allen who had raced away from the cabin, and she hadnot gone more than half way toward it when she saw another horsemancoming. She halted to wait for him, and when he halted and drew up besideher she saw that it was the sheriff. 

"Who was it?" she demanded, breathlessly. 

"Duncan!" Allen cursed picturesquely and profanely. "When I got to theshack he was inside, standing over Doubler, strangling him. The damnedskunk! You was right, " he added; "it was him who shot Doubler!" Hecontinued rapidly, grimly, taking a piece of paper from a pocket andwriting something on it. 

"My men have got Dakota corraled in his cabin. If he tries to get awaythey will do for him. I don't want that to happen; there's too few squaremen in the country as it is. Take this"--he held out the paper toher--"and get down to Dakota's cabin with it. Give it to Bud--one of mymen--and tell him to scatter the others and try to head off Duncan if hecomes that way. I'm after him!"

The paper fluttered toward her, she snatched at it, missed it, and stoopedto take it from the ground. When she stood erect she saw Allen and hispony silhouetted for an instant on the crest of the ridge on the otherside of the river. Then he vanished. 

CHAPTER XVIII

FOR DAKOTA

Though in a state of anxiety and excitement over the incident of Duncan'sattack on Doubler and the subsequent shooting, together with a realizationof Dakota's danger, Sheila did not lose her composure. She ran to theriver and secured the water, aware that it might be needed now more thanever. Then, hurrying as best she could with the weight of the pail, shereturned to the cabin. 

She was relieved to find that Doubler had received no injury, and shepaused long enough to allow him to tell her that Duncan had entered thecabin shortly after she had left it. He had attacked Doubler, but had beeninterrupted by Allen, who had suddenly ridden up. Duncan had heard himcoming, and had concealed himself behind the door, and when Allen hadentered Duncan had struck him on the head with the butt of hissix-shooter, knocking him down. The blow had been a glancing one, however, and Allen had recovered quickly, seizing Doubler's rifle and trying tobring down the would be murderer as he fled. 

While attending to Doubler's bandages, Sheila repeated the conversationshe had had with Allen concerning the situation in which he had leftDakota, and instantly the nester's anxiety for his friend took precedenceover any thoughts for his own immediate welfare. 

"There'll be trouble sure, now that Allen's left there, " he said. "Dakotawon't be a heap easy with them deputies. "

He told Sheila to let the bandaging go until later, but she refused. 

"Dakota'll be needin' you a heap more than I need you, " he insisted, refusing to allow her to touch the bandages. "There'll be the devil to payif any of them deputies try to rush Dakota's shack. I want you to go downthere right now. If you wait, it'll mebbe be too late. "

Sheila hesitated for a moment, and then, yielding to the entreaty inDoubler's eyes, she was at his side, pressing his hand. 

"Ride ma'am!" he told her, when she was ready to go, his cheeks flushedwith excitement, his eyes bright. 

Her pony snorted with surprise when she brought her riding whip downagainst its flanks when turning from the corral gates, but it needed nosecond urging, and its pace when it splashed through the shallow water ofthe crossing was fully as great as that of Duncan's pony, which hadpreviously passed through it. 

Once on the hard sand of the river trail it settled into a long, swinginggallop, under which the miles flew by rapidly and steadily. Sheila drewthe animal up on the rises, breathing it sometimes, but on the levels sheurged it with whip and spur, and in something more than an hour afterleaving Doubler's cabin, she flashed by the quicksand crossing, which sheestimated as being not more than twelve miles from her journey's end. 

She was tired after her long vigil at Doubler's side, but the wearinesswas entirely physical, for her brain was working rapidly, filling herthoughts with picturesque conjectures, drawing pictures in which she sawDakota being shot down by Allen's deputies. And he was innocent!

She did not blame herself for Dakota's dilemma, though she felt a keenregret over her treatment of him, over her unjust suspicions. He hadreally been in earnest when he had told her the night before on the rivertrail that he was not guilty--that everybody had misjudged him. Vivid inher recollection was the curious expression on his face when he had saidto her just before leaving her that night:

"Won't you believe me?"

And that other time, when he had taken her by the shoulders and lookedsteadily into her eyes--she remembered that, too; she could almost feelhis fingers, and the words he had uttered then were fresh in her memory:"I've treated you mean, Sheila, about as mean as a man could treat awoman. I am sorry. I want you to believe that. And maybe some day--whenthis business is over--you'll understand, and forgive me. "

There had been mystery in his actions ever since she had seen him thefirst time, and though she could not yet understand it, she had discoveredthat there were forces at work in his affairs which seemed to indicatethat he had not told her that for the purpose of attempting to justify hisprevious actions. 

Evidently, whatever the mystery that surrounded him, her father and Duncanwere concerned in it, and this thought spurred her on, for it gave her akeen delight to think that she was arrayed against them, even though shewere on the side of the man who had wronged her. He, at least, had notbeen concerned in the plot to murder Doubler. 

When she reached the last rise--on the crest of which she had sat on herpony on the morning following her marriage to Dakota in the cabin and fromwhich she had seen the parson riding away--she was trembling witheagerness and dread for fear that something might happen before she couldarrive. It was three miles down the slope, and when she reached the levelthere was Dakota's cabin before her. 

She drew her pony to a walk, for she saw men grouped in front of the cabindoor, saw Dakota there himself, standing in the open doorway, framed inthe light from within. There were no evidences of the conflict which shehad dreaded. She had arrived in time. 

Convinced of this, she felt for the first time her physical weariness, andshe leaned forward on her pony, holding to its mane for support, approaching the cabin slowly. 

Her father was there, she observed, as she drew nearer; and threestrangers--and Allen! And near Allen, sitting on his horse dejectedly, wasDuncan!

One of Duncan's arms swung oddly at his side, and Sheila thought instantlyof his curse when he had been riding near her at the river crossing. Evidently Allen's bullet had struck him. 

Sheila's presence at Dakota's cabin was now unnecessary, for it wasevident that an understanding had been reached with Allen, and Sheilaexperienced a sudden aversion to appearing among the men. Turning herpony, she was about to ride away, intending to return to Doubler's cabin, when Allen turned and saw her. He spurred quickly to her side, seizing thepony by the bridle rein and leading it toward the cabin door. 

"It's all right, ma'am, " he said, "I got him. Holy smoke!" he exclaimed asshe came within the radius of the light. "You certainly rode some, didn'tyou, ma'am?"

She did not answer. She saw her father look at her, noted his start, smiled scornfully when she observed a paleness overspreading his face. Shelooked from him to Duncan, and the latter flushed and turned his head. Then Allen's voice reached her, as he spoke to Dakota. 

"This young woman has rode twenty miles to-night--to save your hide--youdurned cuss. If you was anyways hospitable, you'd----"

Allen's voice seemed to grow distant to Sheila, the figures of the men inthe group blurred, the light danced, she reeled in the saddle, tried tocheck herself, failed, and toppled limply forward over her pony's neck. She heard an exclamation, saw Dakota spring suddenly from the doorway, felt his arms around her. She struggled in his grasp, trying to fight himoff, and then she drifted into oblivion. 

CHAPTER XIX

SOME MEMORIES

When Sheila recovered consciousness she was in Dakota's cabin--in the bunkin which she had lain on another night in the yesterday of her life inthis country. She recognized it instantly. There was the candle on thetable, there were the familiar chairs, the fireplace, the shelves uponwhich were Dakota's tobacco tins and matches; there was the guitar, withits gaudy string, suspended from the wall. If it had been raining, shemight have imagined that she was just awakening from a sleep in that othertime. She felt a hand on her forehead, a damp cloth, and she opened hereyes to gaze fairly into Dakota's. 

"Don't, please, " she said, shrinking from him. 

It occurred to her that she had uttered the same words to him before, and, closing her eyes for a moment, she remembered. It had been when he hadtried to assist her out of the water at the quicksand crossing, and as onthat occasion, his answer was the same. 

"Then I won't. "

She lay for a long time, looking straight up at the ceiling, utterlytired, wondering vaguely what had become of her father, Duncan, Allen, andthe others. She would have given much to have been able to lie there for atime--a long time--and rest. But that was not to be thought of. Shestruggled to a sitting position, and when her eyes had become accustomedto the light she saw her father sitting in a chair near the fireplace. Thedoor was closed--barred. Sheila glanced again at her father, and thenquestioningly at Dakota, who was watching her from the center of the room, his face inscrutable. 

"What does this mean? Where are the others?" she demanded. 

"Allen and his men have gone back to Lazette, " returned Dakota quietly. "This means"--he pointed to Langford--"that we're going to have a littletalk--about things. "

Sheila rose. "I don't care to hear any talk; I am not interested. "

"You'll be interested in _my_ talk, " said Dakota. 

Curiously, he seemed to be invested with a new character. Just now he wasmore like the man he had been the night she had met him the firsttime--before he had forced her to marry him--than he had been since. Only, she felt as she watched him standing quietly in the middle of the room, the recklessness which had marked his manner that other time seemed tohave entirely disappeared, seemed to have been replaced by somethingelse--determination. 

Beneath the drooping mustache Sheila saw the lines of his lips; they hadalways seemed hard to her, and now there were little curves at the cornerswhich hinted at amusement--grim amusement. His eyes, too, were different;the mockery had departed from them. They were steady and unwavering, asbefore, and though they still baffled her, she was certain that she saw aslumbering devil in them--as though he possessed some mysterious knowledgeand purposed to confound Sheila and her father with it, though in his ownway and to suit his convenience. Yet behind it all there lurked a certaingravity--a cold deliberation that seemed to proclaim that he was in nomood to trifle and that he proposed to follow some plan and would brook nointerference. 

Fascinated by the change in him Sheila resumed her seat on the edge of thebunk, watching him closely. He drew a chair over near the door, tilted itback and dropped into it, thus mutely announcing that he intended keepingthe prisoners until he had delivered himself of that mysterious knowledgewhich seemed to be in his mind. 

Glancing furtively at her father, Sheila observed that he appeared to haveformed some sort of a conclusion regarding Dakota's actions also, for hesat very erect on his chair, staring at the latter, an intense interest inhis eyes. 

Sheila had become interested, too; she had forgotten her weariness. Andyet Dakota's first words disappointed her--somehow they seemedirrelevant. 

"This isn't such a big world, after all, is it?" He addressed both Sheilaand her father, though he looked at neither. His tone was quietlyconversational, and when he received no answer to his remark he looked upwith a quiet smile. 

"That has been said by a great many people, hasn't it? I've heard it manytimes. I reckon you have, too. But it's a fact, just the same. The world_is_ a small place. Take us three. You"--he said, pointing toLangford--"come out here from Albany and buy a ranch. You"--he smiled atSheila--"came with your father as a matter of course. You"--he lookedagain at Langford--"might have bought a ranch in another part of thecountry. You didn't need to buy this particular one. But you did. Take me. I spent five years in Dakota before I came here. I've been here fiveyears. 

"A man up in Dakota wanted me to stay there; said he'd do most anythingfor me if I would. But I didn't like Dakota; something kept telling methat I ought to move around a little. I came here, I liked the place, andI've stayed here. I know that neither of you are very much interested inwhat has happened to me, but I've told you that much just to prove mycontention about the world being a small place. It surely isn't so verybig when you consider that three persons can meet up like we've met--ourtrails leading us to the same section of the country. "

"I don't see how that concerns us, " said Langford impatiently. 

"No, " returned Dakota, and now there was a note of sarcasm in his voice, "you don't see. Lots of folks don't see. But there are trails that leadeverywhere. Fate marks them out--blazes them. There are trails that leadus into trouble, others that lead us to pleasure--straight trails, crookedones, trails that cross--all kinds. Folks start out on a crooked trail, trying to get away from something, but pretty soon another trail crossesthe one they are on--maybe it will be a straight one that crosses theirs, with a straight man riding it. 

"The man riding the crooked trail and the man riding the straight one meetat the place where the trails cross. Such trails don't lead to anyto-morrow; they are yesterday's trails, and before the man riding thecrooked trail and the man riding the straight trail can go any furtherthere has got to be an accounting. That is what has happened here. You"--he smiled gravely as he looked at Langford--"have been riding acrooked trail. I have been hanging onto the straight one as best I could. Now we've got to where the trails cross. "

"Meaning that you want an explanation of my action in burning that signedagreement, I suppose?" sneered Langford, looking up. 

"Still trying to ride the crooked trail?" smiled Dakota, with the firstnote of mockery that Sheila had heard in his voice since he had begunspeaking. "I'm not worrying a bit about that agreement. Why, man, I'd haveshot myself before I'd have shot Doubler. He's my friend--the only realfriend I've had in ten years. "

"Then when you signed the agreement you didn't mean to keep it?"questioned Langford incautiously, disarmed by Dakota's earnestness. 

"Ten years ago a boy named Ned Keegles went to Dakota. I am glad to seethat you are familiar with the name, " he added with a smile as Langfordstarted and stiffened in his chair, his face suddenly ashen. "You knowingKeegles will save me explaining a lot, " continued Dakota. "Well, Keegleswent to Dakota--where I was. He was eighteen and wasn't very strong, asyoung men go. But he got a job punching cows and I got to know him prettywell--used to bunk with him. He took a liking to me because I took aninterest in him. 

"He didn't like the work, because he had been raised differently. He livedin Albany before he went West. His father, William Keegles, was in thehardware business with a man named Langford--David Dowd Langford. You see, I couldn't be mistaken in the name of the man; it's such an uncommonone. "

He smiled significantly at Sheila, and an odd expression came into herface, for she remembered that on the night of her coming he had made thesame remark. 

"One day Ned Keegles got sick and took me into his confidence. He wasn'tin the West for his health, he said. He was a fugitive from the law, accused of murdering his father. It wasn't a nice story to hear, but hetold it, thinking he was going to die. "

Dakota smiled enigmatically at Sheila and coldly at the now shrinking manseated in the chair beside the fireplace. 

"One day Keegles went into his father's office. His father's partner, David Dowd Langford, was there, talking to his father. They'd had hardwords. Keegle's father had discovered that Langford had appropriated alarge sum of the firm's money. By forging his partner's signature he hadescaped detection until one day when the elder Keegles had accidentallydiscovered the fraud--which was the day on which Ned Keegles visited hisfather. It isn't necessary to go into detail, but it was perfectly plainthat Langford was guilty. 

"There were hard words, as I have said. The elder Keegles threatened toprosecute. Langford seized a sample knife that had been lying on the elderKeegle's desk, and stabbed him, killing him instantly. Then, while NedKeegles stood by, stunned by the suddenness of the attack, Langford coollywalked to a telephone and notified the police of the murder. Hanging upthe receiver, he raised the hue and cry, and a dozen clerks burst into theoffice, to find Ned Keegles bending over his father, trying to withdrawthe knife. 

"Langford accused Ned Keegles of the murder. He protested, of course, butseeing that the evidence was against him, he fought his way out of theoffice and escaped. He went to Dakota--where I met him. " He hesitated andlooked steadily at Langford. "Do you see how the trails have crossed? Thecrooked one and the straight one?"

Langford was leaning forward in his chair, a scared, wild expression inhis eyes, his teeth and hands clenched in an effort to control hisemotions. 

"It's a lie!" he shouted. "I didn't kill him! Ned Keegles----"

"Wait!" Dakota rose from his chair and walked to a shelf, from which hetook a box, returning to Langford's side and opening it. He drew out aknife, shoving it before Langford's eyes and pointing out some rust spotson the blade. 

"This knife was given to me by Ned Keegles, " he said slowly. "These rustspots on the blade are from his father's blood. Look at them!" he saidsharply, for Langford had turned his head. 

At the command he swung around, his gaze resting on the knife. "That's apretty story, " he sneered. 

Dakota's laugh when he returned the knife to the box chilled Sheila asthat same laugh had chilled her when she had heard it during her firstnight in the country--in this same cabin, with Dakota sitting at thetable--a bitter, mocking laugh that had in it a savagery controlled by aniron will. He turned abruptly and walked to his chair, seating himself. 

"Yes, " he said, "it's a pretty story. But it hasn't all been told. With abesmirched name and the thoughts which were with him all the time, lifewasn't exactly a joyful one for Ned Keegles. He was young, you see, and itall preyed on his mind. But after a while it hardened him. He'd hit townwith the rest of the boys, and he'd drink whiskey until he'd forget. Buthe couldn't forget long. He kept seeing his father and Langford; nightshe'd start from his blankets, living over and over again the incident ofthe murder. He got so he couldn't stay in Dakota. He came down here andtried to forget. It was just the same--there was no forgetfulness. 

"One night when he was on the trail near here, he met a woman. It wasraining and the woman had lost the trail. He took the woman in. Sheinterested him, and he questioned her. He discovered that she was thedaughter of the man who had murdered his father--the daughter of DavidDowd Langford!"

Langford cringed and looked at Sheila, who was looking straight at Dakota, her eyes alight with knowledge. 

"Ned Keegles kept his silence, as he had kept it for ten years, " resumedDakota. "But the coming of the woman brought back the bitter memories, andwhile the woman slept in his cabin he turned to the whiskey bottle forcomfort. As he drank his troubles danced before him--magnified. He thoughtit would be a fine revenge if he should force the woman to marry him, forhe figured that it would be a blow at the father's pride. If it hadn'tbeen for a cowardly parson and the whiskey the marriage would never haveoccurred--Ned Keegles would not have thought of it. But he didn't hurt thewoman; she left him pure as she came--mentally and physically. "

Langford slowly rose from his chair, his lips twitching, his face workingstrangely, his eyes wide and glaring. 

"You say she married him--Ned Keegles?" he said, his voice high keyed andshrill. He turned to Sheila after catching Dakota's nod. "Is this true?"he demanded sharply. "Did you marry him as this man says you did?"

"Yes; I married him, " returned Sheila dully, and Langford sank limply intohis chair. 

Dakota smiled with flashing eyes and continued:

"Keegles married the woman, " he said coldly, "because he thought she wasLangford's real daughter. " He looked at Sheila with a glance ofcompassion. "Later, when Keegles discovered that the woman was onlyLangford's stepdaughter, he was mighty sorry. Not for Langford, however, because he could not consider Langford's feelings. And in spite of what hehad done he was still determined to secure revenge. 

"One day Langford came to Keegles with a proposal. He had seen Keegleskill one man, and he wanted to hire him to kill another--a man namedDoubler. Keegles agreed, for the purpose of getting Langford into----"

Dakota hesitated, for Langford had risen to his feet and stood looking athim, his eyes bulging, his face livid. 

"You!" he said, in a choking, wailing voice; "you--you, are Ned Keegles!You--you---- Why----" he hesitated and passed a hand uncertainly over hisforehead, looking from Sheila to Dakota with glazed eyes. "You--you are aliar!" he suddenly screamed, his voice raised to a maniacal pitch. "Itisn't so! You--both of you--have conspired against me!"

"Wait!" Dakota got to his feet, walked to a shelf, and took down a smallglass, a pair of shears, a shaving cup, and a razor. While Langfordwatched, staring at him with fearful, wondering eyes, Dakota deftlysnipped off the mustache with the shears, lathered his lip, and shaved itclean. Then he turned and confronted Langford. 

The latter looked at him with one, long, intense gaze, and then with a drysob which caught in his throat and seemed to choke him, he covered hisface with his hands, shuddered convulsively, and without a sound pitchedforward, face down, at Dakota's feet. 

CHAPTER XX

INTO THE UNKNOWN

After a time Sheila rose from the bunk on which she had been sitting andstood in the center of the floor, looking down at her father. Dakota hadnot moved. He stood also, watching Langford, his face pale and grim, andhe did not speak until Sheila had addressed him twice. 

"What are you going to do now?" she said dully. "It is for you to say, youknow. You hold his life in your hands. "

"Do?" He smiled bitterly at her. "What would you do? I have waited tenyears for this day. It must go on to the end. "

"The end?"

"Yes; the end, " he said gravely. "He"--Dakota pointed to the prostratefigure--"must sign a written confession. "

"And then?"

"He will return to answer for his crime. "

Sheila shuddered and turned from him with bowed head. 

"Oh!" she said at last; "it will be too horrible! My friends in theEast--they will----"

"Your friends, " he said with some bitterness. "Could your friends say morethan my friends said when they thought that I had murdered my own fatherin cold blood and then run away?"

"But I am innocent, " she pleaded. 

"I was innocent, " he returned, with a grave smile. 

"Yes, but I could not help you, you know, for I wasn't there when you wereaccused. But you are here, and you can help me. Don't you see, " she said, coming close to him, "don't you see that the disgrace will not fall onhim, but on me. I will make him sign the confession, " she offered, "youcan hold it over him. He will make restitution of your property. But donot force him to go back East. Let him go somewhere--anywhere--but let himlive. For, after all, he is my father--the only one I ever knew. "

"But my vengeance, " he said, the bitterness of his smile softening as helooked down at her. 

"Your vengeance?" She came closer to him, looking up into his face. "Arewe to judge--to condemn? Will not the power which led us threetogether--the power which you are pleased to call 'Fate'; the power thatblazed the trail which you have followed from the yesterday of yourlife;--will not this power judge him--punish him? Please, " she pleaded, "please, for my sake, for--for"--her voice broke and she came forward andplaced her hands on his shoulders--"for your wife's sake. "

He looked down at her for an instant, the hard lines of his face breakinginto gentle, sympathetic curves. Then his arms went around her, and sheleaned against him, her head against his shoulder, while she wept softly. 

 * * * * *

An hour later, standing side by side in the open doorway of the cabin, Sheila and Dakota watched in silence while Langford, having signed aconfession dictated by Dakota, mounted his pony and rode slowly up theriver trail toward Lazette. 

He slowly passed the timber clump near the cabin, and with bowed headtraveled up the long slope which led to the rise upon which, in anothertime, Sheila had caught her last glimpse of the parson. It was in thecold, bleak moment of the morning when darkness has not yet gone and thedawn not come, and Langford looked strangely desolate out there on thetrail alone--alone with thoughts more desolate than his surroundings. 

Sheila shivered and snuggled closer to Dakota. He looked down at her witha sympathetic smile. 

"It is so lonesome, " she said. 

"Where?" he asked. 

"Out there--where he is going. "

Dakota did not answer. For a long time they watched the huddled form ofthe rider. They saw him approach the crest of the rise--reach it. Thenfrom the mountains in the eastern distance came a shaft of light, strikingthe summit of the rise where the rider bestrode his pony--throwing bothinto bold relief. For a moment the rider halted the pony, turned, glancedback an instant, and was gone. 

THE END

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