THE TWO-GUN MAN

BY CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER

Author of "The Range Riders, " "The Coming of the Law, " etc. 

A. L. BURT COMPANY

PUBLISHERS -------- NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY

OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY

ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL, LONDON, ENGLAND

All rights reserved

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. THE STRANGER AT DRY BOTTOM II. THE STRANGER SHOOTS III. THE CABIN IN THE FLAT IV. A "DIFFERENT GIRL" V. THE MAN OF DRY BOTTOM VI. AT THE TWO DIAMOND VII. THE MEASURE OF A MAN VIII. THE FINDING OF THE ORPHAN IX. WOULD YOU BE A "CHARACTER"? X. DISAPPEARANCE OF THE ORPHAN XI. A TOUCH OF LOCAL COLOR XII. THE STORY BEGINS XIII. "DO YOU SMOKE?" XIV. ON THE EDGE OF THE PLATEAU XV. A FREE HAND XVI. LEVIATT TAKES A STEP XVII. A BREAK IN THE STORY XVIII. THE DIM TRAIL XIX. THE SHOT IN THE DARK XX. LOVE AND A RIFLE XXI. THE PROMISE XXII. KEEPING A PROMISE XXIII. AT THE EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD XXIV. THE END OF THE STORY

THE TWO-GUN MAN

CHAPTER I

THE STRANGER AT DRY BOTTOM

From the crest of Three Mile Slope the man on the pony could see thetown of Dry Bottom straggling across the gray floor of the flat, itslow, squat buildings looking like so many old boxes blown there by anidle wind, or unceremoniously dumped there by a careless fate and left, regardless, to carry out the scheme of desolation. 

Apparently the rider was in no hurry, for, as the pony topped the riseand the town burst suddenly into view, the little animal pricked up itsears and quickened its pace, only to feel the reins suddenly tightenand to hear the rider's voice gruffly discouraging haste. Therefore, the pony pranced gingerly, alert, champing the bit impatiently, pickingits way over the lumpy hills of stone and cactus, but holding closelyto the trail. 

The man lounged in the saddle, his strong, well-knit body swayinggracefully, his eyes, shaded by the brim of his hat, narrowed withslight mockery and interest as he gazed steadily at the town that laybefore him. 

"I reckon that must be Dry Bottom, " he said finally, mentally taking inits dimensions. "If that's so, I've only got twenty miles to go. "

Half way down the slope, and still a mile and a half from the town, therider drew the pony to a halt. He dropped the reins over the highpommel of the saddle, drew out his two guns, one after the other, rolled the cylinders, and returned the guns to their holsters. He hadheard something of Dry Bottom's reputation and in examining his pistolshe was merely preparing himself for an emergency. For a moment afterhe had replaced the weapons he sat quietly in the saddle. Then heshook out the reins, spoke to the pony, and the little animal setforward at a slow lope. 

An ironic traveler, passing through Dry Bottom in its younger days, before civic spirit had definitely centered its efforts upon thingsnomenclatural, had hinted that the town should be known as "dry"because of the fact that while it boasted seven buildings, four weresaloons; and that "bottom" might well be used as a suffix, because, inthe nature of things, a town of seven buildings, four of which weresaloons, might reasonably expect to descend to the very depths of moraliniquity. 

The ironic traveler had spoken with prophetic wisdom. Dry Bottom wastrying as best it knew how to wallow in the depths of sin. Unlovely, soiled, desolate of verdure, dumped down upon a flat of sand in atreeless waste, amid cactus, crabbed yucca, scorpions, horned toads, and rattlesnakes. Dry Bottom had forgotten its morals, subverted itsprinciples, and neglected its God. 

As the rider approached to within a few hundred yards of the edge oftown he became aware of a sudden commotion. He reined in his pony, allowing it to advance at a walk, while with alert eyes he endeavoredto search out the cause of the excitement. He did not have long towatch for the explanation. 

A man had stepped out of the door of one of the saloons, slowly walkingtwenty feet away from it toward the center of the street. Immediatelyother men had followed. But these came only to a point just outsidethe door. For some reason which was not apparent to the rider, theywere giving the first man plenty of room. 

The rider was now able to distinguish the faces of the men in thegroup, and he gazed with interested eyes at the man who had firstissued from the door of the saloon. 

The man was tall--nearly as tall as the rider--and in his everymovement seemed sure of himself. He was young, seemingly aboutthirty-five, with shifty, insolent eyes and a hard mouth whose lipswere just now curved into a self-conscious smile. 

The rider had now approached to within fifty feet of the man, haltinghis pony at the extreme end of the hitching rail that skirted the frontof the saloon. He sat carelessly in the saddle, his gaze fixed on theman. 

The men who had followed the first man out, to the number of a dozen, were apparently deeply interested, though plainly skeptical. A short, fat man, who was standing near the saloon door, looked on with ahalf-sneer. Several others were smiling blandly. A tall man on theextreme edge of the crowd, near the rider, was watching the man in thestreet gravely. Other men had allowed various expressions to creepinto their faces. But all were silent. 

Not so the man in the street. Plainly, here was conceit personified, and yet a conceit mingled with a maddening insolence. His expressiontold all that this thing which he was about to do was worthy of theclosest attention. He was the axis upon which the interest of theuniverse revolved. 

Certainly he knew of the attention he was attracting. Men wereapproaching from the other end of the street, joining the group infront of the saloon--which the rider now noticed was called the "SilverDollar. " The newcomers were inquisitive; they spoke in low tones tothe men who had arrived before them, gravely inquiring the cause. 

But the man in the street seemed not disturbed by his rapidly swellingaudience. He stood in the place he had selected, his insolent eyesroving over the assembled company, his thin, expressive lips opening avery little to allow words to filter through them. 

"Gents, " he said, "you're goin' to see some shootin'! I told you inthe Silver Dollar that I could keep a can in the air while I put fiveholes in it. There's some of you gassed about bein' showed, notbelievin'. An' now I'm goin' to show you!"

He reached down and took up a can that had lain at his feet, removingthe red lithographed label, which had a picture of a large tomato inthe center of it. The can was revealed, naked and shining in the whitesunlight. The man placed the can in his left hand and drew his pistolwith the right. 

Then he tossed the can into the air. While it still rose his weaponexploded, the can shook spasmodically and turned clear over. Then inrapid succession followed four other explosions, the last occurringjust before the can reached the ground. The man smiled, still holdingthe smoking weapon in his hand. 

The tall man on the extreme edge of the group now stepped forward andexamined the can, while several other men crowded about to look. Therewere exclamations of surprise. It was curious to see how quicklyenthusiasm and awe succeeded skepticism. 

"He's done it, boys!" cried the tall man, holding the can aloft. "Bored it in five places!" He stood erect, facing the crowd. "Ireckon that's some shootin'!" He now threw a glance of challenge anddefiance about him. "I've got a hundred dollars to say that thereain't another man in this here town can do it!"

Several men tried, but none equaled the first man's performance. Manyof the men could not hit the can at all. The first man watched theirefforts, sneers twitching his lips as man after man failed. 

Presently all had tried. Watching closely, the rider caught anexpression of slight disappointment on the tall man's face. The riderwas the only man who had not yet tried his skill with the pistol, andthe man in the street now looked up at him, his eyes glittering with aninsolent challenge. As it happened, the rider glanced at the shooterat the instant the latter had turned to look up at him. Their eyes metfairly, the shooter's conveying a silent taunt. The rider smiled, slight mockery glinting his eyes. 

Apparently the stranger did not care to try his skill. He still satlazily in the saddle, his gaze wandering languidly over the crowd. Thelatter plainly expected him to take part in the shooting match and wasimpatient over his inaction. 

"Two-gun, " sneered a man who stood near the saloon door. "I wonderwhat he totes them two guns for?"

The shooter heard and turned toward the man who had spoken, his lipswreathed satirically. 

"I reckon he wouldn't shoot nothin' with them, " he said, addressing theman who had spoken. 

Several men laughed. The tall man who had revealed interest before nowraised a hand, checking further comment. 

"That offer of a hundred to the man who can beat that shootin' stillgoes, " he declared. "An' I'm taking off the condition. The man thattries don't have to belong to Dry Bottom. No stranger is barred!"

The stranger's glance again met the shooter's. The latter grinnedfelinely. Then the rider spoke. The crowd gave him its politeattention. 

"I reckon you-all think you've seen some shootin', " he said in asteady, even voice, singularly free from boast. "But I reckon youain't seen any real shootin'. " He turned to the tall, grave-faced man. "I ain't got no hundred, " he said, "but I'm goin' to show you. "

He still sat in the saddle. But now with an easy motion he swung downand hitched his pony to the rail. 

CHAPTER II

THE STRANGER SHOOTS

The stranger seemed taller on the ground than in the saddle and anadmirable breadth of shoulder and slenderness of waist told eloquentlyof strength. He could not have been over twenty-five or six. Yetcertain hard lines about his mouth, the glint of mockery in his eyes, the pronounced forward thrust of the chin, the indefinable force thatseemed to radiate from him, told the casual observer that here was aman who must be approached with care. 

But apparently the shooter saw no such signs. In the first glance thathad been exchanged between the two men there had been a lack ofordinary cordiality. And now, as the rider slid down from his pony andadvanced toward the center of the street, the shooter's lips curled. Writhing through them came slow-spoken words. 

"You runnin' sheep, stranger?"

The rider's lips smiled, but his eyes were steady and cold. In themshone a flash of cold humor. He stood, quietly contemplating hisinsulter. 

Smiles appeared on the faces of several of the onlookers. The tall manwith the grave face watched with a critical eye. The insult had beendeliberate, and many men crouched, plainly expecting a serious outcome. But the stranger made no move toward his guns, and when he answered hemight have been talking about the weather, so casual was his tone. 

"I reckon you think you're a plum man, " he said quietly. "But if youare, you ain't showed it much--buttin' in with that there wiseobservation. An' there's some men who think that shootin' at a man ismore excitin' than shootin' at a can. "

There was a grim quality in his voice now. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes cold and alert. The shooter sneered experimentally. Againthe audience smiled. 

But the tall man now stepped forward. "You've made your play, stranger, " he said quietly. "I reckon it's up to you to make good. "

"Correct, " agreed the stranger. "I'm goin' to show you some realshootin'. You got another can?"

Some one dived into the Silver Dollar and returned in a flash withanother tomato can. This the stranger took, removing the label, as theshooter had done. Then, smiling, he took a position in the center ofthe street, the can in his right hand. 

He did not draw his weapon as the shooter had done, but stood looselyin his place, his right hand still grasping the can, the left swingingidly by his side. Apparently he did not mean to shoot. Sneers reachedthe faces of several men in the crowd. The shooter growled, "Fourflush. "

There was a flash as the can rose twenty feet in the air, propelled bythe right hand of the stranger. As the can reached the apex of itsclimb the stranger's right hand descended and grasped the butt of theweapon at his right hip. There was a flash as the gun came out; a gaspof astonishment from the watchers. The can was arrested in the firstfoot of its descent by the shock of the first bullet striking it. Itjumped up and out and again began its interrupted fall, only to stopdead still in the air as another bullet struck it. There was aninfinitesimal pause, and then twice more the can shivered and jumped. No man in the crowd but could tell that the bullets were striking true. 

The can was still ten feet in the air and well out from the stranger. The latter whipped his weapon to a level, the bullet striking the canand driving it twenty feet from him. Then it dropped. But when it waswithin five feet of the ground the stranger's gun spoke again. The canleaped, careened sideways, and fell, shattered, to the street, thirtyfeet distant from the stranger. 

Several men sprang forward to examine it. 

"Six times!" ejaculated the tall man in an awed tone. "An' he didn'tpull his gun till he'd throwed the can!"

He approached the stranger, drawing him confidentially aside. Thecrowd slowly dispersed, loudly proclaiming the stranger's ability withthe six-shooter. The latter took his honors lightly, the mocking smileagain on his face. 

"I'm lookin' for a man who can shoot, " said the tall man, when the lastman of the crowd had disappeared into the saloon. 

The stranger smiled. "I reckon you've just seen some shootin', " hereturned. 

The tall man smiled mirthlessly. "You particular about what you shootat?" he inquired. 

The stranger's lips straightened coldly. "I used to have that habit, "he returned evenly. 

"Hard luck?" queried the tall man. 

"I'm rollin' in wealth, " stated the stranger, with an ironic sneer. 

The tall man's eyes glittered. "Where you from?" he questioned. 

"You c'n have three guesses, " returned the stranger, his eyes narrowingwith the mockery that the tall man had seen in them before. 

The tall man adopted a placative tone. "I ain't wantin' to butt intoyour business, " he said. "I was wantin' to find out if any one aroundhere knowed you. "

"This town didn't send any reception committee to meet me, did they?"smiled the stranger. 

"Correct, " said the tall man. He leaned closer. "You willin' to workyour guns for me for a hundred a month?"

The stranger looked steadily into the tall man's eyes. 

"You've been right handy askin' questions, " he said. "Mebbe you'llanswer some. What's your name?"

"Stafford, " returned the tall man. "I'm managin' the Two Diamond, overon the Ute. "

The stranger's eyelashes flickered slightly. His eyes narrowedquizzically. "What you wantin' of a gun-man?" he asked. 

"Rustler, " returned the other shortly. 

The stranger smiled. "Figger on shootin' him?" he questioned. 

Stafford hesitated. "Well, no, " he returned. "That is, not until I'msure I've got the right one. " He seized the stranger's arm in aconfidential grip. "You see, " he explained, "I don't know just whereI'm at. There's been a rustler workin' on the herd, an' I ain't beenable to get close enough to find out who it is. But rustlin' has gotto be stopped. I've sent over to Raton to get a man named NedFerguson, who's been workin' for Sid Tucker, of the Lazy J. Tuckerwrote me quite a while back, tellin' me that this man was plum slick atnosin' out rustlers. He was to come to the Two Diamond two weeks ago. But he ain't showed up, an' I've about concluded that he ain't comin'. An' so I come over to Dry Bottom to find a man. "

"You've found one, " smiled the stranger. 

Stafford drew out a handful of double eagles and pressed them into theother's hand. "I'm goin' over to the Two Diamond now, " he said. "You'd better wait a day or two, so's no one will get wise. Come rightto me, like you was wantin' a job. "

He started toward the hitching rail for his pony, hesitated and thenwalked back. 

"I didn't get your name, " he smiled. 

The stranger's eyes glittered humorously. "It's Ferguson, " he saidquietly. 

Stafford's eyes widened with astonishment. Then his right hand wentout and grasped the other's. 

"Well, now, " he said warmly, "that's what I call luck. "

Ferguson smiled. "Mebbe it's luck, " he returned. "But before I goover to work for you there's got to be an understandin'. I c'n shootsome, " he continued, looking steadily at Stafford, "but I ain't runnin'around the country shootin' men without cause. I'm willin' to try an'find your rustler for you, but I ain't shootin' him--unless he goes tocrowdin' me mighty close. "

"I'm agreein' to that, " returned Stafford. 

He turned again, looking back over his shoulder. "You'll sure beover?" he questioned. 

"I'll be there the day after to-morrow, " stated Ferguson. 

He turned and went into the Silver Dollar. Stafford mounted his ponyand loped rapidly out of town. 

CHAPTER III

THE CABIN IN THE FLAT

It was the day appointed by Ferguson for his presence at the TwoDiamond ranch, and he was going to keep his word. Three hours out ofDry Bottom he had struck the Ute trail and was loping his pony througha cottonwood that skirted the river. It was an enchanted countrythrough which he rode; a land of vast distances, of white sunlight, blue skies, and clear, pure air. Mountains rose in the distances, their snowcapped peaks showing above the clouds like bald rock spiresabove the calm level of the sea. Over the mountains swam the sun, itslower rim slowly disappearing behind the peaks, throwing off broadwhite shafts of light that soon began to dim as vari-colors, rising ina slumberous haze like a gauze veil, mingled with them. 

Ferguson's gaze wandered from the trail to the red buttes that fringedthe river. He knew this world; there was no novelty here for him. Heknew the lava beds, looming gray and dead beneath the foothills; heknew the grotesque rock shapes that seemed to hint of a mysteriouspast. Nature had not altered her face. On the broad levels were theyellow tinted lines that told of the presence of soap-weed, the darklines that betrayed the mesquite, the saccatone belts that marked thelittle guillies. Then there were the barrancas, the arid stretcheswhere the sage-brush and the cactus grew. Snaky octilla dotted thespace; the crabbed yucca had not lost its ugliness. 

Ferguson looked upon the world with unseeing eyes. He had lived herelong and the country had not changed. It would never change. Nothingever changed here but the people. 

But he himself had not changed. Twenty-seven years in this country wasa long time, for here life was not measured by age, but by experience. Looking back over the years he could see that he was living to-day ashe had lived last year, as he had lived during the last decade--a hardlife, but having its compensations. 

His coming to the Two Diamond ranch was merely another of thoseincidents that, during the past year, had broken the monotony of rangelife for him. He had had some success in breaking up a band of cattlethieves which had made existence miserable for Sid Tucker, hisemployer, and the latter had recommended him to Stafford. The promiseof high wages had been attractive, and so he had come. He had notexpected to surprise any one. When during his conversation with thetall man in Dry Bottom he had discovered that the latter was the manfor whom he was to work he had been surprised himself. But he had notrevealed his surprise. Experience and association with men who kepttheir emotions pretty much to themselves had taught him the value ofrepression when in the presence of others. 

But alone he allowed his emotions full play. There was no one to see, no one to hear, and the silence and the distances, and the great, swimming blue sky would not tell. 

Stafford's action in coming to Dry Bottom for a gunfighter had puzzledhim not a little. Apparently the Two Diamond manager was intent uponthe death of the rustler he had mentioned. He had been searching for aman who could "shoot, " he had said. Ferguson had interpreted this tomean that he desired to employ a gunfighter who would not scruple tokill any man he pointed out, whether innocent or guilty. He had hadsome experience with unscrupulous ranch managers, and he had admiredthem very little. Therefore, during the ride today, his lips hadcurled sarcastically many times. 

Riding through a wide clearing in the cottonwood, he spoke a thoughtthat had troubled him not a little since he had entered Stafford'semploy. 

"Why, " he said, as he rode along, sitting carelessly in the saddle, "he's wantin' to make a gunfighter out of me. But I reckon I ain'tgoin' to shoot no man unless I'm pretty sure he's gunnin' for me. " Hislips curled ironically. "I wonder what the boys of the Lazy J wouldthink if they knowed that a guy was tryin' to make a gunfighter out oftheir old straw boss. I reckon they'd think that guy was loco--or aheap mistaken in his man. But I'm seein' this thing through. I ain'tridin' a hundred miles just to take a look at the man who's hirin' me. It'll be a change. An' when I go back to the Lazy J----"

It was not the pony's fault. Neither was it Ferguson's. The pony wasexperienced; behind his slant eyes was stored a world of horse-wisdomthat had pulled him and his rider through many tight places. AndFerguson had ridden horses all his life; he would not have known whatto do without one. 

But the pony stumbled. The cause was a prairie-dog hole, concealedunder a clump of matted mesquite. Ferguson lunged forward, caught atthe saddle horn, missed it, and pitched head-foremost out of thesaddle, turning completely over and alighting upon his feet. He stooderect for an instant, but the momentum had been too great. He wentdown, and when he tried to rise a twinge of pain in his right anklebrought a grimace to his face. He arose and hopped over to a flatrock, near where his pony now stood grazing as though nothing hadhappened. 

Drawing off his boot, Ferguson made a rapid examination of the ankle. It was inflamed and painful, but not broken. He believed he could seeit swelling. He rubbed it, hoping to assuage the pain. The woolensock interfered with the rubbing, and he drew it off. 

For a few minutes he worked with the ankle, but to little purpose. Hefinally became convinced that it was a bad sprain, and he looked up, scowling. The pony turned an inquiring eye upon him, and he grinned, suddenly smitten with the humor of the situation. 

"You ain't got no call to look so doggoned innocent about it, " he said. "If you'd been tendin' to your business, you wouldn't have stepped intono damned gopher hole. "

The pony moved slowly away, and he looked whimsically after it, remarking: "Mebbe if I'd been tendin' to my business it wouldn't havehappened, either. " He spoke again to the pony. "I reckon you knowthat too, Mustard. You're some wise. "

The animal was now at some little distance from the rock upon which hewas sitting. He arose, hobbling on one foot toward it, carrying thediscarded boot in his hand. He thought of riding with the foot bare. At the Two Diamond he was sure to find some sort of liniment which, with the help of a bandage, would materially assist nature in----

He was passing a filmy mesquite clump--the bare foot swinging wide. There was a warning rattle; a sharp thrust of a flat, brown head. 

Ferguson halted in astonishment, almost knocked off his balance withthe suddenness of the attack. He still held the boot, his fingersgripping it tightly. He raised it, with a purely involuntary motion, as though to hurl it at his insidious enemy. But he did not. The armfell to his side, and his face slowly whitened. He stared dully anduncomprehendingly at the sinuous shape that was slipping noiselesslyaway through the matted grass. 

Somehow, he had never thought of being bitten by a rattler. He hadseen so many of them that he had come to look upon them only as targetsat which he might shoot when he thought he needed practice. And now hewas bitten. The unreality of the incident surprised him. He lookedaround at the silent hills, at the sun that swam above the mountainpeaks, at the great, vast arc of sky that yawned above him. Hills, sky, and sun seemed also unreal. It was as though he had been suddenlythrust into a land of dreams. 

But presently the danger of the situation burst upon him, and he livedonce more in the reality. He looked down at his foot. A livid, pin-point wound showed in the flesh beside the arch. A tiny stream ofblood was oozing from it. He forgot the pain of the sprained ankle andstood upon both feet, his body suddenly rigid, his face red with asudden, consuming anger, shaking a tense fist at the disappearingrattler. 

"You damned sneak!" he shouted shrilly. 

In the same instant he had drawn one of his heavy guns and swung itover his head. Its crashing report brought a sudden swishing frombeneath the grass, and he hopped over closer and sent three morebullets into the threshing brown body. He stood over it for a moment, his teeth showing in a savage snarl. 

"You won't bite any one else, damn you!" he shouted. 

The impotence of this conduct struck him immediately. He flushed anddrooped his head, a grim smile slowly wearing down his expression ofpanic. Seldom did he allow his emotions to reveal themselves soplainly. But the swiftness of the rattler's attack, the surprise whenhe had not been thinking of such a thing, the fact that he was far fromhelp and that his life was in danger--all had a damaging effect uponhis self-control. And yet the smile showed that he was still master ofhimself. 

Very deliberately he returned to the rock upon which he had beensitting, ripping off his coat and tearing away the sleeve of hiswoollen shirt. Twisting the sleeve into the form of a rude rope, hetied it loosely around his leg, just above the ankle. Then he thrusthis knife between the improvised rope and the leg, forming a crudetourniquet. He twisted the knife until tears of pain formed in hiseyes. Then he fastened the knife by tucking the haft under the rope. His movements had been very deliberate, but sure, and in a few minuteshe hobbled to his pony and swung into the saddle. 

He had seen men who had been bitten by rattlers--had seen them die. And he knew that if he did not get help within half an hour there wouldbe little use of doing anything further. In half an hour the viruswould have so great a grip upon him that it would be practicallyuseless to apply any of the antidotes commonly known to the inhabitantsof the country. 

Inquiries that he had made at Dry Bottom had resulted in the discoverythat the Two Diamond ranch was nearly thirty miles from the town. Ifhe had averaged eight miles an hour he had covered about twenty-fourmiles of the distance. That would still leave about six. And he couldnot hope to ride those six miles in time to get any benefit from anantidote. 

His lips straightened, he stared grimly at a ridge of somber hills thatfringed the skyline. They had told him back in Dry Bottom that the TwoDiamond ranch was somewhere in a big basin below those hills. 

"I reckon I won't get there, after all, " he said, commenting aloud. 

Thereafter he rode grimly on, keeping a good grip upon himself--for hehad seen men bitten by rattlers who had lost their self-control--andthey had not been good to look upon. Much depended upon coolness;somewhere he had heard that it was a mistake for a bitten man to exerthimself in the first few minutes following a bite; exertion caused thevirus to circulate more rapidly through the system. And so he rode atan even pace, carefully avoiding the rough spots, though keeping asclosely to the trail as possible. 

"If it hadn't been a diamond-back--an' a five-foot one--this rope thatI've got around my leg might be enough to fool him, " he said once, aloud. "But I reckon he's got me. " His eyes lighted savagely for aninstant. "But I got him, too. Had the nerve to think that he couldget away after throwin' his hooks into me. "

Presently his eyes caught the saffron light that glowed in the westernsky. He laughed with a grim humor. "I've heard tell that a snakedon't die till sundown--much as you hurt him. If that's so, an' Idon't get to where I c'n get some help, I reckon it'll be a stand offbetween him an' me as to who's goin' first. "

A little later he drew Mustard to a halt, sitting very erect in thesaddle and fixing his gaze upon a tall cottonwood tree that rose nearthe trail. His heart was racing madly, and in spite of his efforts, hefelt himself swaying from side to side. He had often seen a rattlerdoing that--flat, ugly head raised above his coiled body, forked tongueshooting out, his venomous eyes glittering, the head and the part ofthe body rising above the coils swaying gracefully back and forth. Yes, gracefully, for in spite of his hideous aspect, there was acertain horrible ease of movement about a rattler--a slippery, sinuousmotion that partly revealed reserve strength, and hinted atrepressed energy. 

Many times, while watching them, he had been fascinated by their grace, and now, sitting in the saddle, he caught himself wondering if theinfluence of a bite were great enough to cause the person bitten toimitate the snake. He laughed when this thought struck him and drovehis spurs sharply against Mustard's flanks, riding forward past thecottonwood at which he had been staring. 

"Hell!" he ejaculated, as he passed the tree, "what a fool notion. "

But he could not banish the "notion" from his mind, and five minuteslater, when he tried again to sit steadily, he found the swaying morepronounced. The saddle seemed to rock with him, and even by jamminghis uninjured foot tightly into the ox-bow stirrup he could not stopswaying. 

"Mebbe I won't get very far, " he said, realizing that the poison hadentered his system, and that presently it would riot in his veins, "butI'm goin' on until I stop. I wouldn't want that damned rattler to knowthat he'd made me quit so soon. "

He urged Mustard to a faster pace, even while realizing that speed washopeless. He could never reach the Two Diamond. Convinced of this, hehalted the pony again, swaying in the saddle and holding, for the firsttime, to the pommel in an effort to steady himself. But he stillswayed. He laughed mockingly. 

"Now, what do you think of that?" he said, addressing the silence. "You might think I was plum tenderfoot an' didn't know how to ride ahorse proper. "

He urged the pony onward again, and for some little time rode withbowed head, trying to keep himself steady by watching the trail. Herode through a little clearing, where the grass was matted and somenaked rocks reared aloft. Near a clump of sage-brush he saw a suddenmovement--a rattler trying to slip away unnoticed. But the snake slidinto Ferguson's vision and with a sneer of hate he drew one of hisweapons and whipped it over his head, its roar awakening echoes in thewood. Twice, three times, the crashing report sounded. But therattler whisked away and disappeared into the grass--apparentlyuninjured. 

For an instant Ferguson scowled. Then a grin of mockery reached hisflushed face. 

"I reckon I'm done, " he said. "Can't even hit a rattler no more, an'him a brother or sister of that other one. " A delirious light flashedsuddenly in his eyes, and he seemed on the point of dismounting. "I'llcert'nly smash you some!" he said, speaking to the snake--which hecould no longer see. "I ain't goin' to let no snake bite me an' getaway with it!"

But he now smiled guiltily, embarrassment shining in his eyes. "Ireckon that wasn't the snake that bit you, Ferguson, " he said. "Theone that bit you is back on the trail. He ain't goin' to die tillsundown. Not till sundown, " he repeated mechanically, grimly;"Ferguson ain't goin' to die till sundown. "

He rode on, giving no attention to the pony whatever, but letting thereins fall and holding to the pommel of the saddle. His face wasburning now, his hands were twitching, and an unnatural gleam had comeinto his eyes. 

"Ferguson got hooked by a rattler!" he suddenly exclaimed, hilarity inhis voice. "He run plum into that reptile; tried to walk on him with abare foot. " The laugh was checked as suddenly as it had come, and agrim quality entered his voice. "But Ferguson wasn't no tenderfoot--hedidn't scare none. He went right on, not sayin' anything. You see, hewas reckonin' to be man's size. "

He rode on a little way, and as he entered another clearing a rationalgleam came into his eyes. "I'm still a-goin' it, " he muttered. 

A shadow darkened the trail; he heard Mustard whinny. He became awareof a cabin in front of him; heard an exclamation; saw dimly the slightfigure of a woman, sitting on a small porch; as through a mist, he sawher rise and approach him, standing on the edge of the porch, lookingat him. 

He smiled, bowing low to her over his pony's mane. 

"I shot him, ma'am, " he said gravely, "but he ain't goin' to die tillsundown. "

As from some great distance a voice seemed to come to him. "Mercy!" itsaid. "What is wrong? Who is shot?"

"Why, the snake, ma'am, " he returned thickly. He slid down from hispony and staggered to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of theslender posts and hanging dizzily on. "You see, ma'am, that damnedrattler got Ferguson. But Ferguson ain't reckonin' on dyin' tillsundown. He couldn't let no snake get the best of him. "

He saw the woman start toward him, felt her hands on his arms, helpinghim upon the porch. Then he felt her hands on his shoulders, felt thempressing him down. He felt dimly that there was a chair under him, andhe sank into it, leaning back and stretching himself out full length. A figure flitted before him and presently there was a sharp pain in hisfoot. He started out of the chair, and was abruptly shoved back intoit, Then the figure leaned over him, prying his jaws apart with somemetal like object and pouring something down his throat. He clicked ashe swallowed, vainly trying to brush away the object. 

"You're a hell of a snake, " he said savagely. Then the world blurreddizzily, and he drifted into oblivion. 

CHAPTER IV

A "DIFFERENT GIRL"

Ferguson had no means of knowing how long he was unconscious, but whenhe awoke the sun had gone down and the darkening shadows had stoleninto the clearing near the cabin. He still sat in the chair on theporch. He tried to lift his injured foot and found to his surprisethat some weight seemed to be on it. He struggled to an erectposition, looking down. His foot had been bandaged, and the weightthat he had thought was upon it was not a weight at all, but the handsof a young woman. 

She sat on the porch floor, the injured foot in her lap, and she hadjust finished bandaging it. Beside her on the porch floor was a smallblack medicine case, a sponge, some yards of white cloth, and a tinwash basin partly filled with water. 

He had a hazy recollection of the young woman; he knew it must havebeen she that he had seen when he had ridden up to the porch. He alsohad a slight remembrance of having spoken to her, but what the wordswere he could not recall. He stretched himself painfully. The footpained frightfully, and his face felt hot and feverish; he was woefullyweak and his nerves were tingling--but he was alive. 

The girl looked up at his movement. Her lips opened and she held up awarning hand. 

"You are to be very quiet, " she admonished. 

He smiled weakly and obeyed her, leaning back, his gaze on theslate-blue of the sky. She still worked at the foot, fastening thebandage; he could feel her fingers as they passed lightly over it. Hedid not move, feeling a deep contentment. 

Presently she arose, placed the foot gently down, and entered thehouse. With closed eyes he lay in the chair, listening to her step asshe walked about in the house. He lay there a long time, and when heopened his eyes again he knew that he must have been asleep, for thenight had come and a big yellow moon was rising over a rim of distanthills. Turning his head slightly, he saw the interior of one of therooms of the cabin--the kitchen, for he saw a stove and some kettlesand pans hanging on the wall and near the window a table, over whichwas spread a cloth. A small kerosene lamp stood in the center of thetable, its rays glimmering weakly through the window. He raised onehand and passed it over his forehead. There was still some fever, buthe felt decidedly better than when he had awakened the first time. 

Presently he heard a light step and became aware of some one standingnear him. He knew it was the girl, even before she spoke, for he hadcaught the rustle of her dress. 

"Are you awake, " she questioned. 

"Why, yes, ma'am, " he returned. He turned to look at her, but in thedarkness he could not see her face. 

"Do you feel like eating anything?" she asked. 

He grinned ruefully in the darkness. "I couldn't say that I'm exactlyyearnin' for grub, " he returned, "though I ain't done any eatin' sincemornin'. I reckon a rattler's bite ain't considered to help a man'sappetite any. "

He heard her laugh softly. "No, " she returned; "I wouldn't recommendit. "

He tried again to see her, but could not, and so he relaxed and turnedhis gaze on the sky. But presently he felt her hand on his shoulder, and then her voice, as she spoke firmly. 

"You can't lie here all night, " she said. "You would be worse in themorning. And it is impossible for you to travel to-night. I am goingto help you to get into the house. You can lean your weight on myshoulder. "

He struggled to an erect position and made out her slender figure inthe dim light from the window. He would have been afraid of crushingher could he have been induced to accept her advice. He got to hisuninjured foot and began to hop toward the door, but she was beside himinstantly protesting. 

"Stop!" she commanded firmly. "If you do that it will be the worse foryou. Put your hand on my shoulder!"

In the darkness he could see her eyes flash with determination, and sowithout further objection he placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, andin this manner they made their way through the door and into the cabin. Once inside the door he halted, blinking at the light and undecided. But she promptly led him toward another door, into a room containing abed. She led him to the bedside and stood near him after he had sunkdown upon it. 

"You are to sleep here to-night, " she said. "To-morrow, if you areconsiderably better, I may allow you to travel. " She went out, returning immediately with a small bottle containing medicine. "If youfeel worse during the night, " she directed, "you must take a spoonfulfrom that bottle. If you think you need anything else, don't hesitateto call. I shall be in the next room. "

He started to voice his thanks, but she cut him short with a laugh. "Good-night, " she said. Then she went out and closed the door afterher. 

He awoke several times during the night and each time took a taste ofthe medicine in the bottle. But shortly after midnight he fell into aheavy sleep, from which he did not awaken until the dawn had come. Helay quiet for a long time, until he heard steps in the kitchen, andthen he rose and went to the door, throwing it open and standing on thethreshold. 

She was standing near the table, a coffee pot in her hand. Her eyeswidened as she saw him. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "You are very much better!"

He smiled. "I'm thankin' you for it, ma'am, " he returned. "I cert'nlywouldn't have been feelin' anything if I hadn't met you when I did. "

She put the coffee pot down and looked gravely at him. 

"You were in very bad shape when you came, " she admitted. "There was atime when I thought my remedies would not pull you through. They wouldnot had you come five minutes later. "

He had no reply to make to this, and he stood there silent, until shepoured coffee into a cup, arranged some dishes, and then invited him tosit at the table. 

He needed no second invitation, for he had been twenty-four hourswithout food. And he had little excuse to complain of the quality ofthe food that was set before him. He ate in silence and when he hadfinished he turned away from the table to see the girl dragging arocking chair out upon the porch. She returned immediately, smiling athim. 

"Your chair is ready, " she said. "I think you had better not exertyourself very much to-day. "

"Why, ma'am, " he expostulated, "I'm feelin' right well. I reckon Icould be travelin' now. I ain't used to bein' babied this way. "

"I don't think you are being 'babied, '" she returned a trifle coldly. "I don't think that I would waste any time with anyone if I thought itwasn't necessary. I am merely telling you to remain for your own good. Of course, if you wish to disregard my advice you may do so. "

He smiled with a frank embarrassment and limped toward the door. "Why, ma'am, " he said regretfully as he reached the door, "I cert'nly don'twant to do anything which you think ain't right, after what you've donefor me. I don't want to belittle you, an' I think that when I saidthat I might have been gassin' a little. But I thought mebbe I'd beenenough trouble already. "

It was not entirely the confession itself, but the self-accusing tonein which it had been uttered that brought a smile to her face. 

"All the same, " she said, "you are to do as I tell you. "

He smiled as he dropped into the chair on the porch. It was an oddexperience for him. Never before in his life had anyone adopted towardhim an air of even partial proprietorship. He had been accustomed tohaving people--always men--meet him upon a basis of equality, and if aman had adopted toward him the tone that she had employed there wouldhave been an instant severing of diplomatic relations and a beginningof hostilities. 

But this situation was odd--a woman had ordered him to do a certainthing and he was obeying, realizing that in doing so he was violating aprinciple, though conscious of a strange satisfaction. He knew that hehad promised the Two Diamond manager, and he was convinced that, inspite of the pain in his foot, he was well enough to ride. But he wasnot going to ride; her command had settled that. 

For a long time he sat in the chair, looking out over a great stretchof flat country which was rimmed on three sides by a fringe of lowhills, and behind him by the cottonwood. The sun had been up long; itwas swimming above the rim of distant hills--a ball of molten silver ina shimmering white blur. The cabin was set squarely in the center of abig clearing, and about an eighth of a mile behind him was a river--theriver that he had been following when he had been bitten by the rattler. 

He knew from the location of the cabin that he had not gone very farout of his way; that a ride of an eighth of a mile would bring him tothe Two Diamond trail. And he could not be very far from the TwoDiamond. Yet because of an order, issued by a girl, he was doomed todelay his appearance at the ranch. 

He had seen no man about the cabin. Did the girl live here alone? Hewas convinced that no woman could long survive the solitude of thisgreat waste of country--some man--a brother or a husband--must sharethe cabin with her. Several times he caught himself hoping that ifthere was a man here it might be a brother, or even a distant relative. The thought that she might have a husband aroused in him a sensation ofvague disquiet. 

He heard her moving about in the cabin, heard the rattle of dishes, theswish of a broom on the rough floor. And then presently she came out, dragging another rocker. Then she re-entered the cabin, returning witha strip of striped cloth and a sewing basket. She seated herself inthe chair, placed the basket in her lap, and with a half smile on herface began to ply the needle. He lay back contentedly and watched her. 

Hers was a lithe, vigorous figure in a white apron and a checkereddress of some soft material. She wore no collar; her sleeves wereshoved up above the elbows, revealing a pair of slightly browned handsand white, rounded arms. Her eyes were brown as her hair--the latterin a tumble of graceful disorder. Through half closed eyes he wasappraising her in a riot of admiration that threatened completely tobias his judgment. And yet women had interested him very little. 

Perhaps that was because he had never seen a woman like this one. Thewomen that he had known had been those of the plains-town--theunfortunates who through circumstances or inclination had been drawninto the maelstrom of cow-country vice, and who, while they may havefound flattery, were never objects of honest admiration or respect. 

He had known this young woman only a few hours, and yet he knew thatwith her he could not adopt the easy, matter-of-fact intimacy that hadanswered with the other women he had known. In fact, the desire tolook upon her in this light never entered his mind. Instead, he wasfilled with a deep admiration for her--an admiration in which there wasa profound respect. 

"I expect you must know your business, ma'am, " he said, after watchingher for a few minutes. "An' I'm mighty glad that you do. Most womenwould have been pretty nearly flustered over a snake bite. "

"Why, " she returned, without looking up, but exhibiting a littleembarrassment, which betrayed itself in a slight flush, "I really thinkthat I was a little excited--especially when you came riding up to theporch. " She thought of his words, when, looking at her accusingly, hehad told her that she was "a hell of a snake, " and the flush grew, suffusing her face. This of course he had not known and never wouldknow, but the words had caused her many smiles during the night. 

"You didn't show it much, " he observed. "You must have took righta-hold. Some women would have gone clean off the handle. Theywouldn't have been able to do anything. "

Her lips twitched, but she still gave her attention to her sewing, treating his talk with a mild interest. 

"There is nothing about a snake bite to become excited over. That is, if treatment is applied in time. In your case the tourniquet kept thepoison from getting very far into your system. If you hadn't thoughtof that it might have gone very hard with you. "

"That rope around my leg wouldn't have done me a bit of good though, ma'am, if I hadn't stumbled onto your cabin. I don't know when seein'a woman has pleased me more. "

She smiled enigmatically, her eyelashes flickering slightly. But shedid not answer. 

Until noon she sewed, and he lay lazily back in the chair, watching hersometimes, sometimes looking at the country around him. They talkedvery little. Once, when he had been looking at her for a long time, she suddenly raised her eyes and they met his fairly. Both smiled, buthe saw a blush mantle her cheeks. 

At noon she rose and entered the cabin. A little later she called tohim, telling him that dinner was ready. He washed from the tin basinthat stood on the bench just outside the door, and entering sat at thetable and ate heartily. 

After dinner he did not see her again for a time, and becoming weariedof the chair he set out on a short excursion to the river. When hereturned she was seated on the porch and looked up at him with a demuresmile. 

"You will be quite active by to-morrow, " she said. 

"I ain't feelin' exactly lazy now, " he returned, showing a surprisingagility in reaching his chair. 

When the sun began to swim low over the hills, he looked at her with acuriously grim smile. 

"I reckon that rattler was fooled last night, " he said. "But iffoolin' him had been left to me I expect I'd have made a bad job of it. But I'm thinkin' that he done his little old dyin' when the sun wentdown last night. An' I'm still here. An' I'll keep right on, usin'his brothers an' sisters for targets--when I think that I'm needin'practice. "

"Then you killed the snake?"

"Why sure, ma'am. I wasn't figgerin' to let that rattler go a-fannin'right on to hook someone else. That'd be encouragin' his trade. "

She laughed, evidently pleased over his earnestness. "Oh, I see, " shesaid. "Then you were not angry merely because he bit you? You killedhim to keep him from attacking other persons?"

He smiled. "I sure was some angry, " he returned. "An' I reckon thatjust at the time I wasn't thinkin' much about other people. I washavin' plenty to keep me busy. "

"But you killed him. How?"

"Why I shot him, ma'am. Was you thinkin' that I beat him to death withsomethin'?"

Her lips twitched again, the corners turning suggestively inward. Butnow he caught her looking at his guns. She looked from them to hisface. "All cowboys do not carry two guns, " she said suddenly. 

He looked gravely at her. "Well, no, ma'am, they don't. There's somethat claim carryin' two guns is clumsy. But there's been times when Ifound them right convenient. "

She fell silent now, regarding her sewing. A quizzical smile hadreached his face. This exchange of talk had developed the fact thatshe was a stranger to the country. No Western girl would have made herremark about the guns. 

He did not know whether or not he was pleased over the discovery. Certain subtle signs about her had warned him in the beginning that shewas different from the other women of his acquaintance, but he had notthought of her being a stranger here, of her coming here from someother section of the country--the East, for instance. 

Her being from the East would account for many things. First, it wouldmake plain to him why she had smiled several times during their talks, over things in which he had been able to see no humor. Then it wouldanswer the question that had formed in his mind concerning the fluencyof her speech. Western girls that he had met had not attained thatease and poise which he saw was hers so naturally. Yet in spite ofthis accomplishment she was none the less a woman--demure eyed, readyto blush and become confused as easily as a Western woman. Assured ofthis, he dropped the slight constraint which up till now had been plainin his voice, and an inward humor seemed to draw the corners of hismouth slightly downward. 

"I reckon that folks where you come from don't wear guns at all, ma'am, " he said slowly. 

She looked up quickly, surprised into meeting his gaze fairly. Hiseyes did not waver. She rocked vigorously, showing some embarrassmentand giving undue attention to her sewing. 

"How do you know that?" she questioned, raising her head and looking athim with suddenly defiant eyes. "I am not aware that I told you that Iwas a stranger here! Don't you think you are guessing now?"

His eyes narrowed cunningly. "I don't think I need to do any guessin', ma'am, " he returned. "When a man sees a different girl, he don't haveto guess none. "

The "different" girl was regarding him with furtive glances, plainlyembarrassed under his direct words. But there was much defiance in hereyes, as though she was aware of the trend of his words and wasdetermined to outwit him. 

"I think you must be a remarkable man, " she said, with the faintesttrace of mockery in her voice, "to be able to discover such a thing soquickly. Or perhaps it is the atmosphere--it is marvelous. "

"I expect it ain't exactly marvelous, " he returned, laboring with thelast word. "When a girl acts different, a man is pretty apt to knowit. " He leaned forward a little, speaking earnestly. "I know that I'mtalkin' pretty plain to you, ma'am, " he went on. "But when a man hasbeen bit by a rattler an' has sort of give up hope an' has had his lifesaved by a girl, he's to be excused if he feels that he's someacquainted with the girl. An' then when he finds that she's somedifferent from the girls he's been used to seein', I don't see why hehadn't ought to take a lot of interest in her. "

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her eyes drooping. And then, her eyes dancing asthey shot a swift glance at him--"I should call that a pretty speech. "

He reddened with embarrassment. "I expect you are laughin' at me now, ma'am, " he said. "But I wasn't thinkin' to make any pretty speeches. I was tellin' you the truth. "

She soberly plied her needle, and he sat back, watching her. 

"I expect you are a stranger around here yourself, " she said presently, her eyes covered with drooping lashes. "How do you know that you haveany right to sit there and tell me that you take an interest in me?How do you know that I am not married?"

He was not disconcerted. He drawled slightly over his words when heanswered. 

"You wouldn't listen at me at all, ma'am; you cert'nly wouldn't stayan' listen to any speeches that you thought was pretty, if you wasmarried, " he said. Plainly, he had not lost faith in the virtue ofwoman. 

"But if I did listen?" she questioned, her face crimson, though hereyes were still defiant. 

He regarded her with pleased eyes. "I've been lookin' for a weddin'ring, " he said. 

She gave it up in confusion. "I don't know why I am talking this wayto you, " she said. "I expect it is because there isn't anything elseto do. But you really are entertaining!" she declared, for a partingshot. 

Once Ferguson had seen a band of traveling minstrels in Cimarron. Their jokes (of an ancient vintage) had taken well with the audience, for the latter had laughed. Ferguson remembered that a stranger hadsaid that the minstrels were "entertaining. " And now he wasentertaining her. A shadow passed over his face; he looked down at hisfoot, with its white bandage so much in evidence. Then straight ather, his eyes grave and steady. 

"I'm glad to have amused you, ma'am, " he said. "An' now I reckon I'llbe gettin' over to the Two Diamond. It can't be very far now. "

"Five miles, " she said shortly. She had dropped her sewing into herlap and sat motionless, regarding him with level eyes. 

"Are you working for the Two Diamond?" she questioned. 

"Lookin' for a job, " he returned. 

"Oh!" The exclamation struck him as rather expressionless. He lookedat her. 

"Do you know the Two Diamond folks?"

"Of course. "

"Of course, " he repeated, aware of the constraint in her voice. "Iought to have known. They're neighbors of your'n. "

"They are not!" she suddenly flashed back at him. 

"Well, now, " he returned slowly, puzzled, but knowing that somehow hewas getting things wrong, "I reckon there's a lot that I don't know. "

"If you are going to work over at the Two Diamond, " she said coldly, "you will know more than you do now. My----"

Evidently she was about to say something more, but a sound caught herear and she rose, dropping her sewing to the chair. "My brother iscoming, " she said quietly. Standing near the door she caughtFerguson's swift glance. 

"Then it ain't a husband after all, " he said, pretending surprise. 

CHAPTER V

THE MAN OF DRY BOTTOM

A young man rode around the corner of the cabin and halted his ponybeside the porch, sitting quietly in the saddle and gazing inquiringlyat the two. He was about Ferguson's age and, like the latter, he woretwo heavy guns. There was about him, as he sat there sweeping a slowglance over the girl and the man, a certain atmosphere of deliberatecertainty and quiet coldness that gave an impression of readiness forwhatever might occur. 

Ferguson's eyes lighted with satisfaction. The girl might be anEasterner, but the young man was plainly at home in this country. Nowhere, except in the West, could he have acquired the serene calmthat shone out of his eyes; in no other part of the world could he havecaught the easy assurance, the unstudied nonchalance, that seems theinherent birthright of the cowpuncher. 

"Ben, " said the girl, answering the young man's glance, "this man wasbitten by a rattler. He came here, and I treated him. He says he wason his way over to the Two Diamond, for a job. "

The young man opened his lips slightly. "Stafford hire you?" he asked. 

"I'm hopin' he does, " returned Ferguson. 

The young man's lips drooped sneeringly. "I reckon you're wantin' ajob mighty bad, " he said. 

Ferguson smiled. "Takin' your talk, you an' Stafford ain't very goodfriends, " he returned. 

The young man did not answer. He dismounted and led his pony to asmall corral and then returned to the porch, carrying his saddle. 

For an instant after the young man had left the porch to turn his ponyinto the corral Ferguson had kept his seat on the porch. But somethingin the young man's tone had brought him out of the chair, determined toaccept no more of his hospitality. If the young man was no friend ofStafford, it followed that he could not feel well disposed to a puncherwho had avowed that his purpose was to work for the Two Diamond manager. 

Ferguson was on his feet, clinging to one of the slender porch posts, preparatory to stepping down to go to his pony, when the young womancame out. Her sharp exclamation halted him. 

"You're not going now!" she said. "You have got to remain perfectlyquiet until morning!"

The brother dropped his saddle to the porch floor, grinning mildly atFerguson, "You don't need to be in a hurry, " he said. "I was intendingto run your horse into the corral. What I meant about Stafford don'tapply to you. " He looked up at his sister, still grinning. "I reckonhe ain't got nothing to do with it?"

The young woman blushed. "I hope not, " she said in a low voice. 

"We're goin' to eat pretty soon, " said the young man. "I reckon thatrattler didn't take your appetite?"

Ferguson flushed. "It was plum rediculous, me bein' hooked by arattler, " he said. "An' I've lived among them so long. "

"I reckon you let him get away?" questioned the young man evenly. 

"If he's got away, " returned Ferguson, his lips straightening withsatisfaction, "he's a right smart snake. "

He related the incident of the attack, ending with praises of the youngwoman's skill. 

The young man smiled at the reference to his sister. "She's studiedmedicine--back East. Lately she's turned her hand to writin'. Comeout here to get experience--local color, she calls it. "

Ferguson sat back in his chair, quietly digesting this bit ofinformation. Medicine and writing. What did she write? Love stories?Fairy tales? Romances? He had read several of these. Mostly theywere absurd and impossible. Love stories, he thought, would be easyfor her. For--he said, mentally estimating her--a woman ought to knowmore about love than a man. And as for anything being impossible in alove story. Why most anything could happen to people who are in love. 

"Supper is ready, " he heard her announce from within. 

Ferguson preceded the young man at the tin wash basin, taking a freshtowel that the young woman offered him from the doorway. Then hefollowed the young man inside. The three took places at the table, andFerguson was helped to a frugal, though wholesome meal. 

The dusk had begun to fall while they were yet at the table, and theyoung woman arose, lighting a kerosene lamp and placing it on thetable. By the time they had finished semi-darkness had settled. Ferguson followed the young man out to the chairs on the porch for asmoke. 

They were scarcely seated when there was a clatter of hoofs, and a ponyand rider came out of the shadow of the nearby cottonwood, approachingthe cabin and halting beside the porch. The newcomer was a man ofabout thirty-five. The light of the kerosene lamp shone fairly in hisface as he sat in the saddle, showing a pair of cold, steady eyes andthin, straight lips that were wreathed in a smile. 

"I thought I'd ride over for a smoke an' a talk before goin' down thecrick to where the outfit's workin', " he said to the young man. Andnow his eyes swept Ferguson's lank figure with a searching glance. "But I didn't know you was havin' company, " he added. The secondglance that he threw toward Ferguson was not friendly. 

Ferguson's lips curled slightly under it. Each man had been measuredby the other, and neither had found in the other anything to admire. 

Ferguson's thoughts went rapidly back to Dry Bottom. He saw a man inthe street, putting five bullets through a can that he had thrown intothe air. He saw again the man's face as he had completed hisexhibition--insolent, filled with a sneering triumph. He heard againthis man's voice, as he himself had offered to eclipse his feat:--

"You runnin' sheep, stranger?"

The voice and face of the man who stood before him now were the voiceand face of the man who had preceded him in the shooting match in DryBottom. His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of his host, explaining his presence. 

"This here man was bit by a rattler this afternoon, " the young man wassaying. "He's layin' up here for to-night. Says he's reckonin' ongettin' a job over at the Two Diamond. "

The man on the horse sneered. "Hell!" he said; "bit by a rattler!" Helaughed insolently, pulling his pony's head around. "I reckon I'll begoin', " he said. "You'll nurse him so's he won't die?" He had struckthe pony's flanks with the spurs and was gone into the shadows beforeeither man on the porch could move. There was a short silence, whilethe two men listened to the beat of his pony's hoofs. Then Fergusonturned and spoke to the young man. 

"You know him?" he questioned. 

The young man smiled coldly. "Yep, " he said; "he's range boss for theTwo Diamond!"

CHAPTER VI

AT THE TWO DIAMOND

As Ferguson rode through the pure sunshine of the morning his thoughtskept going back to the little cabin in the flat--"Bear Flat, " she hadcalled it. Certain things troubled him--he, whose mind had been alwaysuntroubled--even through three months of idleness that had not beenexactly attractive. 

"She's cert'nly got nice eyes, " he told himself confidentially, as helingered slowly on his way; "an' she knows how to use them. She suremade me seem some breathless. An' no girl has ever done that. An' herhair is like"--he pondered long over this--"like--why, I reckon Ididn't just ever see anything like it. An' the way she looked at me!"

A shadow crossed his face. "So she's a writer--an' she's studiedmedicine. I reckon I'd like it a heap better if she didn't monkey withnone of them fool things. What business has a girl got to----" Hesuddenly laughed aloud. "Why I reckon I'm pretty near loco, " he said, "to be ravin' about a girl like this. She ain't nothin' to me; shejust done what any other girl would do if a man come to her place bitby a rattler. "

He spurred his pony forward at a sharp lope. And now he found that histhoughts would go back to the moment of his departure from the cabinthat morning. She had accompanied him to the door, after bandaging theankle. Her brother had gone away an hour before. 

"I'm thankin' you, ma'am, " Ferguson said as he stood for a moment atthe door. "I reckon I'd have had a bad time if it hadn't been for you. "

"It was nothing, " she returned. 

He had hesitated--he still felt the thrill of doubt that had assailedhim before he had taken the step that he knew was impertinent. "I'llbe ridin' over here again, some day, if you don't mind, " he said. 

Her face reddened a trifle. "I'm sure brother would like to have you, "she replied. 

"I don't remember to have said that I was comin' over to see yourbrother, " was his reply. 

"But it would have to be he, " she said, looking straight at him. "Youcouldn't come to see me unless I asked you. "

And now he had spoken a certain word that had been troubling him. "Doyou reckon that Two Diamond range boss comes over to see your brother?"

She frowned. "Of course!" she replied. "He is my brother's friend. But I--I despise him!"

Ferguson grinned broadly. "Well, now, " he said, unable to keep hispleasure over her evident dislike of the Two Diamond man from showingin his eyes and voice, "that's cert'nly too bad. An' to think he'swastin' his time--ridin' over here. "

She gazed at him with steady, unwavering eyes. He could still rememberthe challenge in them. "Be careful that you don't waste your time!"was her answer. 

"I reckon I won't, " was his reply, as he climbed into the saddle. "ButI won't be comin' over here to see your brother!"

"Oh, dear!" she said, "I call that very brazen!"

But when he had spurred his pony down through the crossing of the riverhe had turned to glance back at her. And he had seen a smile on herface. As he rode now he went over this conversation many times, muchpleased with his own boldness; more pleased because she had not seemedangry with him. 

It was late in the morning when he caught sight of the Two Diamondranch buildings, scattered over a great basin through which the riverflowed. Half an hour later he rode up to the ranchhouse and metStafford at the door of the office. The manager waved him inside. 

"I'm two days late, " said Ferguson, after he had taken a chair in theoffice. He related to Stafford the attack by the rattler. The lattershowed some concern over the injury. 

"I reckon you didn't do your own doctorin'?" he asked. 

Ferguson told him of the girl. The manager's lips straightened. Agrim humor shone from his eyes. 

"You stayed there over night?" he questioned. 

"I reckon I stayed there. It was in a cabin down at a place which Iheard the girl say was called 'Bear Flat. ' I didn't ketch the name ofthe man. "

Stafford grinned coldly. "I reckon they didn't know what you wascomin' over here for?"

"I didn't advertise, " returned Ferguson quietly. 

"If you had, " declared Stafford, his eyes glinting with a coldamusement, "you would have found things plum lively. The man's name isBen Radford. He's the man I'm hirin' you to put out of business!"

For all Stafford could see Ferguson did not move a muscle. Yet thenews had shocked him; he could feel the blood surging rapidly throughhis veins. But the expression of his face was inscrutable. 

"Well, now, " he said, "that sure would have made things interestin'. An' so that's the man you think has been stealin' your cattle?" Helooked steadily at the manager. "But I told you before that I wasn'tdoin' any shootin'. "

"Correct, " agreed the manager. "What I want you to do is to prove thatRadford's the man. We can't do anything until we prove that he's beenrustlin'. An' then----" He smiled grimly. 

"You reckon to know the girl's name too?" inquired Ferguson. 

"It's Mary, " stated the manager. "I've heard Leviatt talk about her. "

Ferguson contemplated the manager gravely. "An' you ain't sure thatRadford's stealin' your cattle?"

Stafford filled and lighted his pipe. "I'm takin' Dave Leviatt's wordfor it, " he said. 

"Who's Leviatt?" queried Ferguson. 

"My range boss, " returned Stafford. 

"He's been ridin' sign on Radford an' says he's responsible for all thestock that we've been missin' in the last six months. "

Ferguson rolled a cigarette. He lighted it and puffed for a moment insilence, the manager watching him. 

"Back at Dry Bottom, " said Ferguson presently, "there was a manshootin' at a can when I struck town. He put five bullets through thecan. Was that your range boss?"

Stafford smiled. "That was Leviatt--my range boss, " he returned. "Wewent over to Dry Bottom to get a gunfighter. We wanted a man who couldshoot plum quick. He'd have to be quick, for Radford's lightnin' witha six. Leviatt said shootin' at a can would be a good way to find aman who could take Radford's measure--in case it was necessary, " headded quickly. 

Ferguson's face was a mask of immobility. "Where's Leviatt now?" hequestioned. 

"Up the Ute with the outfit. "

"How far up?"

"Thirty miles. "

Ferguson's eyelashes flickered. "Has Leviatt been here lately?" hequestioned. 

"Not since the day before yesterday. "

"When you expectin' him back?"

"The boys'll be comin' back in a week. He'll likely come along withthem. "

"U--um. You're giving me a free hand?"

"Of course. "

Ferguson lounged to the door. "I'm lookin' around a little, " he said, "to kind of size up things. I don't want you to put me with theoutfit. That strike you right?"

"I'm hirin' you to do a certain thing, " returned Stafford. "I ain'ttellin' you how it ought to be done. You've got till the fall roundupto do it. "

Ferguson nodded. He went to the corral fence, unhitched his pony, androde out on the plains toward the river. Stafford watched him until hewas a mere dot on the horizon. Then he smiled with satisfaction. 

"I kind of like that guy, " he said, commenting mentally. "There ain'tno show work to him, but he's business. "

CHAPTER VII

THE MEASURE OF A MAN

During the week following Ferguson's arrival at the Two Diamond ranchStafford saw very little of him. Mornings saw him proceed to thecorral, catch up his pony, mount, and depart. He returned with thedusk. Several times, from his office window, Stafford had seen himride away in the moonlight. 

Ferguson did his own cooking, for the cook had accompanied the wagonoutfit down the river. Stafford did not seek out the new man withinstructions or advice; the work Ferguson was engaged in he must doalone, for if complications should happen to arise it was the manager'sbusiness to know nothing. 

The Two Diamond ranch was not unlike many others that dotted the grassplains of the Territory. The interminable miles that separatedStafford from the nearest, did not prevent him from referring to thatparticular owner as "neighbor", for distances were thus determined--anddistances thus determined were nearly always inaccurate. The travelerinquiring for his destination was expected to discover it somewhere inthe unknown distance. 

The Two Diamond ranch had the enviable reputation of being"slick"--which meant that Stafford was industrious and thrifty and thathis ranch bore an appearance of unusual neatness. For example, Stafford believed in the science of irrigation. A fence skirted hisbuildings, another ran around a large area of good grass, forming apasture for his horses. His buildings were attractive, even thoughrough, for they revealed evidence of continued care. His ranchhouseboasted a sloped roof and paved galleries. 

A garden in the rear was but another instance of Stafford's industry. He had cattle that were given extraordinary care because they were"milkers, " for in his youth Stafford had lived on a farm and heremembered days when his father had sent him out into the meadow todrive the cows home for the milking. There were many other things thatStafford had not forgotten, for chickens scratched promiscuously aboutthe ranch yard, occasionally trespassing into the sacred precincts ofthe garden and the flower beds. His horses were properly stabledduring the cold, raw days that came inevitably; his men had little tocomplain of, and there was a general atmosphere of prosperity over theentire ranch. 

But of late there had been little contentment for the Two Diamondmanager. For six months cattle thieves had been at work on his stock. The result of the spring round-up had been far from satisfactory. Heknew of the existence of nesters in the vicinity; one ofthem--Radford--he had suspected upon evidence submitted by the rangeboss. Radford had been warned to vacate Bear Flat, but the warning hadbeen disregarded. 

But one other course was left, and Stafford had adopted that. Therehad been no hesitancy on the manager's part; he must protect the TwoDiamond property. Sentiment had no place in the situation whatever. Therefore toward Ferguson's movements Stafford adopted an air ofstudied indifference, not doubting, from what he had seen of the man, that he would eventually ride in and report that the work which he hadbeen hired to do was finished. 

Toward the latter end of the week the wagon outfit straggled in. Theycame in singly, in twos and threes, bronzed, hardy, seasoned young men, taciturn, serene eyed, capable. They continued to come until therewere twenty-seven of them. Later in the day came the wagon and theremuda. 

From a period of calm and inaction the ranch now awoke to life andmovement. The bunkhouse was scrubbed;--"swabbed" in the vernacular ofthe cowboys; the scant bedding was "cured" in the white sunlight; andthe cook was adjured to extend himself in the preparation of "chuck"(meaning food) to repay the men for the lack of good things during afortnight on the open range with the wagon. 

At dusk on the first day in Rope Jones, a tall, lithe young puncher, whose spare moments were passed in breaking the wild horses thatoccasionally found their way to the Two Diamond, was oiling his saddleleathers. Sitting on a bench outside the bunkhouse he became aware ofStafford standing near. 

"Leviatt come in?" queried the manager. 

The puncher grinned. "Nope. Last I seen of Dave he was hittin' thebreeze toward Bear Flat. Said he'd be in later. " He lowered his voicesignificantly. "Reckon that Radford girl is botherin' Dave a heap. "

Stafford smiled coldly and was about to answer when he saw Fergusondropping from his pony at the corral gate. Following Stafford's gaze, Rope also observed Ferguson. He looked up at Stafford. 

"New man?" he questioned. 

Stafford nodded. He had invented a plausible story for the presence ofFerguson. Sooner or later the boys would have noticed the latter'sabsence from the outfit. Therefore if he advanced his story now therewould be less conjecture later. 

"You boys have got enough to do, " he said, still watching Ferguson. "I've hired this man to look up strays. I reckon he c'n put in a heapof time at it. "

Rope shot a swift glance upward at the manager's back. Then he grinnedfurtively. "Two-gun, " he observed quietly; "with the bottoms of hisholsters tied down. I reckon your stray-man ain't for to be monkeyedwith. "

But Stafford had told his story and knew that within a very little timeRope would be telling it to the other men. So without answering hewalked toward the ranchhouse. Before he reached it he saw Leviattunsaddling at the corral gate. 

When Ferguson, with his saddle on his shoulder, on his way to place iton its accustomed peg in the lean-to adjoining the bunkhouse, passedRope, it was by the merest accident that one of the stirrups caught thecinch buckle of Rope's saddle. Not observing the tangle, Fergusoncontinued on his way. He halted when he felt the stirrup strap drag, turning half around to see what was wrong. He smiled broadly at Rope. 

"You reckon them saddles are acquainted?" he said. 

Rope deftly untangled them. "I ain't thinkin' they're relations, " hereturned, grinning up at Ferguson. "Leastways I never knowed a 'doublecinch' an' a 'center fire' to git real chummy. "

"I reckon you're right, " returned Ferguson, his eyes gleamingcordially; "an' I've knowed men to lose their tempers discussin'whether a center fire or a double cinch was the most satisfyin'. "

"Some men is plum fools, " returned Rope, surveying Ferguson withnarrow, pleased eyes. "You didn't observe that the saddles rode anyeasier after the argument than before?"

"I didn't observe. But mebbe the men was more satisfied. Let a manargue that somethin' he's got is better'n somethin' that anotherfellow's got an' he falls right in love with his own--an' goes right onfallin' in love with it. Nothin' c'n ever change his mind after anargument. "

"I know a man who's been studyin' human nature, " observed Rope, grinning. 

"An' not wastin' his time arguin' fool questions, " added Ferguson. 

"You sure ain't plum greenhorn, " declared Rope admiringly. 

"Thank yu', " smiled Ferguson; "I wasn't lookin' to see whether you'dcut your eye-teeth either. "

"Well, now, " remarked Rope, rising and shouldering his saddle, "you'vealmost convinced me that a double cinch ain't a bad saddle. Seems tomake a man plum good humored. "

"When a man's hungry an' right close to the place where he's goin' tofeed, " said Ferguson gravely, "he hadn't ought to bother his head aboutnothin'. "

"You're settin' at my right hand at the table, " remarked Rope, delighted with his new friend. 

Several of the men were already at the washtrough when Rope andFerguson reached there. The method by which they performed theirablutions was not delicate, but it was thorough. And when the dust hadbeen removed their faces shone with the dusky health-bloom that told oftheir hard, healthy method of living. Men of various ages werethere--grizzled riders who saw the world through the introspective eyeof experience; young men with their enthusiasms, their impulses;middle-aged men who had seen much of life--enough to be able to facethe future with unshaken complacence; but all bronzed, clear-eyed, self-reliant, unafraid. 

When Ferguson and Rope entered the bunkhouse many of the men werealready seated. Ferguson and Rope took places at one end of the longtable and began eating. No niceties of the conventions were observedhere; the men ate each according to his whim and were immune fromcriticism. Table etiquette was a thing that would have spoiled theirjoy of eating. Theirs was a primitive country; their occupationprimitive; their manner of living no less so. They concernedthemselves very little with the customs of a world of which they heardvery little. 

Nor did they bolt their food silently--as has been recorded of them bymen who knew them little. If they did eat rapidly it was because theravening hunger of a healthy stomach demanded instant attention. Andthey did not overeat. Epicurus would have marveled at the simplicityof their food. Conversation was mingled with every mouthful. 

At one end of the table sat an empty plate, with no man on the benchbefore it. This was the place reserved for Leviatt, the range boss. Next to this place on the right was seated a goodlooking young puncher, whose age might have been estimated at twenty-three. "Skinny" theycalled him because of his exceeding slenderness. At the momentFerguson settled into his seat the young man was filling the room withrapid talk. This talk had been inconsequential and concerned onlythose small details about which we bother during our leisure. But nowhis talk veered and he was suddenly telling something that gave promiseof consecutiveness and universal interest. Other voices died away ashis arose. 

"Leviatt ain't the only one, " he was saying. "She ain't made noexception with any of the outfit. To my knowin' there's been LonDexter, Soapy, Clem Miller, Lazy, Wrinkles--an' myself, " he admitted, reddening, "been notified that we was mavericks an' needed our earsmarked. An' now comes Leviatt a-fannin' right on to get his'n. An' Ireckon he'll get it. "

"You ain't tellin' what she said when she give you your'n, " said avoice. 

There was a laugh, through which the youth emerged smiling broadly. 

"No, " he said, "I ain't tellin'. But she told Soapy here that she waslookin' for local color. Wanted to know if he was it. Since thenSoapy's been using a right smart lot of soap, tryin' to rub some colorinto his face. "

Color was in Soapy's face now. He sat directly opposite the slenderyouth and his cheeks were crimson. 

"I reckon if you'd keep to the truth----" he began. But Skinny haspassed on to the next. 

"An' there's Dexter. Lon's been awful quiet since she told him he hada picturesque name. Said it'd do for to put into a book which she'sgoin' to write, but when it come to choosin' a husband she'd prefer totie up to a commoner name. An' so Lon didn't graze on that range nomore. "

"This country's goin' plum to----" sneered Dexter. But a laughsilenced him. And the youth continued. 

"It might have been fixed up for Lazy, " he went on, "only when shefound out his name was Lazy, she wanted to know right off if he couldsupport a wife--providin' he got one. He said he reckoned he could, an' she told him he could experiment on some other woman. An' nowLazy'll have to look around quite a spell before he'll get anotherchancst. I'd call that bein' in mighty poor luck. "

Lazy was giving his undivided attention to his plate. 

"An' she come right out an' told Wrinkles he was too old; that when shewas thinkin' of gettin' wedded to some old monolith she'd send word toEgypt, where they keep 'em in stock. Beats me where she gets all themwords. "

"Told me she'd studied her dictionary, " said a man who sat nearFerguson. 

The young man grinned. "Well, I swear if I didn't come near forgettin'Clem Miller!" he said. "If you hadn't spoke up then, I reckon youwouldn't have been in on this deal. An' so she told you she'd studiedher dictionary! Now, I'd call that news. Some one'd been tellin' methat she'd asked you the meanin' of the word 'evaporate. ' An' when youcouldn't tell her she told you to do it. Said that when you got homeyou might look up a dictionary an' then you'd know what she meant. 

"An' now Leviatt's hangin' around over there, " continued the youth. "He's claimin' to be goin' to see Ben Radford, but I reckon he's gotthe same kind of sickness as the rest of us. "

"An' you ain't sayin' a word about what she said to you, " observedMiller. "She must have treated you awful gentle, seein' you won'ttell. "

"Well, " returned the young man, "I ain't layin' it all out to you. ButI'll tell you this much; she said she was goin' to make me one of thecharacters in that book she's writin'. "

"Well, now, " said Miller, "that's sure lettin' you down easy. Did shesay what the character was goin' to be?"

"I reckon she did. "

"An' now you're goin' to tell us boys?"

"An' now I'm goin' to tell you boys, " returned Skinny. "But I reckonthere's a drove of them characters here. You'll find them with everyoutfit, an' you'll know them chiefly by their bray an' their long, hairy ears. "

The young man now smiled into his plate, while a chorus of laughterrose around him. In making himself appear as ridiculous a figure asthe others, the young man had successfully extracted all the sting fromhis story and gained the applause of even those at whom he had struck. 

But now a sound was heard outside, and Leviatt came into the room. Henodded shortly and took his place at the end of the table. A certainreserve came into the atmosphere of the room. No further reference wasmade to the subject that had aroused laughter, but several of the mensnickered into their plates over the recollection of Leviatt'sconnection with the incident. 

As the meal continued Leviatt's gaze wandered over the table, restingfinally upon Ferguson. The range boss's face darkened. 

Ferguson had seen Leviatt enter; several times during the course of themeal he felt Leviatt looking at him. Once, toward the end, his glancemet the range boss's fairly. Leviatt's eyes glittered evilly;Ferguson's lips curled with a slight contempt. 

And yet these men had met but twice before. A man meets another inNorth America--in the Antipodes. He looks upon him, meets his eye, andinstantly has won a friend or made an enemy. Perhaps this will alwaysbe true of men. Certainly it was true of Ferguson and the range boss. 

What force was at work in Leviatt when in Dry Bottom he had insultedFerguson? Whatever the force, it had told him that the steady-eyed, deliberate gun-man was henceforth to be an enemy. Enmity, hatred, evilintent, shone out of his eyes as they met Ferguson's. 

Beyond the slight curl of the lips the latter gave no indication offeeling. And after the exchange of glances he resumed eating, apparently unaware of Leviatt's existence. 

Later, the men straggled from the bunkhouse, seeking the outdoors tosmoke and talk. Upon the bench just outside the door several of themen sat; others stood at a little distance, or lounged in the doorway. With Rope, Ferguson had come out and was standing near the door, talking. 

The talk was light, turning to trivial incidents of the day'swork--things that are the monotony of the cowboy life. 

Presently Leviatt came out and joined the group. He stood nearFerguson, mingling his voice with the others. For a little time thetalk flowed easily and much laughter rose. Then suddenly above thegood natured babble came a harsh word. Instantly the other voicesceased, and the men of the group centered their glances upon the rangeboss, for the harsh word had come from him. He had been talking to aman named Tucson and it was to the latter that he had now spoken. 

"There's a heap of rattlers in this country, " he had said. 

Evidently the statement was irrelevant, for Tucson's glance atLeviatt's face was uncomprehending. But Leviatt did not wait for ananswer. 

"A man might easily claim to have been bit by one of them, " hecontinued, his voice falling coldly. 

The men of the group sat in a tense silence, trying to penetrate thismystery that had suddenly silenced their talk. Steady eyes searchedout each face in an endeavor to discover the man at whom the range bosswas talking. They did not discover him. Ferguson stood near Leviatt, an arm's length distant, his hands on his hips. Perhaps his eyes weremore alert than those of the other men, his lips in a straighter line. But apparently he knew no more of this mystery than any of the others. 

And now Leviatt's voice rose again, insolent, carrying an unmistakablepersonal application. 

"Stafford hires a stray-man, " he said, sneering. "This man claims tohave been bit by a rattler an' lays up over night in Ben Radford'scabin--makin' love to Mary Radford. "

Ferguson turned his head slightly, surveying the range boss with acold, alert eye. 

"A little while ago, " he said evenly, "I heard a man inside tellin'about some of the boys learnin' their lessons from a girl over on BearFlat. I reckon, Leviatt, that you've been over there to learn your'n. An' now you've got to let these boys know----!"

Just a rustle it was--a snake-like motion. And then Ferguson's gun wasout; its cold muzzle pressed deep into the pit of Leviatt's stomach, and Ferguson's left hand was pinning Leviatt's right to his side, therange boss's hand still wrapped around the butt of his half-drawnweapon. Then came Ferguson's voice again, dry, filled with a quietearnestness:

"I ain't goin' to hurt you--you're still tenderfoot with a gun. I justwanted to show these boys that you're a false alarm. I reckon theyknow that now. "

Leviatt sneered. There was a movement behind Ferguson. Tucson's gunwas half way out of its holster. And then arose Rope's voice as hisweapon came out and menaced Tucson. 

"Three in this game would make it odd, Tucson, " he said quietly. "Ifthere's goin' to be any shootin', let's have an even break, anyway. "

Tucson's hand fell away from his holster; he stepped back toward thedoor, away from the range boss and Ferguson. 

Leviatt's face had crimsoned. "Mebbe I was runnin' a little bitwild----" he began. 

"That's comin' down right handsome, " said Ferguson. 

He sheathed his gun and deliberately turned his back on Leviatt. Thelatter stood silent for a moment, his face gradually paling. Then heturned to where Tucson had taken himself and with his friend enteredthe bunkhouse. In an instant the old talk arose and the laughter, butmany furtive glances swept Ferguson as he stood, talking quietly withRope. 

The following morning Stafford came upon Rope while the latter wasthrowing the saddle on his pony down at the corral gate. 

"I heard something about some trouble between Dave Leviatt an' the newstray-man, " said Stafford. "I reckon it wasn't serious?"

Rope turned a grave eye upon the manager. "Shucks, " he returned, "Ireckon it wasn't nothin' serious. Only, " he continued with twitchinglips, "Dave was takin' the stray-man's measure. "

Stafford smiled grimly. "How did the stray-man measure up?" heinquired, a smile working at the corners of his mouth. "I reckon hewasn't none shy?"

Rope grinned, admiration glinting his eyes. "He's sure man's size, " hereturned, giving his attention to the saddle cinch. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE FINDING OF THE ORPHAN

During the few first days of his connection with the Two DiamondFerguson had reached the conclusion that he would do well to takeplenty of time to inquire into the situation before attempting anymove. He had now been at the Two Diamond for two weeks and he had noteven seen Radford. Nor had he spoken half a dozen words with Stafford. The manager had observed certain signs that had convinced him thatspeech with the stray-man was unnecessary and futile. If he purposedto do anything he would do it in his own time and in his own way. Stafford mentally decided that the stray-man was "set in his ways. "

The wagon outfit had departed, --this time down the river. Rope Joneshad gone with the wagon, and therefore Ferguson was deprived of thecompanionship of a man who had unexpectedly taken a stand with him inhis clash with Leviatt and for whom he had conceived a great liking. 

With the wagon had gone Leviatt also. During the week that had elapsedbetween the clash at the bunkhouse and the departure of the wagon therange boss had given no sign that he knew of the existence of Ferguson. Nor had he intimated by word or sign that he meditated revenge uponRope because of the latter's championship of the stray-man. If he hadany such intention he concealed it with consummate skill. He treatedRope with a politeness that drew smiles to the faces of the men. ButFerguson saw in this politeness a subtleness of purpose that gave himadditional light on the range boss's character. A man who held hisvengeance at his finger tips would have taken pains to show Rope thathe might expect no mercy. Had Leviatt revealed an open antagonism toRope, the latter might have known what to expect when at last the twomen would reach the open range and the puncher be under the directdomination of the man he had offended. 

There were many ways in which a petty vengeance might be gratified. Itwas within the range boss's power to make life nearly unbearable forthe puncher. If he did this it would of course be an unworthyvengeance, and Ferguson had little doubt that any vengeance meditatedby Leviatt would not be petty. 

Ferguson went his own way, deeply thoughtful. He was taking his time. Certain things were puzzling him. Where did Leviatt stand in thisrustling business? That was part of the mystery. Stafford had toldhim that he had Leviatt's word that Radford was the thief who had beenstealing the Two Diamond cattle. Stafford had said also that it hadbeen Leviatt who had suggested employing a gunfighter--had even gone toDry Bottom with the manager for the purpose of finding one. And nowthat one had been employed Leviatt had become suddenly antagonistic tohim. 

And Leviatt was in the habit of visiting the Radford cabin. Of coursehe might be doing this for the purpose of spying upon Ben Radford, butif that were the case why had he shown so venomous when he had seenFerguson sitting on the porch on the evening of the day after thelatter had been bitten by the rattler?

Mary Radford had told him that Leviatt was her brother's friend. If hewas a friend of the brother why had he suggested that Stafford employ agunfighter to shoot him? Here was more mystery. 

On a day soon after the departure of the wagon outfit he rode awaythrough the afternoon sunshine. Not long did his thoughts dwell uponthe mystery of the range boss and Ben Radford. He kept seeing a youngwoman kneeling in front of him, bathing and binding his foot. Scrapsof a conversation that he had not forgotten revolved in his mind andbrought smiles to his lips. 

"She didn't need to act so plum serious when she told me that I didn'tknow that I had any right to set there an' make pretty speeches to her.. . . She wouldn't need to ask me to stay at the cabin all night. Icould have gone on to the Two Diamond. I reckon that snake bite wasn'tso plum dangerous that I'd have died if I'd have rode a little while. "

As he came out of a little gully a few miles up the river and rodealong the crest of a ridge that rose above endless miles of plains, histhoughts went back to that first night in the bunkhouse when the outfithad come in from the range. Satisfaction glinted in his eyes. 

"I reckon them boys didn't make good with her. An' I expect that someday Leviatt will find he's been wastin' his time. "

He frowned at thought of Leviatt and unconsciously his spurs drove hardagainst the pony's flanks. The little animal sprang forward, tossinghis head spiritedly. Ferguson grinned and patted its flank with aremorseful hand. 

"Well, now, Mustard, " he said, "I wasn't reckonin' on takin' my spiteout on you. You don't expect I thought you was Leviatt. " And hepatted the flank again. 

He rode down the long slope of the rise and struck the level, travelingat a slow lope through a shallow washout. The ground was broken androcky here and the snake-like cactus caught at his stirrup leathers. Arattler warned from the shadow of some sage-brush and, remembering hisprevious experience, he paused long enough to shoot its head off. 

"There, " he said, surveying the shattered snake, "I reckon you ain't toblame for me bein' bit by your uncle or cousin, or somethin', but Iain't never goin' to be particular when I see one of your familyswingin' their head that suggestive. "

He rode on again, reloading his pistol. For a little time he traveledat a brisk pace and then he halted to breathe Mustard. Throwing oneleg over the pommel, he turned half way around in the saddle and sweptthe plains with a casual glance. 

He sat erect instantly, focusing his gaze upon a speck that loomedthrough a dust cloud some miles distant. For a time he watched thespeck, his eyes narrowing. Finally he made out the speck to be a manon a pony. 

"He's a-fannin' it some, " he observed, shading his eyes with his hands;"hittin' up the breeze for fair. " He meditated long, a critical smilereaching his lips. 

"It's right warm to-day. Not just the kind of an atmosphere that a manought to be runnin' his horse reckless in. " He meditated again. 

"How far would you say he's off, Mustard? Ten miles, I reckon you'dsay if you was a knowin' horse. "

The horseman had reached a slight ridge and for a moment he appeared onthe crest of it, racing his pony toward the river. Then he suddenlydisappeared. 

Ferguson smiled coldly. Again his gaze swept the plains and the ridgesabout him. "I don't see nothin' that'd make a man ride like that inthis heat, " he said. "Where would he have come from?" He staredobliquely off at a deep gully almost hidden by an adjoining ridge. 

"It's been pretty near an hour since I shot that snake. I didn't seeno man about that time. If he was around here he must have heard mygun--an' sloped. " He smiled and urged his pony about. "I reckon we'llgo look around that gully a little, Mustard, " he said. 

Half an hour later he rode down into the gully. After going somelittle distance he came across a dead cow, lying close to anoverhanging rock rim. A bullet hole in the cow's forehead toldeloquently of the manner of her death. 

Ferguson dismounted and laid a hand on her side. The body was stillwarm. A four-months' calf was nudging the mother with an inquisitivemuzzle. Ferguson took a sharp glance at its ears and then drove it offto get a look at the brand. There was none. 

"Sleeper, " he said quietly. "With the Two Diamond ear-mark. Mostrange bosses make a mistake in not brandin' their calves. Seems as ifthey're trustin' to luck that rustlers won't work on them. I must havescared this one off. "

He swung into the saddle, a queer light in his eyes. "Mustard, oldboy, we're goin' to Bear Flat. Mebbe Radford's hangin' around therenow. An' mebbe he ain't. But we're goin' to see. "

But he halted a moment to bend a pitying glance at the calf. 

"Poor little dogie, " he said; "poor little orphan. Losin' yourmother--just like a human bein'. I call that mean luck. "

Then he was off, Mustard swinging in a steady lope down the gully andup toward the ridge that led to the river trail. 

CHAPTER IX

WOULD YOU BE A "CHARACTER"?

The sun was still a shimmering white blur in the great arc of sky whenFerguson rode around the corner of the cabin in Bear Flat, halted hispony, and sat quietly in the saddle before the door. His rapid eye hadalready swept the horse corral, the sheds, and the stable. If thehorseman that he had seen riding along the ridge had been Radford hewould not arrive for quite a little while. Meantime, he would learnfrom Miss Radford what direction the young man had taken on leaving thecabin. 

Ferguson was beginning to take an interest in this game. At the outsethe had come prepared to carry out his contract. In his code of ethicsit was not a crime to shoot a rustler. Experience had taught him thatjustice was to be secured only through drastic action. In the criminalcategory of the West the rustler took a place beside the horse thiefand the man who shot from behind. 

But before taking any action Ferguson must be convinced of the guilt ofthe man he was hunting, and nothing had yet occurred that would leadhim to suspect Radford. He did not speculate on what course he wouldtake should circumstances prove Radford to be the thief. Would thefact that he was Mary Radford's brother affect his decision? Hepreferred to answer that question when the time came--if it ever came. One thing was certain; he was not shooting anyone unless theprovocation was great. 

His voice was purposely loud when he called "Whoa, Mustard!" to hispony, but his eyes were not purposely bright and expectant as theytried to penetrate the semi-darkness of the interior of the cabin for aglimpse of Miss Radford. 

He heard a movement presently, and she was at the door looking at him, her hands folded in her apron, her eyes wide with unmistakable pleasure. 

"Why, I never expected to see you again!" she exclaimed. 

She came out and stood near the edge of the porch, making a determinedattempt to subdue the flutter of excitement that was revealed in a pairof very bright eyes and a tinge of deep color in her cheeks. 

"Then I reckon you thought I had died, or stampeded out of thiscountry?" he answered, grinning. "I told you I'd be comin' back here. "

But the first surprise was over, and she very properly retired to theshelter of a demurely polite reserve. 

"So you did!" she made reply. "You told me you were comin' over to seemy brother. But he is not here now. "

Had he been less wise he would have reminded her that it had been shewho had told him that he might come to see her brother. But to replythus would have discomfited her and perhaps have brought a sharp reply. He had no doubt that some of the other Two Diamond men had made similarmistakes, but not he. He smiled broadly. "Mebbe I did, " he said;"sometimes I'm mighty careless in handlin' the truth. Mebbe I thoughtthen that I'd come over to see your brother. But we have differentthoughts at different times. You say your brother ain't here now?"

"He left early this morning to go down the river, " she informed him. "He said he would be back before sun-down. "

His eyes narrowed perceptibly. "Down" the river meant that Radford'strail led in the general direction of the spot where he had seen thefleeing horseman and the dead Two Diamond cow with her orphaned calf. Yet this proved nothing. Radford might easily have been miles awaywhen the deed had been done. For the present there was nothing hecould do, except to wait until Radford returned, to form whateverconclusions he might from the young man's appearance when he shouldfind a Two Diamond man at the cabin. But anxiety to see the brotherwas not the only reason that would keep him waiting. 

He removed his hat and sat regarding it with a speculative eye. MissRadford smiled knowingly. 

"I expect I have been scarcely polite, " she said. "Won't you get offyour horse?"

"Why, yes, " he responded, obeying promptly; "I expect Mustard's beendoin' a lot of wonderin' why I didn't get off before. "

If he had meant to imply that her invitation had been tardy he had hitthe mark fairly, for Miss Radford nibbled her lips with suppressedmirth. The underplay of meaning was not the only subtleness of thespeech, for the tone in which it had been uttered was rich ininterrogation, as though its author, while realizing the pony's dimnessof perception, half believed the animal had noticed Miss Radford'slapse of hospitality. 

"I'm thinkin' you are laughin' at me again, ma'am, " he said as he cameto the edge of the porch and stood looking up at her, grinning. 

"Do you think I am laughing?" she questioned, again biting her lips tokeep them from twitching. 

"No-o. I wouldn't say that you was laughin' with your lips--laughin'regular. But there's a heap of it inside of you--tryin' to get out. "

"Don't you ever laugh inwardly?" she questioned. 

He laughed frankly. "I expect there's times when I do. "

"But you haven't lately?"

"Well, no, I reckon not. "

"Not even when you thought your horse might have noticed that I hadneglected to invite you off?"

"Did I think that?" he questioned. 

"Of course you did. "

"Well, now, " he drawled. "An' so you took that much interest in what Iwas thinkin'! I reckon people who write must know a lot. "

Her face expressed absolute surprise. "Why, who told you that Iwrote?" she questioned. 

"Nobody told me, ma'am. I just heard it. I heard a man tell anotherman that you had threatened to make him a character in a book you waswritin'. "

Her face was suddenly convulsed. "I imagine I know whom you mean, " shesaid. "A young cowboy from the Two Diamond used to annoy me quite alittle, until one day I discouraged him. "

His smile grew broad at this answer. But he grew serious instantly. 

"I don't think there is much to write about in this country, ma'am, " hesaid. 

"You don't? Why, I believe you are trying to discourage me!"

"I reckon you won't listen to me, ma'am, if you want to write. I'veheard that anyone who writes is a special kind of a person an' theyjust can't help writin'--any more'n I can help comin' over here to seeyour brother. You see, they like it a heap. "

They both laughed, she because of the clever way in which he had turnedthe conversation to his advantage; he through sheer delight. But shedid purpose to allow him to dwell on the point he had raised, so sheadroitly took up the thread where he had broken off to apply hissimilitude. 

"Some of that is true, " she returned, giving him a look on her ownaccount; "especially about a writer loving his work. But I don't thinkone needs to be a 'special' kind of person. One must be merely a keenobserver. "

He shook his head doubtfully. "I see everything that goes on aroundme, " he returned. "Most of the time I can tell pretty near what sort aman is by lookin' at his face and watching the way he moves. But Ireckon I'd never make a writer. Times when I look at this country--ata nice sunset, for instance, or think what a big place this countryis--I feel like sayin' somethin' about it; somethin' inside of me seemskind of breathless-like--kind of scarin' me. But I couldn't writeabout it. "

She had felt it, too, and more than once had sat down with her pencilto transcribe her thoughts. She thought that it was not exactly fear, but an overpowering realization of her own atomity; a sort of cringingof the soul away from the utter vastness of the world; a growingconsciousness of the unlimited bigness of things; an insight of theinfinite power of God--the yearning of the soul for understanding ofthe mysteries of life and existence. 

She could sympathize with him, for she knew exactly how he had felt. She turned and looked toward the distant mountains, behind which thesun was just then swimming--a great ball of shimmering gold, whichthrew off an effulgent expanse of yellow light that was slowly turninginto saffron and violet as it met the shadows below the hills. 

"Whoever saw such colors?" she asked suddenly, her face transfixed withsheer delight. 

"It's cert'nly pretty, ma'am. "

She clapped her hands. "It is magnificent!" she declaredenthusiastically. She came closer to him and stretched an arm towardthe mountains. "Look at that saffron shade which is just now blendingwith the streak of pearl striking the cleft between those hills! Seethe violet tinge that has come into that sea of orange, and the purplehaze touching the snow-caps of the mountains. And now the flaming red, the deep yellow, the slate blue; and now that gauzy veil of lilac, rose, and amethyst, fading and dulling as the darker shadows rise fromthe valleys!"

Her flashing eyes sought Ferguson's. Twilight had suddenly come. 

"It is the most beautiful country in the world!" she said positively. 

He was regarding her with gravely humorous eyes. "It cert'nly ispretty, ma'am, " he returned. "But you can't make a whole book out ofone sunset. "

Her eyes flashed. "No, " she returned. "Nor can I make a whole bookout of only one character. But I am going to try and draw a wordpicture of the West by writing of the things that I see. And I amgoing to try and have some real characters in it. I shall try to havethem talk and act naturally. "

She smiled suddenly and looked at him with a significant expression. "And the hero will not be an Easterner--to swagger through the pages ofthe book, scaring people into submission through the force of hiscompelling personality. He will be a cowboy who will do things afterthe manner of the country--a real, unaffected care-free puncher!"

"Have you got your eye on such a man?" he asked, assuring himself thathe knew of no man who would fill the requirements she had named. 

"I don't mind telling you that I have, " she returned, looking straightat him. 

It suddenly burst upon him. His face crimsoned. He felt like bolting. But he managed to grin, though she could see that the grin was forced. 

"It's gettin' late, ma'am, " he said, as he turned toward his pony. "Ireckon I'll be gettin' back to the Two Diamond. "

She laughed mockingly as he settled into the saddle. There was aclatter of hoofs from around the corner of the cabin. 

"Wait!" she commanded. "Ben is coming!"

But there was a rush of wind that ruffled her apron, a clatter, and shecould hear Mustard's hoofs pounding over the matted mesquite thatcarpeted the clearing. Ferguson had fled. 

CHAPTER X

DISAPPEARANCE OF THE ORPHAN

During the night Ferguson had dreamed dreams. A girl with fluffy brownhair and mocking eyes had been the center of many mental pictures thathad haunted him. He had seen her seated before him, rapidly plying apencil. Once he imagined he had peered over her shoulder. He had seena sketch of a puncher, upon which she appeared to be working, representing a man who looked very like himself. He could rememberthat he had been much surprised. Did writers draw the pictures thatappeared in their books?

This puncher was sitting in a chair; one foot was bandaged. As hewatched over the girl's shoulder he saw the deft pencil forming theoutlines of another figure--a girl. As this sketch developed he sawthat it was to represent Miss Radford herself. It was a clever pencilthat the girl wielded, for the scene was strikingly real. He evencaught subtle glances from her eyes. But as he looked the scenechanged and the girl stood at the edge of the porch, her eyes mockinghim. And then to his surprise she spoke. "I am going to put you intoa book, " she said. 

Then he knew why she had tolerated him. He had grown hot andembarrassed. "You ain't goin' to put me in any book, ma'am, " he hadsaid. "You ain't givin' me a square deal. I wouldn't love no girlthat would put me into a book. "

He had seen a sudden scorn in her eyes. "Love!" she said, her lipscurling. "Do you really believe that I would allow a puncher to makelove to me?"

And then the scene had changed again, and he was shooting the head offa rattler. "I don't want you to love me!" he had declared to it. Andthen while the snake writhed he saw another head growing upon it, and aface. It was the face of Leviatt; and there was mockery in this facealso. While he looked it spoke. 

"You'll nurse him so's he won't die?" it had said. 

When he awakened his blood was surging with a riotous anger. The dreamwas bothering him now, as he rode away from the ranchhouse toward thegully where he had found the dead Two Diamond cow. He had not reportedthe finding of the dead cow, intending to return the next morning tolook the ground over and to fetch the "dogie" back to the home ranch. It would be time enough then to make a report of the occurrence toStafford. 

It was mid-morning when he finally reached the gully and rode down intoit. He found the dead cow still there. He dismounted to drive awaysome crows that had gathered around the body. Then he noticed that thecalf had disappeared. It had strayed, perhaps. A calf could not bedepended upon to remain very long beside its dead mother, though he hadknown cases where they had. But if it had strayed it could not be veryfar away. He remounted his pony and loped down the gully, reaching theridge presently and riding along this, searching the surroundingcountry with keen glances. He could see no signs of the calf. He cameto a shelf-rock presently, beside which grew a tangled gnarl ofscrub-oak brush. Something lay in the soft sand and he dismountedquickly and picked up a leather tobacco pouch. He examined thiscarefully. There were no marks on it to tell who might be the owner. 

"A man who loses his tobacco in this country is mighty careless, " heobserved, smiling; "or in pretty much of a hurry. "

He went close to the thicket, looking down at it, searching the sandwith interest. Presently he made out the impression of a foot in asoft spot and, looking further, saw two furrows that might have beenmade by a man kneeling. He knelt in the furrows himself and with onehand parted the brush. He smiled grimly as, peering into the gully, hesaw the dead Two Diamond cow on the opposite side. 

He stepped abruptly away from the thicket and looked about him. A fewyards back there was a deep depression in the ridge, fringed with agrowth of nondescript weed. He approached this and peered into it. Quite recently a horse had been there. He could plainly see thehoof-prints--where the animal had pawed impatiently. He returned tothe thicket, convinced. 

"Some one was here yesterday when I was down there lookin' at thatcow, " he decided. "They was watchin' me. That man I seen ridin' thatother ridge was with the one who was here. Now why didn't this manslope too?"

He stood erect, looking about him. Then he smiled. 

"Why, it's awful plain, " he said. "The man who was on this ridge waswatchin'. He heard my gun go off, when I shot that snake. I reckon hefiggered that if he tried to ride away on this ridge whoever'd done theshootin' would see him. An' so he didn't go. He stayed right here an'watched me when I rode up. " He smiled. "There ain't no use lookin'for that dogie. The man that stayed here has run him off. "

There was nothing left for Ferguson to do. He mounted and rode slowlyalong the ridge, examining the tobacco pouch. And then suddenly hediscovered something that brought an interested light to his eyes. Beneath the greasy dirt on the leather he could make out the faintoutlines of two letters. Time had almost obliterated these, but bymoistening his fingers and rubbing the dirt from the leather he wasable to trace them. They had been burned in, probably branded with aminiature iron. 

"D. L, " he spelled. 

He rode on again, his lips straightening into serious lines. 

He mentally catalogued the names he had heard since coming to the TwoDiamond. None answered for the initials "D. L. " It was evident thatthe pouch could belong to no one but Dave Leviatt. In that case whathad Leviatt been doing on the ridge? Why, he had been watching therustler, of course. In that case the man must be known to him. Butwhat had become of the dogie? What would have been Leviatt's duty, after the departure of the rustlers? Obviously to drive the calf tothe herd and report the occurrence to the manager. 

Leviatt may have driven the calf to the herd, but assuredly he had notreported the occurrence to the manager, for he had not been in to theranchhouse. Why not?

Ferguson pondered long over this, while his pony traveled the rivertrail toward the ranchhouse. Finally he smiled. Of course, if the manon the ridge had been Leviatt, he must have been there still whenFerguson came up, or he would not have been there to drive the TwoDiamond calf to the herd after Ferguson had departed. In that case hemust have seen Ferguson, and must be waiting for the latter to make thereport to the manager. But what motive would he have in this?

Here was more mystery. Ferguson might have gone on indefinitelyarranging motives, but none of them would have brought him near thetruth. 

He could, however, be sure of three things. Leviatt had seen therustler and must know him; he had seen Ferguson, and knew that he knewthat a rustler had been in the gully before him; and for somemysterious reason he had not reported to the manager. But Ferguson hadone advantage that pleased him, even drew a grim smile to his lips ashe rode on his way. Leviatt may have seen him near the dead TwoDiamond cow, but he certainly was not aware that Ferguson knew hehimself had been there during the time that the rustler had been atwork. 

Practically, of course, this knowledge would avail Ferguson little. Yet it was a good thing to know, for Leviatt must have some reason forsecrecy, and if anything developed later Ferguson would know exactlywhere the range boss stood in the matter. 

Determined to investigate as far as possible, he rode down the riverfor a few miles, finally reaching a broad plain where the cattle werefeeding. Some cowboys were scattered over this plain, and beforeriding very far Ferguson came upon Rope. The latter spurred close tohim, grinning. 

"I'm right glad to see you, " said the puncher. "You've been keepin'yourself pretty scarce. Scared of another run-in with Leviatt?"

"Plum scared, " returned Ferguson. "I reckon that man'll make menervous--give him time. "

"Yu' don't say?" grinned Rope. "I wasn't noticin' that you wasworryin' about him. "

"I'm right flustered, " returned Ferguson. "Where's he now?"

"Gone down the crick--with Tucson. "

Ferguson smoothed Mustard's mane. "Leviatt been with you right along?"

"He went up the crick yesterday, " returned Rope, looking quickly at thestray-man. 

"Went alone, I reckon?"

"With Tucson. " Rope was trying to conceal his interest in thesequestions. 

But apparently Ferguson's interest was only casual. He turned aquizzical eye upon Rope. "You an' Tucson gettin' along?" he questioned. 

"Me an' him's of the same mind about one thing, " returned Rope. 

"Well, now. " Ferguson's drawl was pregnant with humor. "You surpriseme. An' so you an' him have agreed. I reckon you ain't willin' totell me what you've agreed about?"

"I'm sure tellin', " grinned Rope. "Me an' him's each dead certain thatthe other's a low down horse thief. "

The eyes of the two men met fairly. Both smiled. 

"Then I reckon you an' Tucson are lovin' one another about as well asme an' Leviatt, " observed Ferguson. 

"There ain't a turruble lot of difference, " agreed Rope. 

"An' so Tucson's likin' you a heap, " drawled Ferguson absently. Hegravely contemplated the puncher. "I expect you was a long ways offyesterday when Leviatt an' Tucson come in from up the crick?" he asked. 

"Not a turruble ways off, " returned Rope. "I happened to have this endan' they passed right close to me. They clean forgot to speak. "

"Well, now, " said Ferguson. "That was sure careless of them. But Ireckon they was busy at somethin' when they passed. In that case theywouldn't have time to speak. I've heard tell that some folks can't domore'n one thing at a time. "

Rope laughed. "They was puttin' in a heap of their time tryin' to makeme believe they didn't see me, " he returned. "Otherwise they wasn'tdoin' anything. "

"Shucks!" declared Ferguson heavily. "I reckon them men wouldn't goout of their way to drive a poor little dogie in off the range. They're that hard hearted. "

"Correct, " agreed Rope. "You ain't missin' them none there. "

Ferguson smiled, urging his pony about. "I'm figgerin' on gettin' backto the Two Diamond, " he said. He rode a few feet and then halted, looking back over his shoulder. "You ain't givin' Tucson no chancst tosay you drawed first?" he warned. 

Rope laughed grimly. "If there's any shootin' goin' on, " he replied, "Tucson ain't goin' to say nothin' after it's over. "

"Well, so-long, " said Ferguson, urging his pony forward. He heardRope's answer, and then rode on, deeply concerned over his discovery. 

Leviatt and Tucson had ridden up the river the day before. They hadreturned empty handed. And so another link had been added to the chainof mystery. Where was the dogie?

CHAPTER XI

A TOUCH OF LOCAL COLOR

A few months before her first meeting with Ferguson, Mary Radford hadcome West with the avowed purpose of "absorbing enough local color fora Western novel. " Friends in the East had encouraged her; an uncle(her only remaining relative, beside her brother) had assisted her. Soshe had come. 

The uncle (under whose care she had been since the death of her mother, ten years before) had sent her to a medical college, determined to makeher a finished physician. But Destiny had stepped in. Quite byaccident Miss Radford had discovered that she could write, and theuncle's hope that she might one day grace the medical profession hadgone glimmering--completely buried under a mass of experimentalmanuscript. 

He professed to have still a ray of hope until after several of themagazines had accepted Mary's work. Then hope died and was succeededby silent acquiescence and patient resignation. Having a knowledge ofhuman nature far beyond that possessed by the average person, the unclehad realized that if Mary's inclination led to literature it was worsethan useless to attempt to interest her in any other profession. Therefore, when she had announced her intention of going West he hadinterposed no objection; on the contrary had urged her to the venture. What might have been his attitude had not Ben Radford been already inthe West is problematical. Very seldom do we decide a thing until itconfronts us. 

Mary Radford had been surprised at the West. From Ben's cabin in theflat she had made her first communion with this new world that she hadworshipped at first sight. It was as though she had stepped out of anold world into one that was just experiencing the dawn of creation'sfirst morning. At least so it had seemed to her on the morning she hadfirst stepped outside her brother's cabin to view her first sunrise. 

She had breathed the sweet, moisture-laden breezes that had seemed toalmost steal over the flat where she had stood watching the shadowsyield to the coming sun. The somber hills had become slowly outlined;the snow caps of the distant mountain peaks glinted with the brilliantshafts that struck them and reflected into the dark recesses below. Nature was king here and showed its power in a mysterious, thoughconvincing manner. 

In the evening there would come a change. Through rifts in themountains descended the sun, spreading an effulgent expanse of yellowlight--like burnished gold. In the shadows were reflected numerouscolors, all quietly blended, making contrasts of perfect harmony. There were the sinuous buttes that bordered the opposite shore of theriver--solemn sentinels guarding the beauty and purity of this virginland. Near her were sloping hills, dotted with thorny cactus and otherprickly plants, and now rose a bald rock spire with its suggestion ofgrim lonesomeness. In the southern and eastern distances were theplains, silent, vast, unending. It seemed she had come to dwell in aland deserted by some cyclopean race. Its magnificent, unchangingbeauty had enthralled her. 

She had not lacked company. She found that the Two Diamond puncherswere eager to gain her friendship. Marvelous excuses were invented fortheir appearance at the cabin in the flat. She thought that Ben'sfriendship was valued above that of all other persons in thesurrounding country. 

But she found the punchers gentlemen. Though their conversation wasunique and their idioms picturesque, they compared favorably with themen she had known in the East. Did they lack the subtleties, they madeup for this by their unfailing deference. And they were never rude;their very bashfulness prevented that. 

Through them she came to know much of many things. They contrived toacquaint her with the secretive peculiarities of the prairie dog, and--when she would listen with more than ordinary attention--theywould loose their wonderful imaginations in the hope of continuing theconversation. Then it was that the subject under discussion wouldreceive exhaustive, and altogether unnecessary, elucidation. Thehabits of the prairie-dog were not alone betrayed to the ears of theyoung lady. The sage-fowl's inherent weaknesses were paraded beforeher; the hoot of the owl was imitated with ludicrous solemnity; otherfowl were described with wonderful attention to detail; and theinevitable rattlesnake was pointed out to her as a serpent whose chiefoccupation in life was that of posing in the shadow of the sage-brushas a target for the revolver of the cowpuncher. 

The quaintness of the cowboy speech, his incomparable bashfulness, amused her, while she was strangely affected by his earnestness. Sheattended to the chickens and immediately her visitors became interestedin them and fell to discussing them as though they had done nothing alltheir days but build hen-houses and runways. But she had them onbotany. The flower beds were deep, unfathomable mysteries to them, andthey stood afar while she cultivated the more difficult plants andencouraged the hardier to increased beauty. 

But she had not been content to view this land of mystery from herbrother's cabin. The dignity of nature had cast its thrall upon her. She was impressed with the sublimity of the climate, the wonderfulsunshine, the crystal light of the days and the quiet peace and beautyof the nights. The lure of the plains had taken her upon long rides, and the cottonwood, filling a goodly portion of the flat, was the sceneof many of her explorations. 

The pony with which her brother had provided her was--Ben Radforddeclared--a shining example of sterling horse-honesty. She did notknow that Ben knew horses quite as well as he knew men or she would nothave allowed him to see the skeptical glance she had thrown over thedrowsy-eyed beast that he saddled for her. But she was overjoyed atfinding the pony all that her brother had said of it. The littleanimal was tireless, and often, after a trip over the plains, or to DryBottom to mail a letter, she would return by a roundabout trail. 

Meanwhile the novel still remained unwritten. Perhaps she had not yet"absorbed" the "local color"; perhaps inspiration was tardy. At allevents she had not written a word. But she was beginning to realizethe possibilities; deep in her soul something was moving that wouldpresently flow from her pen. 

It would not be commonplace--that she knew. Real people would moveamong the pages of her book; real deeds would be done. And as the dayspassed she decided. She would write herself into her book; there wouldbe the first real character. The story would revolve about her andanother character--a male one--upon whom she had not decided--until theappearance of Ferguson. After he had come she was no longerundecided--she would make him the hero of her story. 

The villain she had already met--in Leviatt. Something about this manwas repellant. She already had a description of him in the note bookthat she always carried. Had Leviatt read the things she had writtenof him he would have discontinued his visits to the cabin. 

Several of the Two Diamond punchers, also, were noted as being possiblesecondary characters. She had found them very amusing. But the herowould be the one character to whom she would devote the concentratedeffort of her mind. She would make him live in the pages; a real, forceful magnetic human being that the reader would instantly admire. She would bare his soul to the reader; she would reveal his mentalprocesses--not involved, but leading straight and true to----

But would she? Had she not so far discovered a certain craftiness inthe character of the Two Diamond stray-man that would indicate subtletyof thought?

This knowledge had been growing gradually upon her since their secondmeeting, and it had become an obstacle that promised difficulties. Ofcourse she could make Ferguson talk and act as she pleased--in thebook. But if she wanted a real character she would have to portray himas he was. To do this would require study. Serious study of anycharacter would inspire faithful delineation. 

She gave much thought to him now, keeping this purpose in view. Shequestioned Ben concerning him, but was unable to gain satisfyinginformation. He had been hired by Stafford, her brother told her, holding the position of stray-man. 

"I've seen him once, down the other side of the cottonwood, " the youngman had said. "He ain't saying much to anyone. Seems to be a quietsort--and deep. Pretty good sort though. "

She was pleased over Ben's brief estimate of the stray-man. Itvindicated her judgment. Besides, it showed that her brother was notaverse to friendship with him. 

Leviatt she saw with her brother often, and occasionally he came to thecabin. His attitude toward her was one of frank admiration, but he hadreceived no encouragement. How could he know that he was going to bethe villain in her book--soon to be written?

Shall we take a peep into that mysterious note book? Yes, for later weshall see much of it. 

"Dave Leviatt, " she had written in one place. "Age thirty-five. Tall, slender; walks with a slight stoop. One rather gets the impressionthat the stoop is a reflection of the man's nature, which seemsvindictive and suggests a low cunning. His eyes are small, deep set, and glitter when he talks. But they are steady, and cold--almostmerciless. One's thoughts go instantly to the tiger. I shall try tocreate that impression in the reader's mind. "

In another place she had jotted this down: "I shouldn't want anyonekilled in my book, but if I find this to be necessary Leviatt must dothe murder. But I think it would be better to have him employ someother person to do it for him; that would give him just the characterthat would fit him best. I want to make him seem too cowardly--no, notcowardly, because I don't think he is a coward: but too cunning--totake chances of being caught. "

Evidently she had been questioning Ben, for in another place she hadwritten:

"Ferguson. I must remember this--all cowboys do not carry two guns. Ben does, because he says he is ambidextrous, shooting equally wellwith either hand. But he does not tie the bottoms of his holstersdown, like Ferguson; he says some men do this, but usually they are menwho are exceptionally rapid in getting their revolvers out and thattying down the bottoms of the holsters facilitates removing theweapons. They are accounted to be dangerous men. 

"Ben says when a man is quick to shoot out here he is called a gun-man, and that if he carries two revolvers he is a two-gun man. Ben laughsat me when I speak of a 'revolver'; they are known merely as 'guns' outhere. I must remember this. Ben says that though he likes Fergusonquite well, he is rather suspicious of him. He seems to be unable tounderstand why Stafford should employ a two-gun man to look up straycows. "

Below this appeared a brief reference to Ferguson. 

"He is not a bit conceited--rather bashful, I should say. Butembarrassment in him is attractive. No hero should be conceited. There is a wide difference between impertinence and frankness. Ferguson seems to speak frankly, but with a subtle shade. I think thisis a very agreeable trait for a hero in a novel. "

There followed more interesting scraps concerning Leviatt, which wouldhave caused the range boss many bad moments. And there wereinteresting bits of description--jotted down when she became impressedwith a particularly odd view of the country. But there were no morereferences to Ferguson. He--being the hero of her novel--must bestudied thoroughly. 

CHAPTER XII

THE STORY BEGINS

Miss Radford tied her pony to the trunk of a slender fir-balsam andclimbed to the summit of a small hill. There were some trees, quite abit of grass, some shrubbery, on the hill--and no snakes. She madesure of this before seating herself upon a little shelf of rock, near atall cedar. 

Half a mile down the river she could see a corner of Ben's cabin, asection of the corral fence, and one of the small outbuildings. Opposite the cabin, across the river, rose the buttes that met her eyesalways when she came to the cabin door. This hill upon which she satwas one that she saw often, when in the evening, watching the settingsun, she followed its golden rays with her eyes. Many times, as thesun had gone slowly down into a rift of the mountains, she had seen thecrest of this hill shimmering in a saffron light; the only spot in theflat that rose above the somber, oncoming shadows of the dusk. 

From here, it seemed, began the rose veil that followed the broadsaffron shaft that led straight to the mountains. Often, watching thebeauty of the hill during the long sunset, she had felt a deep awestirring her. Romance was here, and mystery; it was a spot favored bythe Sun-Gods, who surrounded it with a glorious halo, lingeringly, reluctantly withdrawing as the long shadows of the twilight crept overthe face of the world. 

It was not her first visit to the hill. Many times she had come here, charmed with the beauty of the view, and during one of those visits shehad decided that seated on the shelf rock on the summit of the hill shewould write the first page of the book. It was for this purpose thatshe had now come. 

After seating herself she opened a small handbag, producing therefrommany sheets of paper, a much-thumbed copy of Shakespeare, and a pencil. She was tempted to begin with a description of the particular bit ofcountry upon which she looked, for long ago she had decided upon BearFlat for the locale of the story. But she sat long nibbling at the endof the pencil, delaying the beginning for fear of being unable to dojustice to it. 

She began at length, making several false starts and beginning anew. Finally came a paragraph that remained. Evidently this wassatisfactory, for another paragraph followed; and then another, andstill another. Presently a complete page. Then she looked up with along-drawn sigh of relief. The start had been made. 

She had drawn a word picture of the flat; dwelling upon the solitude, the desolation, the vastness, the swimming sunlight, the absence oflife and movement. But as she looked, critically comparing what shehad written with the reality, there came a movement--a horseman hadridden into her picture. He had come down through a little gully thatled into the flat and was loping his pony through the deep saccatonegrass toward the cabin. 

It couldn't be Ben. Ben had told her that he intended riding somethirty miles down the river and he couldn't be returning already. Sheleaned forward, watching intently, the story forgotten. 

The rider kept steadily on for a quarter of an hour. Then he reachedthe clearing in which the cabin stood; she saw him ride through it anddisappear. Five minutes later he reappeared, hesitated at the edge ofthe clearing and then urged his pony toward the hill upon which shesat. As he rode out of the shadows of the trees within an eighth of amile of her the sunlight shone fairly upon the pony. She would haveknown Mustard among many other ponies. 

She drew a sudden, deep breath and sat erect, tucking back some straywisps of hair from her forehead. Did the rider see her?

For a moment it seemed that the answer would be negative, for hedisappeared behind some dense shrubbery on the plain below and seemedto be on the point of passing the hill. But just at the edge of theshrubbery Mustard suddenly swerved and came directly toward her. Through the corners of her eyes she watched while Ferguson dismounted, tied Mustard close to her own animal, and stood a moment quietlyregarding her. 

"You want to look at the country all by yourself?" he inquired. 

She pretended a start, looking down at him in apparent surprise. 

"Why, " she prevaricated, "I thought there was no one within miles ofme!"

She saw his eyes flash in the sunlight. "Of course, " he drawled, "there's such an awful darkness that no one could see a pony comin'across the flat. You think you'll be able to find your way home?"

She flushed guiltily and did not reply. She heard him clambering upover the loose stones, and presently he stood near her. She made apretense of writing. 

"Did you stop at the cabin?" she asked without looking up. 

He regarded her with amused eyes, standing loosely, his arms folded, the fingers of his right hand pulling at his chin. "Did I stop?" herepeated. "I couldn't rightly say. Seems to me as though I did. Yousee, I didn't intend to, but I was ridin' down that way an' I thoughtI'd stop in an' have a talk with Ben. "

"Oh!" Sometimes even a monosyllable is pregnant with mockery. 

"But he wasn't there. Nobody was there. I wasn't reckonin' oneverybody runnin' off. "

She turned and looked straight at him. "Why, " she said, "I shouldn'tthink our running away would surprise you. You see, you set us anexample in running away the other day. "

He knew instantly that she referred to his precipitate retreat on thenight she had hinted that she intended putting him into her story. Sheshot another glance at him and saw his face redden with embarrassment, but he showed no intention of running now. 

"I've been thinkin' of what you said, " he returned. "You couldn't putme into no book. You don't know anything about me. You don't knowwhat I think. Then how could you do it?"

"Of course, " she returned, turning squarely around to him and speakingseriously, "the story will be fiction, and the plot will have nofoundation in fact. But I shall be very careful to have my characterstalk and act naturally. To do this I shall have to study the peoplewhom I wish to characterize. "

He was moved by an inward mirth. "You're still thinkin' of puttin' meinto the book?" he questioned. 

She nodded, smiling. 

"Then, " he said, very gravely, "you hadn't ought to have told me. Youdidn't show so clever there. Ain't you afraid that I'll go to actin'swelled? If I do that, you'd not have the character you wanted. "

"I had thought of that, too, " she returned seriously. "If you werethat kind of a man I shouldn't want you in the book. How do you knowthat I haven't told you for the purpose of discovering if you would beaffected in that manner?"

He scratched his head, contemplating her gravely. "I reckon you'retravelin' too fast for me, ma'am, " he said. 

His expression of frank amusement was good to see. He stood beforeher, plainly ready to surrender. Absolutely boyish, he seemed toher--a grown-up boy to be sure, but with a boy's enthusiasms, impulses, and generosity. Yet in his eyes was something that told of maturity, of conscious power, of perfect trust in his ability to give a goodaccount of himself, even in this country where these qualitiesconstituted the chief rule of life. 

A strange emotion stirred her, a sudden quickening of the pulse toldher that something new had come into her life. She drew a deep, startled breath and felt her cheeks crimsoning. She swiftly turned herhead and gazed out over the flat, leaving him standing there, scarcelycomprehending her embarrassment. 

"I reckon you've been writin' some of that book, ma'am, " he said, seeing the papers lying on the rock beside her. "I don't see why youshould want to write a Western story. Do folks in the East getinterested in knowin' what's goin' on out here?"

She suddenly thought of herself. Had she found it interesting? Shelooked swiftly at him, appraising him from a new viewpoint, feeling astrange, new interest in him. 

"It would be strange if they didn't, " she returned. "Why, it is theonly part of the country in which there still remains a touch ofromance. You must remember that this is a young country; that itshistory began at a comparatively late date. England can write of itsfeudal barons; France of its ancient aristocracy; but America can lookback only to the Colonial period--and the West. "

"Mebbe you're right, " he said, not convinced. "But I expect thereain't a heap of romance out here. Leastways, if there is it manages tokeep itself pretty well hid. "

She smiled, thinking of the romance that surrounded him--of which, plainly, he was not conscious. To him, romance meant the lights, thecrowds, the amusements, the glitter and tinsel of the cities of theEast, word of which had come to him through various channels. To herthese things were no longer novel, --if they had ever been so--and sofor her romance must come from the new, the unusual, theunconventional. The West was all this, therefore romance dwelt here. 

"Of course it all seems commonplace to you, " she returned; "perhapseven monotonous. For you have lived here long. "

He laughed. "I've traveled a heap, " he said. "I've been inCalifornia, Dakota, Wyoming, Texas, an' Arizona. An' now I'm here. Savin' a man meets different people, this country is pretty much allthe same. "

"You must have had a great deal of experience, " she said. "And you arenot very old. "

He gravely considered her. "I would say that I am about the averageage for this country. You see, folks don't live to get very old outhere--unless they're mighty careful. "

"And you haven't been careful?"

He smiled gravely. "I expect you wouldn't call it careful. But I'mstill livin'. "

His words were singularly free from boast. 

"That means that you have escaped the dangers, " she said. "I haveheard that a man's safety in this country depends largely upon hisability to shoot quickly and accurately. I suppose you are accounted agood shot?"

The question was too direct. His eyes narrowed craftily. 

"I expect you're thinkin' of that book now ma'am, " he said. "There's aheap of men c'n shoot. You might say they're all good shots. I'vetold you about the men who can't shoot good. They're either mightycareful, or they ain't here any more. It's always one or the other. "

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, shuddering slightly. "In that case Isuppose the hero in my story will have to be a good shot. " Shelaughed. "I shouldn't want him to get half way through the story andthen be killed because he was clumsy in handling his weapon. I ambeginning to believe that I shall have to make him a 'two-gun' man. Iunderstand they are supposed to be very good shots. "

"I've seen them that wasn't, " he returned gravely and shortly. 

"How did you prove that?" she asked suddenly. 

But he was not to be snared. "I didn't say I'd proved it, " he stated. "But I've seen it proved. "

"How proved?"

"Why, " he said, his eyes glinting with amusement, "they ain't here anymore, ma'am. "

"Oh. Then it doesn't follow that because a man wears two guns he ismore likely to survive than is the man who wears only one?"

"I reckon not, ma'am. "

"I see that you have the bottoms of your holsters tied down, " she said, looking at them. "Why have you done that?"

"Well, " he declared, drawling his words a little, "I've always foundthat there ain't any use of takin' chances on an accident. Youmightn't live to tell about it. An' havin' the bottoms of yourholsters tied down keeps your guns from snaggin'. I've seen men whoseguns got snagged when they wanted to use them. They wasn't so activeafter. "

"Then I shall have to make my hero a 'two-gun' man, " she said. "Thatis decided. Now, the next thing to do is to give some attention to hischaracter. I think he ought to be absolutely fearless and honest andincapable of committing a dishonorable deed. Don't you think so?"

While they had talked he had come closer to her and stood beside theshelf rock, one foot resting on it. At her question he suddenly lookeddown at the foot, shifting it nervously, while a flush started fromabove the blue scarf at his throat and slowly suffused his face. 

"Don't you think so?" she repeated, her eyes meeting his for an instant. 

"Why, of course, ma'am, " he suddenly answered, the words comingsharply, as though he had only at that instant realized the import ofthe question. 

"Why, " said she, aware of his embarrassment, "don't you think there aresuch men?"

"I expect there are, ma'am, " he returned; "but in this country there'sa heap of argument could be made about what would be dishonorable. Ifyour two-gun should happen to be a horse thief, or a rustler, I reckonwe could get at it right off. "

"He shan't be either of those, " she declared stoutly. "I don't thinkhe would stoop to such contemptible deeds. In the story he is employedby a ranch owner to kill a rustler whom the owner imagines has beenstealing his cattle. "

His hands were suddenly behind him, the fingers clenched. His eyessearched her face with an alert, intense gaze. His embarrassment wasgone; his expression was saturnine, his eyes narrowed with a slightmockery. And his voice came, cold, deliberate, even. 

"I reckon you've got your gun-man true to life, ma'am, " he said. 

She laughed lightly, amused over the sudden change that she saw andfelt in him. "Of course the gun-man doesn't really intend to kill therustler, " she said. "I don't believe I shall have any one killed inthe story. The gun-man is merely attracted by the sum of moneypromised him by the ranch owner, and when he accepts it is only becausehe is in dire need of work. Don't you think that could be possible?"

"That could happen easy in this country, ma'am, " he returned. 

She laughed delightedly. "That vindicates my judgment, " she declared. 

He was regarding her with unwavering eyes. "Is that gun-man goin' tobe the hero in your story, ma'am?" he asked quietly. 

"Why, of course. "

"An' I'm to be him?"

She gave him a defiant glance, though she blushed immediately. 

"Why do you ask?" she questioned in reply. "You need have no fear thatI will compel my hero to do anything dishonorable. "

"I ain't fearin' anything, " he returned. "But I'd like to know how youcome to think of that. Do writers make them things up out of their ownminds, or does someone tell them?"

"Those things generally have their origin in the mind of the writer, "she replied. 

"Meanin' that you thought of that yourself?" he persisted. 

"Of course. "

He lifted his foot from the rock and stood looking gravely at her. "Inmost of the books I have read there's always a villain. I reckonyou're goin' to have one?"

"There will be a villain, " she returned. 

His eyes flashed queerly. "Would you mind tellin' me who you havepicked out for your villain?" he continued. 

"I don't mind, " she said. "It is Leviatt. "

He suddenly grinned broadly and held out his right hand to her. "Shake, ma'am, " he said. "I reckon if I was writin' a book Leviattwould be the villain. "

She rose from the rock and took his outstretched hand, her eyesdrooping as they met his. He felt her hand tremble a little, and helooked at it, marveling. She glanced up, saw him looking at her hand, swiftly withdrew it, and turned from him, looking down into the flat atthe base of the hill. She started, uttering the sharp command:

"Look!"

Perhaps a hundred yards distant, sitting on his pony in a loungingattitude, was a horseman. While they looked the horseman removed hisbroad brimmed hat, bowed mockingly, and urged his pony out into theflat. It was Leviatt. 

On the slight breeze a laugh floated back to them, short, sharp, mocking. 

For a time they stood silent, watching the departing rider. ThenFerguson's lips wreathed into a feline smile. 

"Kind of dramatic, him ridin' up that-a-way, " he said. "Don't youthink puttin' him in the book will spoil it, ma'am?"

CHAPTER XIII

"DO YOU SMOKE?"

Leviatt rode down through the gully where Miss Radford had first caughtsight of Ferguson when he had entered the flat. He disappeared in thisand five minutes later came out upon a ridge above it. The distancewas too great to observe whether he turned to look back. But justbefore he disappeared finally they saw him sweep his hat from his head. It was a derisive motion, and Miss Radford colored and shot a furtiveglance at Ferguson. 

The latter stood loosely beside her, his hat brim pulled well down overhis forehead. As she looked she saw his eyes narrow and his lips curveironically. 

"What do you suppose he thought?" she questioned, her eyes droopingaway from his. 

"Him?" Ferguson laughed. "I expect you could see from his actionsthat he wasn't a heap tickled. " Some thought was moving him mightily. He chuckled gleefully. "Now if you could only put what he was thinkin'into your book, ma'am, it sure would make interestin' readin'. "

"But he saw you holding my hand!" she declared, aware of theuselessness of telling him this, but unable to repress her indignationover the thought that Leviatt had seen. 

"Why, I expect he did, ma'am!" he returned, trying hard to keep thepleasure out of his voice. "You see, he must have been lookin' rightat us. But there ain't nothin' to be flustered over. I reckon thatsome day, if he's around, he'll see me holdin' your hand again. "

The red in her cheeks deepened. "Why, how conceited you are!" shesaid, trying to be very severe, but only succeeding in making him thinkthat her eyes were prettier than he had thought. 

"I don't think I am conceited, ma'am, " he returned, smiling. "I'veliked you right well since the beginning. I don't think it's conceitto tell a lady that you're thinkin' of holdin' her hand. "

She was looking straight at him, trying to be very defiant. "And soyou have liked me?" she taunted. "I am considering whether to tell youthat I was not thinking of you as a possible admirer. "

His eyes flashed. "I don't think you mean that, ma'am, " he said. "Youain't treated me like you treated some others. "

"Some others?" she questioned, not comprehending. 

He laughed. "Them other Two Diamond men that took a shine to you. I've heard that you talked right sassy to them. But you ain't neverbeen sassy to me. Leastways, you ain't never told me to 'evaporate'. "

She was suddenly convulsed. "They have told you that?" she questioned. And then not waiting for an answer she continued more soberly: "And soyou thought that in view of what I have said to those men you had beentreated comparatively civilly. I am afraid I have underestimated you. Hereafter I shall talk less intimately to you. "

"I wouldn't do that, ma'am, " he pleaded. "You don't need to be afraidthat I'll be too fresh. "

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, with a pretense of delight. "It will bevery nice to know that I can talk to you without fear of your placing afalse construction on my words. But I am not afraid of you. "

He stepped back from the rock, hitching at his cartridge belt. "I'mgoin' over to the Two Diamond now, ma'am, " he said. "And since you'vesaid you ain't afraid of me, I'm askin' you if you won't go ridin' withme tomorrow. There's a right pretty stretch of country about fifteenmiles up the crick that you'd be tickled over. "

Should she tell him that she had explored all of the country withinthirty miles? The words trembled on her lips but remained unspoken. 

"Why, I don't know, " she objected. "Do you think it is quite safe?"

He smiled and stepped away from her, looking back over his shoulder. "Thank you, ma'am, " he said. "I'll ride over for you some time in themornin'. " He continued down the hill, loose stones rattling ahead ofhim. She looked after him, radiant. 

"But I didn't say I would go, " she called. And then, receiving noanswer to this, she waited until he had swung into the saddle and waswaving a farewell to her. 

"Don't come before ten o'clock!" she advised. 

She saw him smile and then she returned to her manuscript. 

When the Sun-Gods kissed the crest of the hill and bathed her in therich rose colors that came straight down to the hill through the riftin the mountains, she rose and gathered up her papers. She had notwritten another line. 

It was late in the afternoon when Leviatt rode up to the door ofStafford's office and dismounted. He took plenty of time walking theshort distance that lay between him and the door, and growled a savagereply to a loafing puncher, who asked him a question. Once in theoffice he dropped glumly into a chair, his eyes glittering vengefullyas his gaze rested on Stafford, who sat at his desk, engaged in hisaccounts. Through the open window Stafford had seen the range bosscoming and therefore when the latter had entered he had not looked up. 

Presently he finished his work and drew back from the desk. Then hetook up a pipe, filled it with tobacco, lighted it, and puffed withsatisfaction. 

"Nothin's happened?" he questioned, glancing at his range boss. 

Leviatt's reply was short. "No. Dropped down to see how things wasrunnin'. "

"Things is quiet, " returned Stafford. "There ain't been any cattlemissed for a long time. I reckon the new stray-man is doin' some good. "

Leviatt's eyes glowed. "If you call gassin' with Mary Radford doin'good, why then, he's doin' it!" he snapped. 

"I ain't heard that he's doin' that, " returned Stafford. 

"I'm tellin' you about it now, " said Leviatt. "I seen him to-day; himan' her holdin' hands on top of a hill in Bear Flat. " He sneered. "He's a better ladies' man than a gunfighter. I reckon we made amistake in pickin' him up. "

Stafford smiled indulgently. "He's cert'nly a good looker, " he said. "I reckon some girls would take a shine to him. But I ain'tquestionin' his shootin'. I've been in this country a right smartwhile an' I ain't never seen another man that could bore a can sixtimes while it's in the air. "

Leviatt's lips drooped. "He could do that an' not have nerve enough toshoot a coyote. Him not clashin' with Ben Radford proves he ain't gotnerve. "

Stafford smiled. The story of how the stray-man had closed Leviatt'smouth was still fresh in his memory. He was wondering whether Leviattknew that he had heard about the incident. 

"Suppose you try him?" he suggested. "That'd be as good a way as anyto find out if he's got nerve. "

Leviatt's face bloated poisonously, but he made no answer. Apparentlyunaware that he had touched a tender spot Stafford continued. 

"Mebbe his game is to get in with the girl, figgerin' that he'll bemore liable that way to get a chancst at Ben Radford. But whatever hisgame is, I ain't interferin'. He's got a season contract an' I ain'tbreakin' my word with the cuss. I ain't takin' no chances with him. "

Leviatt rose abruptly, his face swelling with an anger that he wastrying hard to suppress. "He'd better not go to foolin' with MaryRadford, damn him!" he snapped. 

"I reckon that wind is blowin' in two directions, " grinned Stafford. "When I see him I'll tell him----" A clatter of hoofs reached the earsof the two men, and Stafford turned to the window. "Here's thestray-man now, " he said gravely. 

Both men were silent when Ferguson reached the door. He stood justinside, looking at Stafford and Leviatt with cold, alert eyes. Henodded shortly to Stafford, not removing his gaze from the range boss. The latter deliberately turned his back and looked out of the window. 

There was insolence in the movement, but apparently it had no effectupon the stray-man, beyond bringing a queer twitch into the corners ofhis mouth. He smiled at Stafford. 

"Anything new?" questioned the latter, as he had questioned Leviatt. 

"Nothin' doin', " returned Ferguson. 

Leviatt now turned from the window. He spoke to Stafford, sneering. "Ben Radford's quite a piece away from where he's hangin' out, " hesaid. He again turned to the window. 

Ferguson's lips smiled, but his eyes narrowed. Stafford stiffened inhis chair. He watched the stray-man's hands furtively, fearing theoutcome of this meeting. But Ferguson's hands were nowhere near hisguns. They were folded over his chest--lightly--the fingers of hisright hand caressing his chin. 

"You ridin' up the crick to-day?" he questioned of Leviatt. His tonewas mild, yet there was a peculiar quality in it that hinted athardness. 

"No, " answered Leviatt, without turning. 

Ferguson began rolling a cigarette. When he had done this he lightedit and puffed slowly. "Well, now, " he said, "that's mighty peculiar. I'd swore that I saw you over in Bear Flat. "

Leviatt turned. "You've been pickin' posies too long with MaryRadford, " he sneered. 

Ferguson smiled. "Mebbe I have, " he returned. "There's them thatshe'll let pick posies with her, an' them that she won't. "

Leviatt's face crimsoned with anger. "I reckon if you hadn't beenmonkeyin' around too much with the girl, you'd have run across thatdead Two Diamond cow an' the dogie that she left, " he sneered. 

Ferguson's lips straightened. "How far off was you standin' when thatcow died?" he drawled. 

A curse writhed through Leviatt's lips. "Why, you damned----"

"Don't!" warned Ferguson. He coolly stepped toward Leviatt, holding bythe thongs the leather tobacco pouch from which he had obtained thetobacco to make his cigarette. When he had approached close to therange boss he held the pouch up before his eyes. 

"I reckon you'd better have a smoke, " he said quietly; "they say it'sgood for the nerves. " He took a long pull at the cigarette. "It'spretty fair tobacco, " he continued. "I found it about ten miles up thecrick, on a ridge above a dry arroyo. I reckon it's your'n. It's gotyour initials on it. "

The eyes of the two men met in a silent battle. Leviatt's were thefirst to waver. Then he reached out and took the pouch. "It's mine, "he said shortly. Again he looked straight at Ferguson, his eyescarrying a silent message. 

"You see anything else?" he questioned. 

Ferguson smiled. "I ain't sayin' anything about anything else, " hereturned. 

Thus, unsuspectingly, did Stafford watch and listen while these two menarranged to carry on their war man to man, neither asking any favorfrom the man who, with a word, might have settled it. With his replythat he wasn't "sayin' anything about anything else, " Ferguson had toldLeviatt that he had no intention of telling his suspicions to any man. Nor from this moment would Leviatt dare whisper a derogatory word intothe manager's ear concerning Ferguson. 

CHAPTER XIV

ON THE EDGE OF THE PLATEAU

Now that Ferguson was satisfied beyond doubt that Leviatt had beenconcealed in the thicket above the bed of the arroyo where he had comeupon the dead Two Diamond cow, there remained but one disturbingthought: who was the man he had seen riding along the ridge away fromthe arroyo? Until he discovered the identity of the rider he mustremain absolutely in the dark concerning Leviatt's motive in concealingthe name of this other actor in the incident. He was positive thatLeviatt knew the rider, but he was equally positive that Leviatt wouldkeep this knowledge to himself. 

But on this morning he was not much disturbed over the mystery. Otherthings were troubling him. Would Miss Radford go riding with him?Would she change her mind over night?

As he rode he consulted his silver timepiece. She had told him not tocome before ten. The hands of his watch pointed to ten thirty when heentered the flat, and it was near eleven when he rode up to the cabindoor--to find Miss Radford--arrayed in riding skirt, dainty boots, gauntleted gloves, blouse, and soft felt hat--awaiting him at the door. 

"You're late, " she said, smiling as she came out upon the porch. 

If he had been less wise he might have told her that she had told himnot to come until after ten and that he had noticed that she had beenwaiting for him in spite of her apparent reluctance of yesterday. Buthe steered carefully away from this pitfall. He dismounted and threwthe bridle rein over Mustard's head, coming around beside the porch. 

"I wasn't thinkin' to hurry you, ma'am, " he said. "But I reckon we'llgo now. It's cert'nly a fine day for ridin'. " He stood silent for amoment, looking about him. Then he flushed. "Why, I'm gettin' rightbox-headed, ma'am, " he declared. "Here I am standin' an' makin' yousick with my palaver, an' your horse waitin' to be caught up. "

He stepped quickly to Mustard's side and uncoiled his rope. She stoodon the porch, watching him as he proceeded to the corral, caught thepony, and flung a bridle on it. Then he led the animal to the porchand cinched the saddle carefully. Throwing the reins over the pommelof the saddle, he stood at the animal's head, waiting. 

She came to the edge of the porch, placed a slender, booted foot intothe ox-bow stirrup, and swung gracefully up. In an instant he hadvaulted into his own saddle, and together they rode out upon thegray-white floor of the flat. 

They rode two miles, keeping near the fringe of cottonwoods, andpresently mounted a long slope. Half an hour later Miss Radford lookedback and saw the flat spread out behind, silent, vast, deserted, slumbering in the swimming white sunlight. A little later she lookedagain, and the flat was no longer there, for they had reached the crestof the slope and their trail had wound them round to a broad level, from which began another slope, several miles distant. 

They had ridden for more than two hours, talking very little, when theyreached the crest of the last rise and saw, spreading before them, alevel many miles wide, stretching away in three directions. It was agrass plateau, but the grass was dry and drooping and rustled under theponies' hoofs. There were no trees, but a post oak thicket skirted thesouthern edge, and it was toward this that he urged his pony. Shefollowed, smiling to think that he was deceiving himself in believingthat she had not yet explored this place. 

They came close to the thicket, and he swung off his horse and stood ather stirrup. 

"I was wantin' you to see the country from here, " he said, as he helpedher down. She watched him while he picketed the horses, so that theymight not stray. Then they went together to the edge of the thicket, seating themselves in a welcome shade. 

At their feet the plateau dropped sheer, as though cut with a knife, and a little way out from the base lay a narrow ribbon of water thatflowed slowly in its rocky bed, winding around the base of a smallhill, spreading over a shallow bottom, and disappearing between thebuttes farther down. 

Everything beneath them was distinguishable, though distant. Knobsrose here; there a flat spread. Mountains frowned in the distance, butso far away that they seemed like papier-mache shapes towering in a seaof blue. Like a map the country seemed as Miss Radford and Fergusonlooked down upon it, yet a big map, over which one might wonder; morevast, more nearly perfect, richer in detail than any that could beevolved from the talents of man. 

Ridges, valleys, gullies, hills, knobs, and draws were all laid out ina vast basin. Miss Radford's gaze swept down into a section of flatnear the river. 

"Why, there are some cattle down there!" she exclaimed. 

"Sure, " he returned; "they're Two Diamond. Way off there behind thatridge is where the wagon is. " He pointed to a long range of flat hillsthat stretched several miles. "The boys that are workin' on the otherside of that ridge can't see them cattle like we can. Looks plumre-diculous. "

"There are no men with those cattle down there, " she said, pointing tothose below in the flat. 

"No, " he returned quietly; "they're all off on the other side of theridge. "

She smiled demurely at him. "Then we won't be interrupted--as we wereyesterday, " she said. 

Did she know that this was why he had selected this spot for the end ofthe ride? He looked quickly at her, but answered slowly. 

"They couldn't see us, " he said. "If we was out in the open we'd beright on the skyline. Then anyone could see us. But we've got thisthicket behind us, an' I reckon from down there we'd be pretty nearinvisible. "

He turned around, clasping his hands about one knee and lookingsquarely at her. "I expect you done a heap with your bookyesterday--after I went away?"

Her cheeks colored a little under his straight gaze. 

"I didn't stay there long, " she equivocated. "But I got some very goodideas, and I am glad that I didn't write much. I should have had todestroy it, because I have decided upon a different beginning. Benmade the trip to Dry Bottom yesterday, and last night he told somethingthat had happened there that has given me some very good material for abeginning. "

"That's awful interestin', " he observed. "So now you'll be able tostart your book with somethin' that really happened?"

"Real and original, " she returned, with a quick glance at him. "Bentold me that about a month ago some men had a shooting match in DryBottom. They used a can for a target, and one man kept it in the airuntil he put six bullet holes through it. Ben says he is pretty handywith his weapons, but he could never do that. He insists that few mencan, and he is inclined to think that the man who did do it must havebeen a gunfighter. I suppose you have never tried it?"

Over his lips while she had been speaking had crept the slight mockingsmile which always told better than words of the cold cynicism thatmoved him at times. Did she know anything? Did she suspect him? Thesmile masked an interest that illumined his eyes very slightly as helooked at her. 

"I expect that is plum slick shootin', " he returned slowly. "But somemen can do it. I've knowed them. But I ain't heard that it's beendone lately in this here country. I reckon Ben told you somethin' ofhow this man looked?"

He had succeeded in putting the question very casually, and she had notcaught the note of deep interest in his voice. 

"Why it's very odd, " she said, looking him over carefully; "from Ben'sdescription I should assume that the man looked very like you!"

If her reply had startled him he gave little evidence of it. He satperfectly quiet, gazing with steady eyes out over the big basin. For atime she sat silent also, her gaze following his. Then she turned. 

"That would be odd, wouldn't it?" she said. 

"What would?" he answered, not looking at her. 

"Why, if you _were_ the man who had done that shooting! It wouldfollow out the idea of my plot perfectly. For in my story the hero ishired to shoot a supposed rustler, and of course he would have to be agood shot. And since Ben has told me the story of the shooting match Ihave decided that the hero in my story shall be tested in that mannerbefore being employed to shoot the rustler. Then he comes to thesupposed rustler's cabin and meets the heroine, in much the same mannerthat you came. Now if it should turn out that you were the man who didthe shooting in Dry Bottom my story up to this point would be verynearly real. And that would be fine!"

She had allowed a little enthusiasm to creep into her voice, and helooked up at her quickly, a queer expression in his eyes. 

"You goin' to have your 'two-gun' man bit by a rattler?" he questioned. 

"Well, I don't know about that. It would make very little difference. But I should be delighted to find that you were the man who did theshooting over at Dry Bottom. Say that you are!"

Even now he could not tell whether there was subtlety in her voice Theold doubt rose again in his mind. Was she really serious in sayingthat she intended putting all this in her story, or was this a ruse, concealing an ulterior purpose? Suppose she and her brother suspectedhim of being the man who had participated in the shooting match in DryBottom? Suppose the brother, or she, had invented this tale about thebook to draw him out? He was moved to an inward humor, amused to thinkthat either of them should imagine him shallow enough to be caught thus. 

But what if they did catch him? Would they gain by it? They couldgain nothing, but the knowledge would serve to put them on their guard. But if she did suspect him, what use was there in evasion or denial?He smiled whimsically. 

"I reckon your story is goin' to be real up to this point, " hereturned. "A while back I did shoot at a can in Dry Bottom. "

She gave an exclamation of delight. "Now, isn't that marvelous? Noone shall be able to say that my beginning will be strictly fiction. "She leaned closer to him, her eyes alight with eagerness. "Now pleasedon't say that you are the man who shot the can five times, " shepleaded. "I shouldn't want my hero to be beaten at anything heundertook. But I know that you were not beaten. Were you?"

He smiled gravely. "I reckon I wasn't beat, " he returned. 

She sat back and surveyed him with satisfaction. 

"I knew it, " she stated, as though in her mind there had never existedany doubt of the fact. "Now, " she said, plainly pleased over theresult of her questioning, "I shall be able to proceed, entirelyconfident that my hero will be able to give a good account of himselfin any situation. "

Her eyes baffled him. He gave up watching her and turned to look atthe world beneath him. He would have given much to know her thoughts. She had said that from her brother's description of the man who had wonthe shooting match at Dry Bottom she would assume that that man hadlooked very like him. Did her brother hold this opinion also?

Ferguson cared very little if he did. He was accustomed to danger, andhe had gone into this business with his eyes open. And if Ben didknow---- Unconsciously his lips straightened and his chin went forwardslightly, giving his face an expression of hardness that made him lookten years older. Watching him, the girl drew a slow, full breath. Itwas a side of his character with which she was as yet unacquainted, andshe marveled over it, comparing it to the side she already knew--theside that he had shown her--quiet, thoughtful, subtle. And now at aglance she saw him as men knew him--unyielding, unafraid, indomitable. 

Yet there was much in this sudden revelation of character to admire. She liked a man whom other men respected for the very traits that hisexpression had revealed. No man would be likely to adopt an air ofsuperiority toward him; none would attempt to trifle with him. Shefelt that she ought not to trifle, but moved by some unaccountableimpulse, she laughed. 

He turned his head at the laugh and looked quizzically at her. 

"I hope you were not thinking of killing some one?" she taunted. 

His right hand slowly clenched. Something metallic suddenly glintedhis eyes, to be succeeded instantly by a slight mockery. "You afraidsome one's goin' to be killed?" he inquired slowly. 

"Well--no, " she returned, startled by the question. "But you lookedso--so determined that I--I thought----"

He suddenly seized her arm and drew her around so that she faced thelittle stretch of plain near the ridge about which they had beenspeaking previously. His lips were in straight lines again, his eyesgleaming interestedly. 

"You see that man down there among them cattle?" he questioned. 

Following his gaze, she saw a man among perhaps a dozen cattle. At themoment she looked the man had swung a rope, and she saw the loop falltrue over the head of a cow the man had selected, saw the pony pivotand drag the cow prone. Then the man dismounted, ran swiftly to theside of the fallen cow, and busied himself about her hind legs. 

"What is he doing?" she asked, a sudden excitement shining in her eyes. 

"He's hog-tieing her now, " returned Ferguson. 

She knew what that meant. She had seen Ben throw cattle in this mannerwhen he was branding them. "Hog-tieing" meant binding their hind legswith a short piece of rope to prevent struggling while the brand wasbeing applied. 

Apparently this was what the man was preparing to do. Smoke from anearby fire curled lazily upward, and about this fire the man nowworked--evidently turning some branding irons. He gave some littletime to this, and while Miss Radford watched she heard Ferguson's voiceagain. 

"I reckon we're goin' to see some fun pretty soon, " he said quietly. 

"Why?" she inquired quickly. 

He smiled. "Do you see that man ridin' through that break on theridge?" he asked, pointing the place out to her. She nodded, puzzledby his manner. He continued dryly. 

"Well, if that man that's comin' through the break is what he ought tobe he'll be shootin' pretty soon. "

"Why?" she gasped, catching at his sleeve, "why should he shoot?"

He laughed again--grimly. "Well, " he returned, "if a puncher ketches arustler with the goods on he's got a heap of right to do some shootin'. "

She shuddered. "And do you think that man among the cattle is arustler?" she asked. 

"Wait, " he advised, peering intently toward the ridge. "Why, " hecontinued presently, "there's another man ridin' this way. An' he'shidin' from the other--keepin' in the gullies an' the draws so's thefirst man can't see him if he looks back. " He laughed softly. "It'splum re-diculous. Here we are, able to see all that's goin' on downthere an' not able to take a hand in it. An' there's them three goin'ahead with what they're thinkin' about, not knowin' that we're watchin'them, an' two of them not knowin' that the third man is watchin'. I'dcall that plum re-diculous. "

The first man was still riding through the break in the ridge, comingboldly, apparently unconscious of the presence of the man among thecattle, who was well concealed from the first man's eyes by a rockypromontory at the corner of the break. The third man was not over aneighth of a mile behind the first man, and riding slowly and carefully. At the rate the first man was riding not five minutes would elapsebefore he would come out into the plain full upon the point where theman among the cattle was working at his fire. 

Ferguson and Miss Radford watched the scene with interest. Plainly thefirst man was intruding. Or if not, he was the rustler's confederateand the third man was spying upon him. Miss Radford and Ferguson wereto discover the key to the situation presently. 

"Do you think that man among the cattle is a rustler?" questioned MissRadford. In her excitement she had pressed very close to Ferguson andwas clutching his arm very tightly. 

"I reckon he is, " returned Ferguson. "I ain't rememberin' that anyranch has cows that run the range unbranded; especially when the cowhas got a calf, unless that cow is a maverick, an' that ain't likely, since she's runnin' with the Two Diamond bunch. "

He leaned forward, for the man had left the fire and was running towardthe fallen cow. Once at her side the man bent over her, pressing thehot irons against the bottoms of her hoofs. A thin wreath of smokecurled upward; the cow struggled. 

Ferguson looked at Miss Radford. "Burnt her hoofs, " he said shortly, "so she can't follow when he runs her calf off. "

"The brute!" declared Miss Radford, her face paling with anger. 

The man was fumbling with the rope that bound the cow's legs, when thefirst man rode around the edge of the break and came full upon him. From the distance at which Miss Radford and Ferguson watched they couldnot see the expression of either man's face, but they saw the rustler'sright hand move downward; saw his pistol glitter in the sunlight. 

But the pistol was not raised. The first man's pistol had appearedjust a fraction of a second sooner, and they saw that it was poised, menacing the rustler. 

For an instant the two men were motionless. Ferguson felt the grasp onhis arm tighten, and he turned his head to see Miss Radford's face, pale and drawn; her eyes lifted to his with a slow, dawning horror inthem. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "They are going to shoot!" She withdrew her handfrom Ferguson's arm and held it, with the other, to her ears, cringingaway from the edge of the cliff. She waited, breathless, for--itseemed to her--the space of several minutes, her head turned from themen, her eyes closed for fear that she might, in the dread of themoment, look toward the plain. She kept telling herself that she wouldnot turn, but presently, in spite of her determination, the suspensewas too great, and she turned quickly and fearfully, expecting to seeat least one riderless horse. That would have been horrible enough. 

To her surprise both men still kept the positions that they had heldwhen she had turned away. The newcomer's revolver still menaced therustler. She looked up into Ferguson's face, to see a grim smile onit, to see his eyes, chilled and narrowed, fixed steadily upon the twohorsemen. 

"Oh!" she said, "is it over?"

Ferguson heard the question, and smiled mirthlessly without turning hishead. 

"I reckon it ain't over--yet, " he returned. "But I expect it'll beover pretty soon, if that guy that's got his gun on the rustler don'tget a move on right quick. That other guy is comin' around the cornerof that break, an' if he's the rustler's friend that man with the gunwill get his pretty rapid. " His voice raised a trifle, a slightlyanxious note in it. 

"Why don't the damn fool turn around? He could see that last man nowif he did. Now, what do you think of that?" Ferguson's voice wassharp and tense, and, in spite of herself, Miss Radford's gaze shiftedagain to the plains below her. Fascinated, her fear succumbing to theintense interest of the moment, she followed the movements of the trio. 

From around the corner of the break the third man had ridden. He wasnot over a hundred feet from the man who had caught the rustler and hewas walking his horse now. The watchers on the edge of the plateaucould see that he had taken in the situation and was stealing upon thecaptor, who sat in his saddle, his back to the advancing rider. 

Drawing a little closer, the third man stealthily dropped from his ponyand crept forward. The significance of this movement dawned upon MissRadford in a flash, and she again seized Ferguson's arm, tugging at itfiercely. 

"Why, he's going to kill that man!" she cried. "Can't you dosomething? For mercy's sake do! Shout, or shoot off your pistol--dosomething to warn him!"

Ferguson flashed a swift glance at her, and she saw that his face worea queer pallor. His expression had grown grimmer, but he smiled--alittle sadly, she thought. 

"It ain't a bit of use tryin' to do anything, " he returned, his gazeagain on the men. "We're two miles from them men an' a thousand feetabove them. There ain't any pistol report goin' to stop what's goin'on down there. All we can do is to watch. Mebbe we can recognize oneof them. . . . Shucks!"

The exclamation was called from him by a sudden movement on the part ofthe captor. The third man must have made a noise, for the captorturned sharply. At the instant he did so the rustler's pistol flashedin the sunlight. 

The watchers on the plateau did not hear the report at once, and whenthey did it came to them only faintly--a slight sound which was barelydistinguishable. But they saw a sudden spurt of flame and smoke. Thecaptor reeled drunkenly in his saddle, caught blindly at the pommel, and then slid slowly down into the grass of the plains. 

Ferguson drew a deep breath and, turning, looked sharply at MissRadford. She had covered her face with her hands and was swayingdizzily. He was up from the rock in a flash and was supporting her, leading her away from the edge of the plateau. She went unresisting, her slender figure shuddering spasmodically, her hands still coveringher face. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as the horror of the scene rose in her mind. "Thebrutes! The brutes!"

Feeling that if he kept quiet she would recover from the shock of theincident sooner, Ferguson said nothing in reply to her outbreaks as heled her toward the ponies. For a moment after reaching them she leanedagainst her animal's shoulder, her face concealed from Ferguson by thepony's mane. Then he was at her side, speaking firmly. 

"You must get away from here, " he said, "I ought to have got you awaybefore--before that happened. "

She looked up, showing him a pair of wide, dry eyes, in which there wasstill a trace of horror. An expression of grave self-accusation shonein his. 

"You were not to blame, " she said dully. "You may have anticipated ameeting of those men, but you could not have foreseen the end. Oh!"She shuddered again. "To think of seeing a man deliberately murdered!"

"That's just what it was, " he returned quietly; "just plain murder. They had him between them. He didn't have a chance. He was bound toget it from one or the other. Looks like they trapped him; run himdown there on purpose. " He held her stirrup. 

"I reckon you've seen enough, ma'am, " he added. "You'd better hopright on your horse an' get back to Bear Flat. "

She shivered and raised her head, looking at him--a flash of fear inher eyes. "You are going down there!" she cried, her eyes dilating. 

He laughed grimly. "I cert'nly am, ma'am, " he returned. "You'd bettergo right off. I'm ridin' down there to see how bad that man is hit. "

She started toward him, protesting. "Why, they will kill you, too!"she declared. 

He laughed again, with a sudden grim humor. "There ain't any danger, "he returned. "They've sloped. "

Involuntarily she looked down. Far out on the plains, through thebreak in the ridge of hills, she could see two horsemen racing away. 

"The cowards!" she cried, her voice shaking with anger. "To shoot aman in cold blood and then run!" She looked at Ferguson, her figurestiffening with decision. 

"If you go down there I am going, too!" she declared. "He might needsome help, " she added, seeing the objection in his eyes, "and if hedoes I may be able to give it to him. You know, " she continued, smiling wanly, "I have had some experience with sick people. "

He said nothing more, but silently assisted her into the saddle andswung into his own. They urged the animals to a rapid pace, shefollowing him eagerly. 

It was a rough trail, leading through many gullies, around miniaturehills, into bottoms where huge boulders and treacherous sand barred theway, along the face of dizzy cliffs, and through lava beds where thefooting was uncertain and dangerous. But in an hour they were on theplains and riding toward the break in the ridge of hills, where theshooting had been done. 

The man's pony had moved off a little and was grazing unconcernedlywhen they arrived. A brown heap in the grass told where the man lay, and presently Ferguson was down beside him, one of his limp wristsbetween his fingers. He stood up after a moment, to confront MissRadford, who had fallen behind during the last few minutes of the ride. Ferguson's face was grave, and there was a light in his eyes thatthrilled her for a moment as she looked at him. 

"He ain't dead, ma'am, " he said as he assisted her down from her pony. "The bullet got him in the shoulder. "

She caught a queer note in his voice--something approaching appeal. She looked swiftly at him, suspicious. "Do you know him?" she asked. 

"I reckon I do, ma'am, " he returned. "It's Rope Jones. Once he stoodby me when he thought I needed a friend. If there's any chance I'mgoin' to get him to your cabin--where you can take care of him till hegets over this--if he ever does. "

She realized now how this tragedy had shocked her. She reeled and theworld swam dizzily before her. Again she saw Ferguson dart forward, but she steadied herself and smiled reassuringly. 

"It is merely the thought that I must now put my little knowledge to asevere test, " she said. "It rather frightened me. I don't knowwhether anything can be done. "

She succeeded in forcing herself to calmness and gave orders rapidly. 

"Get something under his head, " she commanded. "No, that will be toohigh, " she added, as she saw Ferguson start to unbuckle the saddlecinch on his pony. "Raise his head only a very little. That roundthing that you have fastened to your saddle (the slicker) would do verywell. There. Now get some water!"

She was down beside the wounded man in another instant, cutting away asection of the shirt near the shoulder, with a knife that she hadborrowed from Ferguson. The wound had not bled much and was lower thanFerguson had thought. But she gave it what care she could, and whenFerguson arrived with water--from the river, a mile away--she dressedthe wound and applied water to Rope's forehead. 

Soon she saw that her efforts were to be of little avail. Rope laypitifully slack and unresponsive. At the end of an hour's workFerguson bent over her with a question on his lips. 

"Do you reckon he'll come around, ma'am?"

She shook her head negatively. "The bullet has lodgedsomewhere--possibly in the lung, " she returned. "It entered just abovethe heart, and he has bled much--internally. He may never regainconsciousness. "

Ferguson's face paled with a sudden anger. "In that case, ma'am, we'llnever know who shot him, " he said slowly. "An' I'm wantin' to knowthat. Couldn't you fetch him to, ma'am--just long enough so's I couldask him?"

She looked up with a slow glance. "I can try, " she said. "Is thereany more whiskey in your flask?"

He produced the flask, and they both bent over Rope, forcing a generousportion of the liquor down his throat. Then, alternately bathing thewound and his forehead, they watched. They were rewarded presently bya faint flicker of the eyelids and a slow flow of color in the palecheeks. Then after a little the eyes opened. 

In an instant Ferguson's lips were close to Rope's ear. "Who shot you, Rope, old man?" he asked eagerly. "You don't need to be afraid to tellme, it's Ferguson. "

The wounded man's eyes were glazed with a dull incomprehension. Butslowly, as though at last he was faintly conscious of the significanceof the question, his eyes glinted with the steady light of returningreason. Suddenly he smiled, his lips opening slightly. Both watchersleaned tensely forward to catch the low words. 

"Ferguson told me to look out, " he mumbled. "He told me to be carefulthat they didn't get me between them. But I wasn't thinkin' it wouldhappen just that way. " And now his eyes opened scornfully and hestruggled and lifted himself upon one arm, gazing at some imaginaryobject. 

"Why, " he said slowly and distinctly, his voice cold and metallic, "you're a hell of a range boss! Why you----!" he broke off suddenly, his eyes fixed full upon Miss Radford. "Why, it's a woman! An' Ithought---- Why, ma'am, " he went on, apologetically, "I didn't knowyou was there! . . . But you ain't goin' to run off no calf while I'mlookin' at you. Shucks! Won't the Ol' Man be some surprised to knowthat Tucson an'----"

He shuddered spasmodically and sat erect with a great effort. 

"You've got me, damn you!" he sneered. "But you won't never getanyone----"

He swung his right hand over his head, as though the hand held apistol. But the arm suddenly dropped, he shuddered again, and sankslowly back--his eyes wide and staring, but unseeing. 

Ferguson looked sharply at Miss Radford, who was suddenly bending overthe prostrate man, her head on his breast. She arose after a little, tears starting to her eyes. 

"He has gone, " she said slowly. 

CHAPTER XV

A FREE HAND

It was near midnight when Ferguson rode in to the Two Diamondranchhouse leading Rope's pony. He carefully unsaddled the two animalsand let them into the corral, taking great pains to make little noise. Rope's saddle--a peculiar one with a high pommel bearing a silver plateupon which the puncher's name was engraved--he placed conspicuouslynear the door of the bunkhouse. His own he carefully suspended fromits accustomed hook in the lean-to. Then, still carefully, he made hisway inside the bunkhouse and sought his bunk. 

At dawn he heard voices outside and he arose and went to the door. Several of the men were gathered about the step talking. For aninstant Ferguson stood, his eyes roving over the group. Tucson was notthere. He went back into the bunkhouse and walked casually about, taking swift glances at the bunks where the men still slept. Then hereturned to the door, satisfied that Tucson had not come in. 

When he reached the door again he found that the men of the group haddiscovered the saddle. One of them was saying something about it. "That ain't just the way I take care of my saddle, " he was telling theothers; "leavin' her out nights. "

"I never knowed Rope to be that careless before, " said another. 

Ferguson returned to the bunkhouse and ate breakfast. After the mealwas finished he went out, caught up Mustard, swung into the saddle, androde down to the ranchhouse door. He found Stafford in the office. The latter greeted the stray-man with a smile. 

"Somethin' doin'?" he questioned. 

"You might call it that, " returned Ferguson. He went inside and seatedhimself near Stafford's desk. 

"I've come in to tell you that I saw some rustlers workin' on the herdyesterday, " he said. 

Stafford sat suddenly erect, his eyes lighting interrogatively. 

"It wasn't Ben Radford, " continued Ferguson, answering the look. "You'd be surprised if I told you. But I ain't tellin'--now. I'mwaitin' to see if someone else does. But I'm tellin' you this: Theygot Rope Jones. "

Stafford's face reddened with anger. "They got Rope, you say?" hedemanded. "Why, where--damn them!"

"Back of the ridge about fifteen miles up the crick, " returnedFerguson. "I was ridin' along the edge of the plateau an' I saw a mandown there shoot another. I got down as soon as I could an' foundRope. There wasn't nothin' I could do. So I planted him where I foundhim an' brought his horse back. There was two rustlers there. Butonly one done the shootin'. I got the name of one. "

Stafford cursed. "I'm wantin' to know who it was!" he demanded. "I'llmake him--why, damn him, I'll----"

"You're carryin' on awful, " observed Ferguson dryly. "But you ain'tdoin' any good. " He leaned closer to Stafford. "I'm quittin' my jobright now, " he said. 

Stafford leaned back in his chair, surprised into silence. For aninstant he glared at the stray-man, and then his lips curled scornfully. 

"So you're quittin', " he sneered; "scared plum out because you seen aman put out of business! I reckon Leviatt wasn't far wrong when hesaid----"

"I wouldn't say a lot, " interrupted Ferguson coldly. "I ain'tadmittin' that I'm any scared. An' I ain't carin' a heap becauseLeviatt's been gassin' to you. But I'm quittin' the job you give me. Ben Radford ain't the man who's been rustlin' your cattle. It'ssomeone else. I'm askin' you to hire me to find out whoever it is. I'm wantin' a free hand. I don't want anyone askin' me any questions. I don't want anyone orderin' me around. But if you want the men whoare rustlin' your cattle, I'm offerin' to do the job. Do I get it?"

"You're keepin' right on--workin' for the Two Diamond, " returnedStafford. "But I'd like to get hold of the man who got Rope. "

Ferguson smiled grimly. "That man'll be gittin' his some day, " hedeclared, rising. "I'm keepin' him for myself. Mebbe I won't shoothim. I reckon Rope'd be some tickled if he'd know that the man whoshot him could get a chance to think it over while some man wasstringin' him up. You ain't sayin' anything about anything. "

He turned and went out. Five minutes later Stafford saw him ridingslowly toward the river. 

As the days went a mysterious word began to be spoken wherever mencongregated. No man knew whence the word had come, but it waswhispered that Rope Jones would be seen no more. His pony joined theremuda; his saddle and other personal effects became prizes for whichthe men of the outfit cast lots. Inquiries were made concerning thepuncher by friends who persisted in being inquisitive, but nothingresulted. In time the word "rustler" became associated with his name, and "caught with the goods" grew to be a phrase that told eloquently ofthe manner of his death. Later it was whispered that Leviatt andTucson had come upon Rope behind the ridge, catching him in the act ofrunning off a Two Diamond calf. But as no report had been made toStafford by either Leviatt or Tucson, the news remained merely rumor. 

Ferguson had said nothing more to any man concerning the incident. Todo so would have warned Tucson. And neither Ferguson nor Miss Radfordcould have sworn to the man's guilt. In addition to this, therelingered in Ferguson's mind a desire to play this game in his own way. Telling the men of the outfit what he had seen would make his knowledgecommon property--and in the absence of proof might cause him to appearridiculous. 

But since the shooting he had little doubt that Leviatt had beenTucson's companion on that day. Rope's scathing words--spoken whileMiss Radford had been trying to revive him--. "You're a hell of arange boss, " had convinced the stray-man that Leviatt had been one ofthe assailants. He had wondered much over the emotions of the two whenthey returned to the spot where the murder had been committed, to findtheir victim buried and his horse gone. But of one thing he wascertain--their surprise over the discovery that the body of theirvictim had been buried could not have equalled their discomfiture onlearning that the latter's pony had been secretly brought to the homeranch, and that among the men of the outfit was one, at least, who knewsomething of their guilty secret. Ferguson thought this to be thereason that they had not reported the incident to Stafford. 

There was now nothing for the stray-man to do but watch. The men whohad killed Rope were wary and dangerous, and their next move might bedirected at him. But he was not disturbed. One thought brought him amighty satisfaction. He was no longer employed to fasten upon BenRadford the stigma of guilt; no longer need he feel oppressed with theguilty consciousness, when in the presence of Mary Radford, that hewas, in a measure, a hired spy whose business it was to convict herbrother of the crime of rustling. He might now meet the young womanface to face, without experiencing the sensation of guilt that hadalways affected him. 

Beneath his satisfaction lurked a deeper emotion. During the course ofhis acquaintance with Rope Jones he had developed a sincere affectionfor the man. The grief in his heart over Rope's death was made morepoignant because of the latter's words, just before the final moment, which seemed to have been a plea for vengeance:

"Ferguson told me to look out. He told me to be careful that theydidn't get me between them. But I wasn't thinkin' that it would happenjust that way. "

This had been all that Rope had said about his friend, but it showedthat during his last conscious moments he had been thinking of thestray-man. As the days passed the words dwelt continually inFerguson's mind. Each day that he rode abroad, searching for evidenceagainst the murderers, brought him a day nearer to the vengeance uponwhich he had determined. 

CHAPTER XVI

LEVIATT TAKES A STEP

Miss Radford was sitting on the flat rock on the hill where she hadwritten the first page of her novel. The afternoon sun was comingslantwise over the western mountains, sinking steadily toward the riftout of which came the rose veil that she had watched many times. Shehad just completed a paragraph in which the villain appears when shebecame aware of someone standing near. She turned swiftly, withheightened color, to see Leviatt. 

His sudden appearance gave her something of a shock, for as he stoodthere, smiling at her, he answered perfectly the description she hadjust written. He might have just stepped from one of her pages. Butthe shock passed, leaving her a little pale, but quite composed--andnot a little annoyed. She had found her work interesting; she hadbecome quite absorbed in it. Therefore she failed to appreciateLeviatt's sudden appearance, and with uptilted chin turned from him andpretended an interest in the rim of hills that surrounded the flat. 

For an instant Leviatt stood, a frown wrinkling his forehead. Thenwith a smile he stepped forward and seated himself beside her on therock. She immediately drew her skirts close to her and shot adispleased glance at him from the corners of her eyes. Then seeingthat he still sat there, she moved her belongings a few feet andfollowed them. He could not doubt the significance of this move, buthad he been wise he might have ignored it. A woman's impulses willmove her to rebuke a man, but if he will accept without comment he maybe reasonably sure of her pity, and pity is a path of promise. 

But the range boss neglected his opportunity. He made the mistake ofthinking that because he had seen her many times while visiting herbrother he might now with propriety assume an air of intimacy towardher. 

"I reckon this rock is plenty big enough for both of us, " he saidamiably. 

She measured the distance between them with a calculating eye. "Itis, " she returned quietly, "if you remain exactly where you are. "

He forced a smile. "An' if I don't?" he inquired. 

"You may have the rock to yourself, " she returned coldly. "I did notask you to come here. "

He chose to ignore this hint, telling her that he had been to the cabinto see Ben and, finding him absent, had ridden through the flat. "Isaw you when I was quite a piece away, " he concluded, "an' thoughtmebbe you might be lonesome. "

"When I am lonesome I choose my own company, " she returned coldly. 

"Why, sure, " he said, his tone slightly sarcastic; "you cert'nly oughtto know who you want to talk to. But you ain't objectin' to me settin'on this hill?" he inquired. 

"The hill is not mine, " she observed quietly, examining one of thewritten pages of her novel; "sit here as long as you like. "

"Thanks. " He drawled the word. Leaning back on one elbow he stretchedout as though assured that she would make no further objections to hispresence. She ignored him completely and very deliberately arrangedher papers and resumed writing. 

For a time he lay silent, watching the pencil travel the width of thepage--and then back. A mass of completed manuscript lay at her side, the pages covered with carefully written, legible words. She hadalways taken a pardonable pride in her penmanship. For a while hewatched her, puzzled, furtively trying to decipher some of the wordsthat appeared upon the pages. But the distance was too great for himand he finally gave it up and fell to looking at her instead, thoughdetermined to solve the wordy mystery that was massed near her. 

Finally finding the silence irksome, he dropped an experimental word, speaking casually. "You must have been to school a heap--writin' likeyou do. "

She gave him no answer, being at that moment absorbed in a thoughtwhich she was trying to transcribe before it should take wings and begone forever. 

"Writin' comes easy to some people, " he persisted. 

The thought had been set down; she turned very slightly. "Yes, " shesaid looking steadily at him, "it does. So does impertinence. "

He smiled easily. "I ain't aimin' to be impertinent, " he returned. "Iwouldn't reckon that askin' you what you are writin' would beimpertinent. It's too long for a letter. "

"It is a novel, " she returned shortly. 

He smiled, exulting over this partial concession. "I reckon to write abook you must be some special kind of a woman, " he observed admiringly. 

She was silent. He sat up and leaned toward her, his eyes flashingwith a sudden passion. 

"If that's it, " he said with unmistakable significance, "I don't mindtellin' you that I'm some partial to them special kind. "

Her chin rose a little. "I am not concerned over your feelings, " shereturned without looking at him. 

"That kind of a woman would naturally know a heap, " he went on, apparently unmindful of the rebuke; "they'd cert'nly know enough to beable to see when a man likes them. "

She evidently understood the drift, for her eyes glowed subtly. "It istoo bad that you are not a 'special kind of man, ' then, " she replied. 

"Meanin'?" he questioned, his eyes glinting with eagerness. 

"Meaning that if you were a 'special kind of man' you would be able totell when a woman doesn't like you, " she said coldly. 

"I reckon that I ain't a special kind then, " he declared, his facereddening slightly. "Of course, I've seen that you ain't appeared totake much of a shine to me. But I've heard that there's women that canbe won if a man keeps at it long enough. "

"Some men like to waste their time, " she returned quietly. 

"I don't call it wastin' time to be talkin' to you, " he declaredrapidly. 

"Our opinions differ, " she observed shortly, resting the pencil pointon the page that she had been writing. 

Her profile was toward him; her cheeks were tinged with color; somestray wisps of hair hung, breeze-blown, over her forehead and temples. She made an attractive picture, sitting there with the soft sunlightabout her, a picture whose beauty smote Leviatt's heart with a pang ofsudden regret and disappointment. She might have been his, but for thecoming of Ferguson. And now, because of the stray-man's wiles, he waslosing her. 

A sudden rage seized upon him; he leaned forward, his face bloatingpoisonously. "Mebbe I could name a man who ain't wastin' his time!" hesneered. 

She turned suddenly and looked at him, dropping pencil and paper, hereyes flashing with a hitter scorn. "You are one of those sulkingcowards who fawn over men and insult defenseless women!" she declared, the words coming slowly and distinctly. 

He had realized before she answered that he had erred, and he smileddeprecatingly, the effort contorting his face. 

"I wasn't meanin' just that, " he said weakly. "I reckon it's a clearfield an' no favors. " He took a step toward her, his voice growingtense. "I've been comin' down to your cabin a lot, sayin' that I wascomin' to see Ben. But I didn't come to see Ben--I wanted to look atyou. I reckon you knowed that. A woman can't help but see when aman's in love with her. But you've never give me a chance to tell you. I'm tellin' you now. I want you to marry me. I'm range boss for theTwo Diamond an' I've got some stock that's my own, an' money in thebank over in Cimarron. I'll put up a shack a few miles down the riveran'----"

"Stop!" commanded Miss Radford imperiously. 

Leviatt had been speaking rapidly, absorbed in his subject, assuranceshining in his face. But at Miss Radford's command he broke offsuddenly and stiffened, surprise widening his eyes. 

"You have said enough, " she continued; "quite enough. I have neverthought of you as a possible admirer. I certainly have done nothingthat might lead you to believe I would marry you. I do not even likeyou--not even respect you. I am not certain that I shall ever marry, but if I do, I certainly shall not marry a man whose every look is aninsult. "

She turned haughtily and began to gather up her papers. There had beenno excitement in her manner; her voice had been steady, even, andtempered with a slight scorn. 

For a brief space Leviatt stood, while the full significance of herrefusal ate slowly into his consciousness. Whatever hopes he mighthave had had been swept away in those few short, pithy sentences. Hispassion checked, the structure erected by his imagination toppled toruin, his vanity hurt, he stood before her stripped of the veneer thathad made him seem, heretofore, nearly the man he professed to be. 

In her note book had been written:

"Dave Leviatt. . . . One rather gets the impression that the stoop isa reflection of the man's nature, which seems vindictive and suggests alow cunning. His eyes are small, deep set, and glitter when he talks. But they are steady and cold--almost merciless. One's thoughts goinstantly to the tiger. I shall try to create that impression in thereader's mind. "

And now as she looked at him she was sure that task would not bedifficult. She had now an impression of him that seemed as though ithad been seared into her mind. The eyes that she had thought mercilesswere now glittering malevolently, and she shuddered at the satyricupward curve of his lips as he stepped close to the rock and placed ahand upon the mass of manuscript lying there, that she had previouslydropped, to prevent her leaving. 

"So you don't love me?" he sneered. "You don't even respect me. Why?Because you've taken a shine to that damned maverick that come herefrom Dry Bottom--Stafford's new stray-man!"

"That is my business, " she returned icily. 

"It sure is, " he said, the words writhing venomously through his lips. "An' it's my business too. There ain't any damned----"

He had glanced suddenly downward while he had been talking and his gazerested upon an upturned page of the manuscript that lay beside him onthe rock. He broke off speaking and reaching down took up the page, his eyes narrowing with interest. The page he had taken up was onefrom the first chapter and described in detail the shooting match inDry Bottom. It was a truthful picture of what had actually happened. She had even used the real names of the characters. Leviatt saw areference to the "Silver Dollar" saloon, to the loungers, to thestranger who had ridden up and who sat on his pony near the hitchingrail, and who was called Ferguson. He saw his own name; read the storyof how the stranger had eclipsed his feat by putting six bullets intothe can. 

He dropped the page to the rock and looked up at Miss Radford with ashort laugh. 

"So that's what you're writin'?" he sneered. "You're writin' somethin'that really happened. You're even writin' the real names an' tellin'how Stafford's stray-man butted in an' beat me shootin'. You knowin'this shows that him an' you has been travelin' pretty close together. "

For an instant Miss Radford forgot her anger. Her eyes snapped with asudden interest. 

"Were you the man who hit the can five times?" she questioned, unableto conceal her eagerness. 

She saw a flush slowly mount to his face. Evidently he had said morethan he had intended. 

"Well, if I am?" he returned, his lips writhing in a sneer. "Himbeatin' me shootin' that way don't prove nothin'. "

She was now becoming convinced of her cleverness. From Ben'sdescription of the man who had won the shooting match she had been ableto lead Ferguson to the admission that he had been the centralcharacter in that incident, and now it had transpired that Leviatt wasthe man he had beaten. This had been the way she had written it in thestory. So far the plot that had been born of her imagination hadproved to be the story of a real occurrence. 

She had counted upon none but imaginary characters, --though she haddetermined to clothe these with reality through study--but now, she haddiscovered, she had been the chronicler of a real incident, and two ofher characters had been pitted against each other in a contest in whichthere had been enough bitterness to provide the animus necessary tocarry them through succeeding pages, ready and willing to fly at eachother's throats. She was not able to conceal her satisfaction over thediscovery, and when she looked at Leviatt again she smiled broadly. 

"That confession explains a great many things, " she said, stooping torecover the page that he had dropped beside her upon the rock. 

"Meanin' what?" he questioned, his eyes glittering evilly. 

"Meaning that I now know why you are not friendly toward Mr. Ferguson, "she returned. "I heard that he beat you in the shooting match, " shewent on tauntingly, "and then when you insulted him afterwards, hetalked very plainly to you. "

The moment she had spoken she realized that her words had hurt him, forhe paled and his eyes narrowed venomously. But his voice was cold andsteady. 

"Was Mr. Ferguson tellin' you that?" he inquired, succeeding in placingironic emphasis upon the prefix. 

She was arranging the contents of her hand bag and she did not look upas she answered him. 

"That is my business, " she returned quietly. "But I don't mind tellingyou that the man who told me about the occurrence would not lie aboutit. "

"It's nice that you've got such a heap of faith in him, " he sneered. 

It was plain to her that he thought Ferguson had told her about theshooting match, and it was equally plain that he still harbored evilthoughts against the stray-man. And also, he suspected that somethingmore than mere friendship existed between her and Ferguson. She hadlong hoped that one day she might be given the opportunity of meetingin person a man whose soul was consumed with jealousy, in order thatshe might be able to gain some impressions of the intensity of hispassion. This seemed to be her opportunity. Therefore she raised herchin a little and looked at him with a tantalizing smile. 

"Of course I have faith in him, " she declared, with a slight, bitingemphasis. "I believe in him--absolutely. "

She saw his lips twitch. "Sure, " he sneered, "you was just beginnin'to believe in him that day when you was holdin' hands with him--justabout here. I reckon he was enjoyin' himself. "

She started, but smiled immediately. "So you saw that?" she inquired, knowing that he had, but taking a keen delight in seeing that he stillremembered. But this conversation was becoming too personal; she hadno desire to argue this point with him, even to get an impression ofthe depth of his passion, so she gathered up her belongings andprepared to depart. But he stepped deliberately in front of her, barring the way of escape. His face was aflame with passion. 

"I seen him holdin' your hand, " he said, his voice trembling; "I seenthat he was holdin' it longer than he had any right. An' I seen youpull your hand away when you thought I was lookin' at you. I reckonyou've taken a shine to him; he's the kind that the women like--withhis slick ways an' smooth palaver--an' his love makin'. " He laughedwith his lips only, his eyes narrowed to glittering pin points. Shehad not thought that jealousy could make a person half so repulsive. 

"If you're lovin' him, " he continued, leaning toward her, his musclestense, his lips quivering with a passion that he was no longer able torepress, "I'm tellin' you that you're wastin' your time. You wouldn'tthink so much of him if you knowed that he come here----"

Leviatt had become aware that Miss Radford was not listening; that shewas no longer looking at him, but at something behind him. At theinstant he became aware of this he turned sharply in his tracks, hisright hand falling swiftly to his holster. Not over half a dozen pacesdistant stood Ben Radford, gravely watching. 

"Mebbe you folks are rehearsing a scene from that story, " he observedquietly. "I wasn't intending to interrupt, but I heard loud talkingand I thought mebbe it wasn't anything private. So I just got off myhorse and climbed up here, to satisfy my curiosity. "

Leviatt's hand fell away from the holster, a guilty grin overspreadinghis face. "I reckon we wasn't rehearsin' any scene, " he said, tryingto make the words come easily. "I was just tellin' your sisterthat----"

Miss Radford laughed banteringly. "You have spoiled a chapter in mybook, Ben, " she declared with pretended annoyance; "Mr. Leviatt hadjust finished proposing to me and was at the point where he wassupposed to speak bitter words about his rival. " She laughed again, gazing at Leviatt with mocking eyes. "Of course, I shall never be ableto tell my readers what he might have said, for you appeared at a mostinopportune time. But he has taught me a great deal--much more, infact, than I ever expected from him. "

She bowed mockingly. "I am very, very much obliged to you, Mr. Leviatt, " she said, placing broad emphasis upon her words. "I promiseto try and make a very interesting character of you--there were timeswhen you were most dramatic. "

She bowed to Leviatt and flashed a dazzling smile at her brother. Thenshe walked past Leviatt, picked her way daintily over the loose stoneson the hillside, and descended to the level where she had tethered herpony. Ben stood grinning admiringly after her as she mounted and rodeout into the flat. Then he turned to Leviatt, soberly contemplatinghim. 

"I don't think you were rehearsing for the book, " he said quietly, anundercurrent of humor in his voice. 

"She was funnin' me, " returned Leviatt, his face reddening. 

"I reckon she was, " returned Ben dryly. "She's certainly some cleverat handing it to a man. " He smiled down into the flat, where MissRadford could still be seen, riding toward the cabin. "Looks as thoughshe wasn't quite ready to change her name to 'Leviatt', " he grinned. 

But there was no humor in Leviatt's reflections. He stood for amoment, looking down into the flat, the expression of his face moroseand sullen. Ben's bantering words only added fuel to the flame of rageand disappointment that was burning fiercely in his heart. Presentlythe hard lines of his lips disappeared and he smiled craftily. 

"She's about ready to change her name, " he said. "Only she ain'tfiggerin' that it's goin' to be Leviatt. "

"You're guessing now, " returned Ben sharply. 

Leviatt laughed oddly. "I reckon I ain't doin' any guessin', " hereturned. "You've been around her a heap an' been seein' herconsid'able, but you ain't been usin' your eyes. "

"Meaning what?" demanded Ben, an acid-like coldness in his voice. 

"Meanin' that if you'd been usin' your eyes you'd have seen that she'ssome took up with Stafford's new stray-man. "

"Well, " returned Ben, "she's her own boss. If she's made friends withFerguson that's her business. " He laughed. "She's certainly clever, "he added, "and mebbe she's got her own notion as to why she's madefriends with him. She's told me that she's goin' to make him acharacter in the book she's writing. Likely she's stringing him. "

"I reckon she ain't stringin' him, " declared Leviatt. "A girl ain'tdoin' much stringin' when she's holdin' a man's hand an' blushin' whensomebody ketches her at it. "

There was a slight sneer in Leviatt's voice which drew a sharp glancefrom Radford. For an instant his face clouded and he was about to makea sharp reply. But his face cleared immediately and he smiled. 

"I'm banking on her being able to take care of herself, " he returned. "Her holding Ferguson's hand proves nothing. Likely she was trying toget an impression--she's always telling me that. But she's running herown game, and if she is stringing Ferguson that's her business, and ifshe thinks a good bit of him that's her business, too. If a man ain'tjealous, he might be able to see that Ferguson ain't a half bad sort ofa man. "

An evil light leaped into Leviatt's eyes. He turned and faced Radford, words coming from his lips coldly and incisively. "When youinterrupted me, " he said, "I was goin' to tell your sister aboutFerguson. Mebbe if I tell you what I was goin' to tell her it'll makeyou see things some different. A while ago Stafford was wantin' tohire a gunfighter. " He shot a significant glance at Radford, whoreturned it steadily. "I reckon you know what he wanted a gunfighterfor. He got one. His name's Ferguson. He's gettin' a hundred dollarsa month for the season, to put Ben Radford out of business!"

The smile had gone from Radford's face; his lips were tightly closed, his eyes cold and alert. 

"You lying about Ferguson because you think he's friendly with Mary?"he questioned quietly. 

Leviatt's right hand dropped swiftly to his holster. But Radfordlaughed harshly. "Quit it!" he said sharply. "I ain't sayin' you're aliar, but what you've said makes you liable to be called that untilyou've proved you ain't. How do you know Ferguson's been hired to putme out of business?"

Leviatt laughed. "Stafford an' me went to Dry Bottom to get agunfighter. I shot a can in the street in front of the Silver Dollarso's Stafford would be able to get a line on anyone tryin' to beat mygame. Ferguson done it an' Stafford hired him. "

Radford's gaze was level and steady. "Then you've knowed right alongthat he was lookin' for me, " he said coldly. "Why didn't you saysomething about it before. You've been claiming to be my friend. "

Leviatt flushed, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, butwatching Radford with alert and suspicious glances. "Why, " he returnedshortly, "I'm range boss for the Two Diamond an' I ain't hired to tellwhat I know. I reckon you'd think I was a hell of a man to be tellin'things that I ain't got no right to tell. "

"But you're telling it now, " returned Radford, his eyes narrowing alittle. 

"Yes, " returned Leviatt quietly, "I am. An' you're callin' me a liarfor it. But I'm tellin' you to wait. Mebbe you'll tumble. I reckonyou ain't heard how Ferguson's been tellin' the boys that he went downto your cabin one night claimin' to have been bit by a rattler, becausehe wanted to get acquainted with you an' pot you some day when youwasn't expectin' it. An' then after he'd stayed all night in yourcabin he was braggin' to the boys that he reckoned on makin' a fool ofyour sister. Oh, he's some slick!" he concluded, a note of triumph inhis voice. 

Radford started, his face paling a little. He had thought it strangethat an experienced plainsman--as Ferguson appeared to be--should havebeen bitten by a rattler in the manner he had described. And then hehad been hanging around the----

"Mebbe you might think it's onusual for Stafford to hire a two-gun manto look after strays, " broke in Leviatt at this point. "Two-gun menain't takin' such jobs regular, " he insinuated. "Stray-men is usuallow-down, mean, ornery cusses which ain't much good for anything else, an' so they spend their time mopin' around, doin' work that ain't fitfor any puncher to do. "

Radford had snapped himself erect, his lips straightening. He suddenlyheld out a hand to Leviatt. "I'm thanking you, " he said steadily. "It's rather late for you to be telling me, but I think it's come intime anyway. I'm watching him for a little while, and if things are asyou say----" He broke off, his voice filled with a significantgrimness. "So-long, " he added. 

He turned and descended the slope of the hill. An instant laterLeviatt saw him loping his pony toward the cabin. For a few minutesLeviatt gazed after him, his eyes alight with satisfaction. Then he, too, descended the slope of the hill and mounted his pony. 

CHAPTER XVII

A BREAK IN THE STORY

Mary Radford had found the day too beautiful to remain indoors and sodirectly after dinner she had caught up her pony and was off for a ridethrough the cottonwood. She had been compelled to catch up the ponyherself, for of late Ben had been neglectful of this duty. Until thelast week or so he had always caught her pony and placed the saddle onit before leaving in the morning, assuring her that if she did not rideduring his absence the pony would not suffer through being saddled andbridled. But within the last week she thought she detected a change inBen's manner. He seemed preoccupied and glum, falling suddenly into ataciturnity broken only by brief periods during which he condescendedto reply to her questions with--it seemed--grudging monosyllables. 

Several times, too, she had caught him watching her with furtiveglances in which, she imagined, she detected a glint of speculation. But of this she was not quite sure, for when she bluntly questioned himconcerning his moods he had invariably given her an evasive reply. Fearing that there might have been a recurrence of the old trouble withthe Two Diamond manager--about which he had told her during her firstdays at the cabin--she ventured a question. He had grimly assured herthat he anticipated no further trouble in that direction. So, unableto get a direct reply from him she had decided that perhaps he wouldspeak when the time came, and so she had ceased questioning. 

In spite of his negligence regarding the pony, she had not given up herrides. Nor had she neglected to give a part of each morning to thestory. 

The work of gradually developing her hero's character had been anabsorbing task; times when she lingered over the pages of the story shefound herself wondering whether she had sounded the depths of hisnature. She knew, at least, that she had made him attractive, for ashe moved among her pages, she--who should have been satiated with himbecause of being compelled to record his every word and movement--foundhis magnetic personality drawing her applause, found that he hauntedher dreams, discovered one day that her waking moments were filled withthoughts of him. 

But of late she had begun to suspect that her interest in him was notall on account of the story; there were times when she sat longthinking of him, seeing him, watching the lights and shadows ofexpression come and go in his face. Somewhere between the realFerguson and the man who was impersonating him in her story was aninvisible line that she could not trace. There were times when shecould not have told whether the character she admired belonged to thereal or the unreal. 

She was thinking much of this to-day while she rode into the subduedlight of the cottonwood. Was she, absorbed in the task of putting areal character in her story, to confess that her interest in him wasnot wholly the interest of the artist who sees the beauties and virtuesof a model only long enough to paint them into the picture? Theblushes came when she suddenly realized that her interest was notwholly professional, that she had lately lingered long over her model, at times when she had not been thinking of the story at all. 

Then, too, she had considered her friends in the East. What would theysay if they knew of her friendship with the Two Diamond stray-man? Thestandards of Eastern civilization were not elastic enough to includethe man whom she had come to know so well, who had strode as boldlyinto her life as he had strode into her story, with his steady, sereneeyes, his picturesque rigging, and his two guns, their holsters tied sosuggestively and forebodingly down. Would her friends be able to seethe romance in him? Would they be able to estimate him according tothe standards of the world in which he lived, in which he moved sogracefully?

She was aware that, measured by Eastern standards, Ferguson fell farshort of the average in those things that combine to produce thepolished gentleman. Yet she was also aware that these things were mereaccomplishments, a veneer acquired through constant practice--and thatusually the person known as "gentleman" could not be distinguished bythese things at all--that the real "gentleman" could be known onlythrough the measure of his quiet and genuine consideration andunfailing Christian virtues. 

As she rode through the cottonwood, into that deep solitude whichbrings with it a mighty reverence for nature and a solemn desire forcommunion with the soul--that solitude in which all affectationdisappears and man is face to face with his Maker--she tried to thinkof Ferguson in an Eastern drawing room, attempting a sham courtesy, affecting mannerisms that more than once had brought her own soul intorebellion. But she could not get him into the imaginary picture. Hedid not belong there; it seemed that she was trying to force a livingfigure into a company of mechanical puppets. And so they were--puppetswho answered to the pulling strings of precedent and establishedconvention. 

But at the same time she knew that this society which she affected todespise would refuse to accept him; that if by any chance he should begiven a place in it he would be an object of ridicule, or at the leastpassive contempt. The world did not want originality; would notwelcome in its drawing room the free, unaffected child of nature. No, the world wanted pretense, imitation. It frowned upon truth andapplauded the sycophant. 

She was not even certain that if she succeeded in making Ferguson areal living character the world would be interested in him. But shehad reached that state of mind in which she cared very little about theworld's opinion. She, at least, was interested in him. 

Upon the same afternoon--for there is no rule for the mere incidents oflife--Ferguson loped his pony through the shade of the cottonwood. Hewas going to visit the cabin in Bear Flat. Would she be at home?Would she be glad to see him? He could not bring his mind to give himan affirmative answer to either of these questions. 

But of one thing he was certain--she had treated him differently fromthe other Two Diamond men who had attempted to win her friendship. Washe to think then that she cared very little whether he came to thecabin or not? He smiled over his pony's mane at the thought. He couldnot help but see that she enjoyed his visits. 

When he rode up to the cabin he found it deserted, but with a smile heremounted Mustard and set out over the river trail, through thecottonwood. He was sure that he would find her on the hill in theflat, and when he had reached the edge of the cottonwood opposite thehill he saw her. 

When she heard the clatter of his pony's hoofs she turned and saw him, waving a hand at him. 

"I reckoned on findin' you here, " he said when he came close enough tobe heard. 

She shyly made room for him beside her on the rock, but there wasmischief in her eye. "It seems impossible to hide from you, " she saidwith a pretense of annoyance. 

He laughed as he came around the edge of the rock and sat near her. "Was you really tryin' to hide?" he questioned. "Because if you was, "he continued, "you hadn't ought to have got up on this hill--where Icould see you without even lookin' for you. "

"But of course you were not looking for me, " she observed quietly. 

He caught her gaze and held it--steadily. "I reckon I was lookin' foryou, " he said. 

"Why--why, " she returned, suddenly fearful that something had happenedto Ben--"is anything wrong?"

He smiled. "Nothin' is wrong, " he returned. "But I wanted to talk toyou, an' I expected to find you here. "

There was a gentleness in his voice that she had not heard before, anda quiet significance to his words that made her eyes droop away fromhis with slight confusion. She replied without looking at him. 

"But I came here to write, " she said. 

He gravely considered her, drawing one foot up on the rock and claspinghis hands about the knee. "I've thought a lot about that book, " hedeclared with a trace of embarrassment, "since you told me that you wasgoin' to put real men an' women in it. I expect you've made them dothe things that you've wanted them to do an' made them say what youwanted them to say. That part is right an' proper--there wouldn't beany sense of anyone writin' a book unless they could put into it whatthey thought was right. But what's been botherin' me is this; how canyou tell whether the things you've made them say is what they wouldhave said if they'd had any chance to talk? An' how can you tell whattheir feelin's would be when you set them doin' somethin'?"

She laughed. "That is a prerogative which the writer assumes withoutquestion, " she returned. "The author of a novel makes his charactersthink and act as the author himself imagines he would act in the samecircumstances. "

He looked at her with amused eyes. "That's just what I was tryin' toget at, " he said. "You've put me into your book, an' you've made me doan' say things out of your mind. But you don't know for sure whether Iwould have done an' said things just like you've wrote them. Mebbe ifI would have had somethin' to say I wouldn't have done things your wayat all. "

"I am sure you would, " she returned positively. 

"Well, now, " he returned smiling, "you're speakin' as though you waspretty certain about it. You must have wrote a whole lot of the story. "

"It is two-thirds finished, " she returned with a trace of satisfactionin her voice which did not escape him. 

"An' you've got all your characters doin' an' thinkin' things that youthink they ought to do?" His eyes gleamed craftily. "You got a manan' a girl in it?"

"Of course. "

"An' they're goin' to love one another?"

"No other outcome is popular with novel readers, " she returned. 

He rocked back and forth, his eyes languidly surveying the rim of hillsin the distance. 

"I expect that outcome is popular in real life too, " he observed. "Nobody ever hears about it when it turns out some other way. "

"I expect love is always a popular subject, " she returned smiling. 

His eyes were still languid, his gaze still on the rim of distant hills. 

"You got any love talk in there--between the man an' the girl?" hequestioned. 

"Of course. "

"That's mighty interestin', " he returned. "I expect they do a good bitof mushin'?"

"They do not talk extravagantly, " she defended. 

"Then I expect it must be pretty good, " he returned. "I don't likemushy love stories. " And now he turned and looked fairly at her. "Ofcourse, " he said slyly, "I don't know whether it's necessary or not, but I've been thinkin' that to write a good love story the writer oughtto be in love. Whoever was writin' would know more about how it feelsto be in love. "

She admired the cleverness with which he had led her up to this point, but she was not to be trapped. She met his eyes fairly. 

"I am sure it is not necessary for the writer to be in love, " she saidquietly but positively. "I flatter myself that my love scenes arerather real, and I have not found it necessary to love anyone. "

This reply crippled him instantly. "Well, now, " he said, eyeing her, she thought, a bit reproachfully, "that comes pretty near stumpin' me. But, " he added, a subtle expression coming again into his eyes, "yousay you've got only two-thirds finished. Mebbe you'll be in lovebefore you get it all done. An' then mebbe you'll find that you didn'tget it right an' have to do it all over again. That would sure be toobad, when you could have got in love an' wrote it real in the firstplace. "

"I don't think that I shall fall in love, " she said laughing. 

He looked quickly at her, suddenly grave. "I wouldn't want to thinkyou meant that, " he said. 

"Why?" she questioned in a low voice, her laughter subdued by hisearnestness. 

"Why, " he said steadily, as though stating a perfectly plain fact, "I've thought right along that you liked me. Of course I ain't beenfool enough to think that you loved me"--and now he reddened alittle--, "but I don't deny that I've hoped that you would. "

"Oh, dear!" she laughed; "and so you have planned it all out! And Iwas hoping that you would not prove so deep as that. You know, " shewent on, "you promised me a long while ago that you would not fall inlove with me. "

"I don't reckon that I said that, " he returned. "I told you that Iwasn't goin' to get fresh. I reckon I ain't fresh now. But I expect Icouldn't help lovin' you--I've done that since the first day. "

She could not stop the blushes--they would come. And so would thatthrilling, breathless exultation. No man had ever talked to her likethis; no man had ever made her feel quite as she felt at this moment. She turned a crimson face to him. 

"But you hadn't any right to love me, " she declared, feeling sure thatshe had been unable to make him understand that she meant to rebukehim. Evidently he did not understand that she meant to do that, for heunclasped his hand from his knee and came closer to her, standing atthe edge of the rock, one hand resting upon it. 

"Of course I didn't have any right, " he said gravely, "but I loved youjust the same. There's been some things in my life that I couldn'thelp doin'. Lovin' you is one. I expect that you'll think I'm prettyfresh, but I've been thinkin' a whole lot about you an' I've got totell you. You ain't like the women I've been used to. An' I reckon Iain't just the kind of man you've been acquainted with all your life. You've been used to seein' men who was all slicked up an' clever. Iexpect them kind of men appeal to any woman. I ain't claimin' to benone of them clever kind, but I've been around quite a little an' Iain't never done anything that I'm ashamed of. I can't offer you aheap, but if you----"

She had looked up quickly, her cheeks burning. 

"Please don't, " she pleaded, rising and placing a hand on his arm, gripping it tightly. "I have known for a long time, but I--I wanted tobe sure. " He could not suspect that she had only just now begun torealize that she was in danger of yielding to him and that theknowledge frightened her. 

"You wanted to be sure?" he questioned, his face clouding. "What is itthat you wanted to be sure of?"

"Why, " she returned, laughing to hide her embarrassment, "I wanted tobe sure that you loved me!"

"Well, you c'n be sure now, " he said. 

"I believe I can, " she laughed. "And, " she continued, finding itdifficult to pretend seriousness, "knowing what I do will make writingso much easier. "

His face clouded again. "I don't see what your writin' has got to dowith it, " he said. 

"You don't?" she demanded, her eyes widening with pretended surprise. "Why, don't you see that I wanted to be sure of your love so that Imight be able to portray a real love scene in my story?"

He did not reply instantly, but folded his arms over his chest andstood looking at her. In his expression was much reproach and not alittle disappointment. The hopes that had filled his dreams had beenruined by her frivolous words; he saw her at this moment a woman whohad trifled with him, who had led him cleverly on to a declaration oflove that she might in the end sacrifice him to her art. But in thismoment, when he might have been excused for exhibiting anger; forheaping upon her the bitter reproaches of an outraged confidence, hewas supremely calm. The color fled from his face, leaving it slightlypale, and his eyes swam with a deep feeling that told of the strugglethat he was making. 

"I didn't think you'd do it, ma'am, " he said finally, a littlehoarsely. "But I reckon you know your own business best. " He smiledslightly. "I don't think there's any use of you an' me meetin'again--I don't want to be goin' on, bein' a dummy man that you c'nwatch. But I'm glad to have amused you some an' I have enjoyed myself, talkin' to you. But I reckon you've done what you wanted to do, an' soI'll be gettin' along. "

He smiled grimly and with an effort turned and walked around the cornerof the rock, intending to descend the hill and mount his pony. But ashe passed around to the side of the rock he heard her voice:

"Wait, please, " she said in a scarcely audible voice. 

He halted, looking gravely at her from the opposite side of the rock. 

"You wantin' to get somethin' more for your story?" he asked. 

She turned and looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes luminous witha tell-tale expression, her face crimson. "Why, " she said smiling athim, "do you really think that I could be so mean?"

He was around the rock again in half a dozen steps and standing aboveher, his eyes alight, his lips parted slightly with surprise andeagerness. 

"Do you mean that you wantin' to make sure that I loved you wasn't allfor the sake of the story?" he demanded rapidly. 

Her eyes drooped away from his. "Didn't you tell me that a writershould be in love in order to be able to write of it?" she asked, herface averted. 

"Yes. " He was trembling a little and leaning toward her. In thisposition he caught her low reply. 

"I think my love story will be real, " she returned. "I havelearned----" But whatever she might have wanted to add was smotheredwhen his arms closed tightly about her. 

A little later she drew a deep breath and looked up at him with moist, eloquent eyes. 

"Perhaps I _shall_ have to change the story a little, " she said. 

He drew her head to his shoulder, one hand caressing her hair. "If youdo, " he said smiling, "don't have the hero thinkin' that the girl ismakin' a fool of him. " He drew her close. "That cert'nly was a mightybad minute you give me, " he added. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE DIM TRAIL. 

A shadow fell upon the rock. Ferguson turned his head and lookedtoward the west, where the sun had already descended over the mountains. 

"Why it's sundown!" he said, smiling into Miss Radford's eyes. "Ireckon the days must be gettin' shorter. "

"The happy days are always short, " she returned, blushing. He kissedher for this. For a while they sat, watching together the vari-colorsswimming in the sky. They sat close together, saying little, for merewords are sometimes inadequate. In a little time the colors faded, themountain peaks began to throw sombre shades; twilight--gray andcold--settled suddenly into the flat. Then Miss Radford raised herhead from Ferguson's shoulder and sighed. 

"Time to go home, " she said. 

"Yes, time, " he returned. "I'm ridin' down that far with you. "

They rose and clambered down the hillside and he helped her into thesaddle. Then he mounted Mustard and rode across the flat beside her. 

Darkness had fallen when they rode through the clearing near the cabinand dismounted from their ponies at the door. The light from thekerosene lamp shone in a dim stream from the kitchen door and withinthey saw dishes on the table with cold food. Ferguson stood beside hispony while Miss Radford went in and explored the cabin. She came tothe door presently, shading her eyes to look out into the darkness. 

"Ben has been here and gone, " she said. "He can't be very far away. Won't you come in?"

He laughed. "I don't think I'll come in, " he returned. "This loverbusiness is new to me, an' I wouldn't want Ben to come back an' ketchme blushin' an' takin' on. "

"But he has to know, " she insisted, laughing. 

"Sure, " he said, secure in the darkness, "but you tell him. "

"I won't!" she declared positively, stamping a foot. 

"Then I reckon he won't get told, " he returned quietly. 

"Well, then, " she said, laughing, "I suppose that is settled. "

She came out to the edge of the porch, away from the door, where thestream of light from within could not search them out, and there theytook leave of one another, she going back into the cabin and hemounting Mustard and riding away in the darkness. 

He was in high spirits, for he had much to be thankful for. As he rodethrough the darkness, skirting the cottonwood in the flat, he allowedhis thoughts to wander. His refusal to enter the cabin had not been amere whim; he intended on the morrow to seek out Ben and tell him. Hehad not wanted to tell him with her looking on to make the situationembarrassing for him. 

When he thought of how she had fooled him by making it appear that shehad led him on for the purpose of getting material for her love story, he was moved to silent mirth. "But I cert'nly didn't see anythingfunny in it while she was puttin' it on, " he told himself, as he rode. 

He had not ridden more than a quarter of a mile from the cabin, and waspassing a clump of heavy shrubbery, when a man rose suddenly out of theshadows beside the trail. Startled, Mustard reared, and then seeingthat the apparition was merely a man, he came quietly down and halted, shaking his head sagely. Ferguson's right hand had dropped swiftly tohis right holster, but was raised again instantly as the man's voicecame cold and steady:

"Get your hands up--quick!"

Ferguson's hands were raised, but he gave no evidence of fear orexcitement. Instead, he leaned forward, trying, in the dim light, tosee the man's face. The latter still stood in the shadows. But now headvanced a little toward Ferguson, and the stray-man caught his breathsharply. But when he spoke his voice was steady. 

"Why, it's Ben Radford, " he said. 

"That's just who it is, " returned Radford. "I've been waitin' for you. "

"That's right clever of you, " returned Ferguson, drawling his words alittle. He was puzzled over this unusual occurrence, but his face didnot betray this. "You was wantin' to see me then, " he added. 

"You're keen, " returned Radford, sneering slightly. 

Ferguson's face reddened. "I ain't no damn fool, " he said sharply. "An' I don't like holdin' my hands up like this. I reckon whateveryou're goin' to do you ought to do right quick. "

"I'm figuring to be quick, " returned Radford shortly. "Ketch hold ofyour guns with the tips of one finger and one thumb and drop them. Don't hit any rocks and don't try any monkey business. "

He waited until Ferguson had dropped one gun. And then, knowing thatthe stray-man usually wore two weapons, he continued sharply: "I'mwaiting for the other one. "

Ferguson laughed. "Then you'll be waitin' a long time. There ain'tany 'other one. Broke a spring yesterday an' sent it over to Cimarronto get it fixed up. You c'n have it when it comes back, " he added witha touch of sarcasm, "if you're carin' to wait that long. "

Radford did not reply, but came around to Ferguson's left side andpeered at the holster. It was empty. Then he looked carefully at thestray-man's waist for signs that a weapon might have been concealedbetween the waist-band and the trousers--in front. Then, apparentlysatisfied, he stepped back, his lips closed grimly. 

"Get off your horse, " he ordered. 

Ferguson laughed as he swung down. "Anything to oblige a friend, " hesaid, mockingly. 

The two men were now not over a yard apart, and at Ferguson's wordRadford's face became inflamed with wrath. "I don't think I'm a friendof yours, " he sneered coldly; "I ain't making friends with every damnedsneak that crawls around the country, aiming to shoot a man in theback. " He raised his voice, bitter with sarcasm. "You're thinkingthat you're pretty slick, " he said; "that all you have to do in thiscountry is to hang around till you get a man where you want him andthen bore him. But you've got to the end of your rope. You ain'tgoing to shoot anyone around here. 

"I'm giving you a chance to say what you've got to say and then I'mgoing to fill you full of lead and plant you over in the cottonwood--ina place where no one will ever be able to find you--not even Stafford. I'd have shot you off your horse when you come around the bend, " hecontinued coldly, "but I wanted you to know who was doing it and thatthe man that did it knowed what you come here to do. " He poised hispistol menacingly. "You got anything to say?" he inquired. 

Ferguson looked steadily from the muzzle of the poised weapon toRadford's frowning eyes. Then he smiled grimly. 

"Some one's been talkin', " he said evenly. He calmly crossed his armsover his chest, the right hand slipping carelessly under the left sideof his vest. Then he rocked slowly back and forth on his heels andtoes. "Someone's been tellin' you a pack of lies, " he added. "Ireckon you've wondered, if I was goin' to shoot you in the back, that Iain't done it long ago. You're admittin' that I've had some chance. "

Radford sneered. "I ain't wondering why you ain't done it before, " hesaid. "Mebbe it was because you're too white livered. Mebbe youthought you didn't see your chance. I ain't worrying none about whyyou didn't do it. But you ain't going to get another chance. " Theweapon came to a foreboding level. 

Ferguson laughed grimly, but there was an ironic quality in his voicethat caught Radford's ear. It seemed to Radford that the stray-manknew that he was near death, and yet some particular phase of thesituation appealed to his humor--grim though it was. It came out whenthe stray-man spoke. 

"You've been gassin' just now about shootin' people in the back--sayin'that I've been thinkin' of doin' it. But I reckon you ain't thought alot about the way you're intendin' to put me out of business. I waswonderin' if it made any difference--shootin' a man in the back orshootin' him when he ain't got any guns. I expect a man that's shotwhen he ain't got guns would be just as dead as a man that's shot inthe back, wouldn't he?"

He laughed again, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "That's thereason I ain't scared a heap, " he said. "From what I know about youyou ain't the man to shoot another without givin' him a chance. An'you're givin' me a chance to talk. I ain't goin' to do any prayin'. Ireckon that's right?"

Radford shifted his feet uneasily. He could not have told at thatmoment whether or not he had intended to murder Ferguson. He hadwaylaid him with that intention, utterly forgetful that by shooting thestray-man he would be committing the very crime which he had accusedFerguson of contemplating. The muzzle of his weapon droopeduncertainly. 

"Talk quick!" he said shortly. 

Ferguson grinned. "I'm takin' my time, " he returned. "There ain't anyuse of bein' in such an awful hurry--time don't amount to much when aman's talkin' for his life. I ain't askin' who told you what you'vesaid about me--I've got a pretty clear idea who it was. I've had totell a man pretty plain that my age has got its growth an' I don'tthink that man is admirin' me much for bein' told. But if he's wantin'to have me put out of business he's goin' to do the job himself--BenRadford ain't doin' it. "

While he had been talking he had contrived to throw the left side ofhis vest open, and his right hand was exposed in the dim light--a heavysix-shooter gleaming forebodingly in it. His arms were still crossed, but as he talked he had turned a very little and now the muzzle of theweapon was at a level--trained fairly upon Radford's breast. And thencame Ferguson's voice again, quiet, cold, incisive. 

"If there's goin' to be any shootin', Ben, there'll be two of us doin'it. Don't be afraid that you'll beat me to it. " And he stared grimlyover the short space that separated them. 

For a full minute neither man moved a muscle. Silence--a premonitorysilence--fell over them as they stood, each with a steady fingerdragging uncertainly upon the trigger of his weapon. An owl hooted inthe cottonwood nearby; other noises of the night reached their ears. Unaware of this crisis Mustard grazed unconcernedly at a distance. 

Then Radford's weapon wavered a little and dropped to his side. 

"This game's too certain, " he said. 

Ferguson laughed, and his six-shooter disappeared as mysteriously as ithad appeared. "I thought I'd be able to make you see the point, " hesaid. "It don't always pay to be in too much of a hurry to do athing, " he continued gravely. "An' I reckon I've proved that someone'sbeen lying about me. If I'd wanted to shoot you I could have done itquite a spell ago--I had you covered just as soon as I crossed my arms. You'd never knowed about it. That I didn't shoot proves that whoevertold you I was after you has been romancin'. " He laughed. 

"An' now I'm tellin' you another thing that I was goin' to tell youabout to-morrow. Mebbe you'll want to shoot me for that. But if youdo I expect you'll have a woman to fight. Me an' Mary has found thatwe're of one mind about a thing. We're goin' to hook up into a doubleharness. I reckon when I'm your brother-in-law you won't be so worriedabout shootin' me. "

Radford's astonishment showed for a moment in his eyes as his gaze metthe stray-man's. Then they drooped guiltily. 

"Well I'm a damn fool!" he said finally. "I might have knowed thatMary wouldn't get afoul of any man who was thinkin' of doing dirt tome. " He suddenly extended a hand. "You shakin'?" he said. 

Ferguson took the hand, gripping it tightly. Neither man spoke. ThenRadford suddenly unclasped his hand and turned, striding rapidly up thetrail toward the cabin. 

For a moment Ferguson stood, looking after him with narrowed, friendlyeyes. Then he walked to Mustard, threw the bridle rein over the pommelof the saddle, mounted, and was off at a rapid lope toward the TwoDiamond. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE SHOT IN THE DARK

Now that Mary Radford had obtained experience for the love scene in herstory it might be expected that on returning to the cabin she would getout her writing materials and attempt to transcribe the emotions thathad beset her during the afternoon, but she did nothing of the kind. After Ferguson's departure she removed her riding garments, walkedseveral times around the interior of the cabin, and for a long timestudied her face in the looking glass. Yes, she discovered thehappiness shining out of the glass. Several times, standing before theglass, she attempted to keep the lines of her face in repose, andthough she almost succeeded in doing this she could not control hereyes--they simply would gleam with the light that seemed to say to her:"You may deceive people by making a mask of your face, but the eyes arethe windows of the soul and through them people will see your secret. "

Ben hadn't eaten much, she decided, as she seated herself at the table, after pouring a cup of tea. Before she had finished her meal she hadbegun to wonder over his absence--it was not his custom to go away inthe night. She thought he might have gone to the corral, or might evenbe engaged in some small task in the stable. So after completing hermeal she rose and went to the door, looking out. 

There was no moon, only the starlight, but in this she was able todistinguish objects in the clearing, and if Ben had been working aboutanywhere she must have noticed him. She returned to the table and satthere long, pondering. Then she rose, heated some water, and washedand dried the dishes. Then she swept the kitchen floor and tidiedthings up a bit, returning to the door when all was complete. 

Still no signs that Ben was anywhere in the vicinity. She opened thescreen door and went out upon the porch, leaning against one of theslender posts. For a long time she stood thus, listening to theindescribable noises of the night. This was only the second time sinceshe had been with Ben that he had left her alone at night, and a slightchill stole over her as she watched the dense shadows beyond theclearing, shadows that seemed suddenly dismal and foreboding. She hadloved the silence, but now suddenly it too seemed too deep, too solemnto be real. She shuddered, and with some unaccountable impulse shrankback against the screen door, one hand upon it, ready to throw it open. In this position she stood for a few minutes, and then from somewherein the flat came a slight sound--and then, after a short interval, another. 

She shrank back again, a sudden fear chilling her, her hands claspedover her breast. 

"Someone is shooting, " she said aloud. 

She waited long for a repetition of the sounds. But she did not hearthem again. Tremblingly she returned to the cabin and resumed herchair at the table, fighting against a growing presentiment thatsomething had gone wrong with Ben. But she could not have told fromwhat direction the sounds had come, and so it would have been folly forher to ride out to investigate. And so for an hour she sat at thetable, cringing away from the silence, starting at intervals, when herimagination tricked her into the belief that sound had begun. 

And then presently she became aware that there was sound. In the vastsilence beyond the cabin door something had moved. She was on her feetinstantly, her senses alert. Her fear had left her. Her face waspale, but her lips closed grimly as she went to the rack behind thedoor and took down a rifle that Ben always kept there. Then she turnedthe lamp low and cautiously stepped to the door. 

A pony whinnied, standing with ears erect at the edge of the porch. Ina crumpled heap on the ground lay a man. She caught her breathsharply, but in the next instant was out and bending over him. With astrength that seemed almost beyond her shy dragged the limp form to thedoor where the light from the lamp shone upon it. 

"Ben!" she said sharply. "What has happened?" She shook him slightly, calling again to him. 

Aroused, he opened his eyes, recognized her, and raised himselfpainfully upon one elbow, smiling weakly. 

"It ain't anything, sis, " he said. "Creased in the back of the head. Knocked me cold. Mebbe my shoulder too--I ain't been able to lift myarm. " He smiled again--grimly, though wearily. "From the back too. The damned sneak!"

Her eyes filled vengefully, and she leaned closer to him, her voicetense. "Who, Ben? Who did it?"

"Ferguson, " he said sharply. And again, as his eyes closed: "Thedamned sneak. "

She swayed dizzily and came very near dropping him to the porch floor. But no sound came from her, and presently when the dizziness hadpassed, she dragged him to the door, propped it open with a chair, andthen dragged him on through the opening to the kitchen, and from thereto one of the adjoining rooms. Then with pale face and determined lipsshe set about the work of taking care of Ben's wounds. The spot on theback of the head, she found, was a mere abrasion, as he had said. Buthis shoulder had been shattered, the bullet, she discovered, havingpassed clear through the fleshy part of the shoulder, after breakingone of the smaller bones. 

Getting her scissors she clipped away the hair from the back of hishead and sponged the wound and bandaged it, convinced that of itself itwas not dangerous. Then she undressed him, and by the use of plenty ofclear, cold water, a sponge, and some bandages, stopped the flow ofblood in his shoulder and placed him in a comfortable position. He hadvery little fever, but she moved rapidly around him, taking histemperature, administering sedatives when he showed signs ofrestlessness, hovering over him constantly until the dawn began to come. 

Soon after this he went off into a peaceful sleep, and, almostexhausted with her efforts and the excitement, she threw herself uponthe floor beside his bed, sacrificing her own comfort that she might benear to watch should he need her. It was late in the afternoon whenRadford opened his eyes to look out through the door that connected hisroom with the kitchen and saw his sister busying herself with thedishes. His mind was clear and he suffered very little pain. For along time he lay, quietly watching her, while his thoughts went back tothe meeting on the trail with Ferguson. Why hadn't he carried out hisoriginal intention of shooting the stray-man down from ambush? He haddoubted Leviatt's word and had hesitated, wishing to give Ferguson thebenefit of the doubt, and had received his reward in the shape of abullet in the back--after practically making a peace pact with hisintended victim. 

He presently became aware that his sister was standing near him, and helooked up and smiled at her. Then in an instant she was kneelingbeside him, admonishing him to quietness, smoothing his forehead, giving delighted little gasps over his improved condition. But inspite of her evident cheerfulness there was a suggestion of troubleswimming deep in her eyes; he could not help but see that she wasmaking a brave attempt to hide her bitter disappointment over the turnthings had taken. Therefore he was not surprised when, after she hadattended to all his wants, she sank on her knees beside him. 

"Ben, " she said, trying to keep a quiver out of her voice, "are yousure it was Ferguson who shot you?"

He patted her hand tenderly and sympathetically with his uninjured one. "I'm sorry for you, Mary, " he returned, "but there ain't any doubtabout it. " Then he told her of the warning he had received fromLeviatt, and when he saw her lips curl at the mention of the TwoDiamond range boss's name he smiled. 

"I thought the same thing that you are thinking, Mary, " he said. "AndI didn't want to shoot Ferguson. But as things have turned out Iwouldn't have been much wrong to have done it. "

She raised her head from the coverlet. "Did you see him before he shotyou?" she questioned eagerly. 

"Just a little before, " he returned. "I met him at a turn in the trailabout half a mile from here. I made him get down off his horse anddrop his guns. We had a talk, for I didn't want to shoot him until Iwas sure, and he talked so clever that I thought he was telling thetruth. But he wasn't. "

He told her about Ferguson's concealed pistol; how they had stood faceto face with death between them, concluding: "By that time I haddecided not to shoot him. But he didn't have the nerve to pull thetrigger when he was looking at me. He waited until I'd got on my horseand was riding away. Then he sneaked up behind. "

He saw her body shiver, and he caressed her hair slowly, telling herthat he was sorry things had turned out so, and promising her that whenhe recovered he would bring the Two Diamond stray-man to a strictaccounting--providing the latter didn't leave the country before. Buthe saw that his words had given her little comfort, for when an hour orso later he dropped off to sleep the last thing he saw was her seatedat the table in the kitchen, her head bowed in her hands, crying softly. 

"Poor little kid, " he said, as sleep dimmed his eyes; "it looks asthough this would be the end of _her_ story. "

CHAPTER XX

LOVE AND A RIFLE

Ferguson did not visit Miss Radford the next morning--he had seenLeviatt and Tucson depart from the ranchhouse, had observed thedirection they took, and had followed them. For twenty miles he hadkept them in sight, watching them with a stern patience that hadbrought its reward. 

They had ridden twenty miles straight down the river, when Ferguson, concealed behind a ridge, saw them suddenly disappear into a littlebasin. Then he rode around the ridge, circled the rim of hills thatsurrounded the basin, and dismounting from his pony, crept through ascrub oak thicket to a point where he could look directly down uponthem. 

He was surprised into a subdued whistle. Below him in the basin was anadobe hut. He had been through this section of the country severaltimes but had never before stumbled upon the hut. This was notremarkable, for situated as it was, in this little basin, hidden fromsight by a serried line of hills and ridges among which no cowpuncherthought to travel--nor cared to--, the cabin was as safe from pryingeyes as it was possible for a human habitation to be. 

There was a small corral near the cabin, in which there were severalsteers, half a dozen cows, and perhaps twenty calves. As Ferguson'seyes took in the latter detail, they glittered with triumph. Not eventhe wildest stretch of the imagination could produce twenty calves fromhalf a dozen cows. 

But Ferguson did not need this evidence to convince him that the menwho occupied the cabin were rustlers. Honest men did not find itnecessary to live in a basin in the hills where they were shut in fromsight of the open country. Cattle thieves did not always find itnecessary to do so--unless they were men like these, who had no herdsof their own among which to conceal their ill-gotten beasts. He wasconvinced that these men were migratory thieves, who operated upon theherds nearest them, remained until they had accumulated a considerablenumber of cattle, and then drove the entire lot to some favored friendwho was not averse to running the risk of detection if through thatrisk he came into possession of easily earned money. 

There were two of the men, beside Leviatt and Tucson--tall, rangy--looking their part. Ferguson watched them for half an hour, andthen, convinced that he would gain nothing more by remaining there, hestealthily backed down the hillside to where his pony stood, mounted, and rode toward the river. 

Late in the afternoon he entered Bear Flat, urged his pony at a briskpace across it, and just before sundown drew rein in front of theRadford cabin. He dismounted and stepped to the edge of the porch, asmile of anticipation on his lips. The noise of his arrival broughtMary Radford to the door. She came out upon the porch, and he saw thather face was pale and her lips firmly set. Apparently something hadgone amiss with her and he halted, looking at her questioningly. 

"What's up?" he asked. 

"You ought to know, " she returned quietly. 

"I ain't good at guessin' riddles, " he returned, grinning at her. 

"There is no riddle, " she answered, still quietly. She came forwarduntil she stood within two paces of him, her eyes meeting his squarely. "When you left here last night did you meet Ben on the trail?" shecontinued steadily. 

He started, reddening a little. "Why, yes, " he returned, wondering ifBen had told her what had been said at that meeting; "was he tellin'you about it?"

"Yes, " she returned evenly, "he has been telling me about it. Thatshould be sufficient for you. I am sorry that I ever met you. Youshould know why. If I were you I should not lose any time in gettingaway from here. "

Her voice was listless, even flat, but there was a grim note in it thattold that she was keeping her composure with difficulty. He laughed, thinking that since he had made the new agreement with the Two Diamondmanager he had nothing to fear. "I reckon I ought to be scared, " hereturned, "but I ain't. An' I don't consider that I'm losin' any time. "

Her lips curved sarcastically. "You have said something like thatbefore, " she told him, her eyes glittering scornfully. "You have agreat deal of faith in your ability to fool people. But you havemiscalculated this time. 

"I know why you have come to the Two Diamond. I know what made youcome over here so much. Of course I am partly to blame. You havefooled me as you have fooled everyone. " She stood suddenly erect, hereyes flashing. "If you planned to kill my brother, why did you nothave the manhood to meet him face to face?"

Ferguson flushed. Would it help his case to deny that he had thoughtof fooling her, that he never had any intention of shooting Ben? Hethought not. Leviatt had poisoned her mind against him. He smiledgrimly. 

"Someone's been talkin', " he said quietly. "You'd be helpin' to makethis case clear if you'd tell who it was. "

"Someone has talked, " she replied; "someone who knows. Why didn't youtell me that you came here to kill Ben? That you were hired byStafford to do it?"

"Why, I didn't, ma'am, " he protested, his face paling. 

"You did!" She stamped one foot vehemently. 

Ferguson's eyes drooped. "I came here to see if Ben was rustlin'cattle, ma'am, " he confessed frankly. "But I wasn't intendin' to shoothim. Why, I've had lots of chances, an' I didn't do it. Ain't thatproof enough?"

"No, " she returned, her voice thrilling with a sudden, bitter irony, "you didn't shoot him. That is, you didn't shoot him while he waslooking at you--when there was a chance that he might have given you asgood as you sent. No, you didn't shoot him then--you waited until hisback was turned. You--you coward!"

Ferguson's lips whitened. "You're talkin' extravagant, ma'am, " he saidcoldly. "Somethin' is all mixed up. Has someone been shootin' Ben?"

She sneered, pinning him with a scornful, withering glance. "Iexpected that you would deny it, " she returned. "That would befollowing out your policy of deception. "

He leaned forward, his eyes wide with surprise. If she had not beenlaboring under the excitement of the incident she might have seen thathis surprise was genuine, but she was certain that it was merecraftiness--a craftiness that she had hitherto admired, but which nowawakened a fierce anger in her heart. 

"When was he shot?" he questioned quietly. 

"Last night, " she answered scornfully. "Of course that is a surpriseto you too. An hour after you left he rode up to the cabin and fellfrom his horse at the edge of the porch. He had been shot twice--bothtimes in the back. " She laughed--almost hysterically. "Oh, you knewenough not to take chances with him in spite of your bragging--in spiteof the reputation you have of being a 'two-gun' man!"

He winced under her words, his face whitening, his lips twitching, hishands clenched that he might not lose his composure. But in spite ofthe conflict that was going on within him at the moment he managed tokeep his voice quiet and even. It was admirable acting, she thought, her eyes burning with passion--despicable, contemptible acting. 

"I reckon I ain't the snake you think I am, ma'am, " he said, lookingsteadily at her. "But I'm admittin' that mebbe you've got cause tothink so. When I left Ben last night I shook hands with him, afterfixin' up the difference we'd had. Why, ma'am, " he went on earnestly, "I'd just got through tellin' him about you an' me figgerin' to gethooked up. An' do you think I'd shoot him after that? Why, if I'dbeen wantin' to shoot him I reckon there was nothin' to stop me whilehe was standin' there. He'd never knowed what struck him. I'm tellin'you that I didn't know he was shot; that----"

She made a gesture of impatience. "I don't think I care to hear anymore, " she said. "I heard the shots here on the porch. I suppose youwere so far away at that time that you couldn't hear them?"

He writhed again under the scorn in her voice. But he spoke again, earnestly. "I did hear some shootin', " he said, "after I'd gone on aways. But I reckoned it was Ben. "

"What do you suppose he would be shooting at at that time of thenight?" she demanded. 

"Why, I don't remember that I was doin' a heap of wonderin' at thattime about it, " he returned hesitatingly. "Mebbe I thought he wasshootin' at a sage-hen, or a prairie-dog--or somethin'. I've oftentook a shot at somethin' like that--when I've been alone that way. " Hetook a step toward her, his whole lithe body alive and tingling withearnestness. "Why, ma'am, there's a big mistake somewheres. If Icould talk to Ben I'm sure I could explain----"

She drew her skirts close and stepped back toward the door. "There isnothing to explain--now, " she said coldly. "Ben is doing nicely, andwhen he has fully recovered you will have a chance to explain tohim--if you are not afraid. "

"Afraid?" he laughed grimly. "I expect, ma'am, that things look prettybad for me. They always do when someone's tryin' to make 'em. Ireckon there ain't any use of tryin' to straighten it out now--youwon't listen. But I'm tellin' you this: When everything comes outyou'll see that I didn't shoot your brother. "

"Of course not, " sneered the girl. "You did not shoot him. Stafforddid not hire you to do it. You didn't come here, pretending that youhad been bitten by a rattler, so that you might have a chance to wormyourself into my brother's favor--and then shoot him. You haven't beenhanging around Bear Flat all summer, pretending to look for stray TwoDiamond cattle. You haven't been trying to make a fool of me----" Hervoice trembled and her lips quivered suspiciously. 

"Well, now, " said Ferguson, deeply moved; "I'm awful sorry you'relookin' at things like you are. But I wasn't thinkin' to try an' makea fool of you. Things that I said to you I meant. I wouldn't saythings to a girl that I said to you if----"

She had suddenly stepped into the cabin and as suddenly reappearedholding the rifle that was kept always behind the door. She stoodrigid on the porch, her eyes blazing through the moisture in them. 

"You go now!" she commanded hotly; "I've heard enough of your lies!Get away from this cabin! If I ever see you around here again I won'twait for Ben to shoot you!"

Ferguson hesitated, a deep red mounting over the scarf at his throat. Then his voice rose, tingling with regret. "There ain't any use of mesayin' anything now, ma'am, " he said. "You wouldn't listen. I'm goin'away, of course, because you want me to. You didn't need to get thatgun if you wanted to hurt me--what you've said would have been enough. "He bowed to her, not even looking at the rifle. "I'm goin' now, " heconcluded. "But I'm comin' back. You'll know then whether I'm thesneak you've said I was. "

He bowed again over the pony's mane and urged the animal around thecorner of the cabin, striking the trail that led through the flattoward the Two Diamond ranchhouse. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE PROMISE

Ferguson heard loud talking and laughter in the bunkhouse when hepassed there an hour after his departure from the Radford cabin in BearFlat. It was near sundown and the boys were eating supper. Fergusonsmiled grimly as he rode his pony to the corral gate, dismounted, pulled off the bridle and saddle, and turned the animal into thecorral. The presence of the boys at the bunkhouse meant that the wagonoutfit had come in--meant that Leviatt would have to come in--if he hadnot already done so. 

The stray-man's movements were very deliberate; there was an absence ofsuperfluous energy that told of intensity of thought and singleness ofpurpose. He shouldered the saddle with a single movement, walked withit to the lean-to, threw it upon its accustomed peg, hung the bridlefrom the pommel, and then turned and for a brief time listened to thetalk and laughter that issued from the open door and windows of thebunkhouse. With a sweep of his hands he drew his two guns from theirholsters, rolled the cylinders and examined them minutely. Then hereplaced the guns, hitched at his cartridge belt, and stepped out ofthe door of the lean-to. 

In spite of his promise to Mary Radford to the effect that he wouldreturn to prove to her that he was not the man who had attempted tokill her brother he had no hope of discovering the guilty man. Hissuspicions, of course, centered upon Leviatt, but he knew that underthe circumstances Mary Radford would have to be given convincing proof. The attempted murder of her brother, following the disclosure that hehad been hired by Stafford to do the deed, must have seemed to hersufficient evidence of his guilt. He did not blame her for feelingbitter toward him; she had done the only thing natural under thecircumstances. He had been very close to the garden of happiness--justclose enough to scent its promise of fulfilled joy, when the gates hadbeen violently closed in his face, to leave him standing without, contemplating the ragged path over which he must return to the old life. 

He knew that Leviatt had been the instrument that had caused the gatesto close; he knew that it had been he who had dropped the word that hadcaused the finger of accusation to point to him. "Stafford didn't hireyou to do it, " Mary Radford had said, ironically. The words rang inhis ears still. Who had told her that Stafford had hired him to shootRadford? Surely not Stafford. He himself had not hinted at the reasonof his presence at the Two Diamond. And there was only one other manwho knew. That man was Leviatt. As he stood beside the door of thelean-to the rage in his heart against the range boss grew more bitter, and the hues around his mouth straightened more grimly. 

A few minutes later he stalked into the bunkhouse, among the men who, after finishing their meal, were lounging about, their small talkfilling the room. The talk died away as he entered, the men adroitlygave him room, for there was something in the expression of his eyes, in the steely, boring glances that he cast about him, that told thesemen, inured to danger though they were, that the stray-man was in nogentle mood. He dropped a short word to the one among them that heknew best, at which they all straightened, for through the word theyknew that he was looking for Leviatt. 

But they knew nothing of Leviatt beyond the fact that he and Tucson hadnot accompanied the wagon to the home ranch. They inferred that therange boss and Tucson had gone about some business connected with thecattle. Therefore Ferguson did not stop long in the bunkhouse. Without a word he was gone, striding rapidly toward the ranchhouse. They looked after him, saying nothing, but aware that his quest forLeviatt was not without significance. 

Five minutes later he was in Stafford's office. The latter had beenworrying about him. When Ferguson entered the manager's manner was atrifle anxious. 

"You seen anything of Radford yet?" he inquired. 

"I ain't got anything on Radford, " was the short reply. 

His tone angered the manager. "I ain't askin' if you've got anythingon him, " he returned. "But we missed more cattle yesterday, an' itlooks mighty suspicious. Since we had that talk about Radford, whenyou told me it wasn't him doin' the rustlin' I've changed my mind aheap. I'm thinkin' he rustled them cattle last night. "

Ferguson looked quizzically at him. "How many cattle you missin'?" hequestioned. 

Stafford banged a fist heavily down upon his desk top. "We're twentycalves short on the tally, " he declared, "an' half a dozen cows. Weain't got to the steers yet, but I'm expectin' to find them short too. "

Ferguson drew a deep breath. The number of cattle missing talliedexactly with the number he had seen in the basin down the river. Aglint of triumph lighted his eyes, but he looked down upon Stafford, drawling:

"You been doin' the tallyin'?"

"Yes. "

Ferguson was now smiling grimly. 

"Where's your range boss?" he questioned. 

"The boys say he rode over to the river lookin' for strays. Sent wordthat he'd be in to-morrow. But I don't see what he's got to do----"

"No, " returned Ferguson, "of course. You say them cattle was rustledlast night?"

"Yes. " Stafford banged his fist down with a positiveness that left nodoubt of his knowledge. 

"Well, now, " observed Ferguson, "an' so you're certain Radford rustledthem. " He smiled again saturninely. 

"I ain't sayin' for certain, " returned Stafford, puzzled by Ferguson'smanner. "What I'm gettin' at is that there ain't no one around herethat'd rustle them except Radford. "

"There ain't no other nester around here that you know of?" questionedFerguson. 

"No. Radford's the only one. "

Ferguson lingered a moment. Then he walked slowly to the door. "Ireckon that's all, " he said. "To-morrow I'm goin' to show you yourrustler. "

He had stepped out of the door and was gone into the gathering duskbefore Stafford could ask the question that was on the end of histongue. 

CHAPTER XXII

KEEPING A PROMISE

Ferguson's dreams had been troubled. Long before dawn he was awake andoutside the bunkhouse, splashing water over his face from the tin washbasin that stood on the bench just outside the door. Before breakfasthe had saddled and bridled Mustard, and directly after the meal he wasin the saddle, riding slowly toward the river. 

Before very long he was riding through Bear Flat, and after a time hecame to the hill where only two short days before he had reveled in thesupreme happiness that had followed months of hope and doubt. It didnot seem as though it had been only two days. It seemed that time wasplaying him a trick. Yet he knew that to-day was like yesterday--eachday like its predecessor--that if the hours dragged it was because inthe bitterness of his soul he realized that today could not be--forhim--like the day before yesterday; and that succeeding days gave nopromise of restoring to him the happiness that he had lost. 

He saw the sun rising above the rim of hills that surrounded the flat;he climbed to the rock upon which he had sat--with her--watching theshadows retreat to the mountains, watching the sun stream down into theclearing and upon the Radford cabin. But there was no longer beauty inthe picture--for him. Hereafter he would return to that life that hehad led of old; the old hard life that he had known before his briefromance had given him a fleeting glimpse of what might have been. 

Many times, when his hopes had been high, he had felt a chilling fearthat he would never be able to reach the pinnacle of promise; that inthe end fate would place before him a barrier--the barrier in the shapeof his contract with Stafford, that he had regretted many times. 

Mary Radford would never believe his protest that he had not been hiredto kill her brother. Fate, in the shape of Leviatt, had forestalledhim there. Many times, when she had questioned him regarding the heroin her story, he had been on the point of taking her into hisconfidence as to the reason of his presence at the Two Diamond, but hehad always put it off, hoping that things would be righted in the endand that he would be able to prove to her the honesty of his intentions. 

But now that time was past. Whatever happened now she would believehim the creature that she despised--that all men despised; the man whostrikes in the dark. 

This, then, was to be the end. He could not say that he had beenentirely blameless. He should have told her. But it was not the endthat he was now contemplating. There could be no end until there hadbeen an accounting between him and Leviatt. Perhaps the men who hadshot Ben Radford in the back would never be known. He had hissuspicions, but they availed nothing. In the light of presentcircumstances Miss Radford would never hold him guiltless. 

Until near noon he sat on the rock on the crest of the hill, the linesof his face growing more grim, his anger slowly giving way to thesatisfying calmness that comes when the mind has reached a conclusion. There would be a final scene with Leviatt, and then----

He rose from the rock, made his way deliberately down the hillside, mounted his pony, and struck the trail leading to the Two Diamondranchhouse. 

About noon Leviatt and Tucson rode in to the Two Diamond corral gate, dismounted from their ponies, and proceeded to the bunkhouse fordinner. The men of the outfit were already at the table, and afterwashing their faces from the tin wash basin on the bench outside thedoor, Leviatt and Tucson entered the bunkhouse and took their places. Greetings were given and returned through the medium of shortnods--with several of the men even this was omitted. Leviatt was not apopular range boss, and there were some of the men who had whisperedtheir suspicions that the death of Rope Jones had not been broughtabout in the regular way. Many of them remembered the incident thathad occurred between Rope, the range boss, Tucson, and the newstray-man, and though opinions differed, there were some who held thatthe death of Rope might have resulted from the ill-feeling engenderedby the incident. But in the absence of proof there was nothing to bedone. So those men who held suspicions wisely refrained from talkingin public. 

Before the meal was finished the blacksmith poked his head in throughthe open doorway, calling: "Ol' Man wants to see Leviatt up in theoffice!"

The blacksmith's head was withdrawn before Leviatt, who had heard thevoice but had not seen the speaker, could raise his voice in reply. Hedid not hasten, however, and remained at the table with Tucson for fiveminutes after the other men had left. Then, with a final word toTucson, he rose and strode carelessly to the door of Stafford's office. The latter had been waiting with some impatience, and at the appearanceof the range boss he shoved his chair back from his desk and arose. 

"Just come in?" he questioned. 

"Just come in, " repeated Leviatt drawling. "Plum starved. Had to eatbefore I came down here. "

He entered and dropped lazily into a chair near the desk, stretchinghis legs comfortably. He had observed in Stafford's manner certainsigns of a subdued excitement, and while he affected not to noticethis, there was a glint of feline humor in his eyes. 

"Somebody said you wanted me, " he said. "Anything doin'?"

Stafford had held in as long as he could. Now he exploded. 

"What in hell do you suppose I sent for you for?" he demanded, as, walking to and fro in the room, he paused and glared down at the rangeboss. "Where you been? We're twenty calves an' a dozen cows short onthe tally!"

Leviatt looked up, his eyes suddenly flashing. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "They're hittin' them pretty heavy lately. When was they missed?"

Stafford spluttered impotently. "Night before last, " he flared. "An'not a damned sign of where they went!"

Leviatt grinned coldly. "Them rustlers is gettin' to be pretty slick, ain't they?" he drawled. 

Stafford's face swelled with a rage that threatened to bring onapoplexy. He brought a tense fist heavily down upon his desk top. 

"Slick!" he sneered. "I don't reckon they're any slick. It's thatI've got a no good outfit. There ain't a man in the bunch could see arustler if he'd hobbled a cow and was runnin' her calf off before theireyes!" He hesitated to gain breath before continuing. "What have Igot an outfit for? What have I got a range boss for? What have Igot----!"

Leviatt grinned wickedly and Stafford hesitated, his hand upraised. 

"Your stray-man doin' anything these days?" questioned Leviattsignificantly. "Because if he is, " resumed Leviatt, before the managercould reply, "he ought to manage to be around where them thieves areworkin'. "

Stafford stiffened. He had developed a liking for the stray-man and hecaught a note of venom in Leviatt's voice. 

"I reckon the stray-man knows what he's doin', " he replied. Hereturned to his chair beside the desk and sat in it, facing Leviatt, and speaking with heavy sarcasm. "The stray-man's the only one of thewhole bunch that's doin' anything, " he said. 

"Sure, " sneered Leviatt; "he's gettin' paid for sparkin' Mary Radford. "

"Mebbe he is, " returned Stafford. "I don't know as I'd blame him anyfor that. But he's been doin' somethin' else now an' then, too. "

"Findin' the man that's been rustlin' your stock, for instance, " mockedLeviatt. 

Stafford leaned back in his chair, frowning. 

"Look here, Leviatt, " he said steadily. "I might have spoke a littlestrong to you about them missin' cattle. But I reckon you're partly toblame. If you'd been minded to help Ferguson a little, instead ofactin' like a fool because you've thought he's took a shine to MaryRadford, we might have been further along with them rustlers. As itis, Ferguson's been playin' a lone hand. But he claims to have beendoin' somethin'. He ain't been in the habit of blowin' his own horn, an' I reckon we can rely on what he says. I'm wantin' you to keep theboys together this afternoon, for we might need them to help Fergusonout. He's promised to ride in to-day an' show me the man who's beenrustlin' my cattle. "

Leviatt's lips slowly straightened. He sat more erect, and when hespoke the mockery had entirely gone from his voice and from his manner. 

"He's goin' to do what?" he questioned coldly. 

"Show me the man who's been rustlin' my cattle, " repeated Stafford. 

For a brief space neither man spoke--nor moved. Stafford's face worethe smile of a man who has just communicated some unexpected andastonishing news and was watching its effect with suppressed enjoyment. He knew that Leviatt felt bitter toward the stray-man and that the newsthat the latter might succeed in doing the thing that he had set out todo would not be received with any degree of pleasure by the range boss. 

But watching closely, Stafford was forced to admit that Leviatt did notfeel so strongly, or was cleverly repressing his emotions. There wasno sign on the range boss's face that he had been hurt by the news. His face had grown slightly paler and there was a hard glitter in hisnarrowed eyes. But his voice was steady. 

"Well, now, " he said, "that ought to tickle you a heap. "

"I won't be none disappointed, " returned Stafford. 

Leviatt looked sharply at him and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"When was you talkin' to him?" he questioned. 

"Yesterday. "

Leviatt's lips moved slightly. "An' when did you say them cattle wasrustled?" he asked. 

"Night before last, " returned Stafford. 

Leviatt was silent for a brief time. Then he unfolded his arms andstood erect, his eyes boring into Stafford's. 

"When you expectin' Ferguson?" he questioned. 

"He didn't say just when he was comin' in, " returned Stafford. "But Ireckon we might expect him any time. "

Leviatt strode to the door. Looking back over his shoulder, he smiledevilly. "I'm much obliged to you for tellin' me, " he said. "We'll beready for him. "

A little over an hour after his departure from the hill, Ferguson rodeup to the Two Diamond corral gate and dismounted. 

Grouped around the door of the bunkhouse were several of the TwoDiamond men; in a strip of shade from the blacksmith shop were others. Jocular words were hurled at him by some of the men as he drew thesaddle from Mustard, for the stray-man's quietness and invariablethoughtfulness had won him a place in the affections of many of themen, and their jocular greetings were evidence of this. 

He nodded shortly to them, but did not answer. And instead of lugginghis saddle to its accustomed peg in the lean-to, he threw it over thecorral fence and left it. Then, without another look toward the men, he turned and strode toward the manager's office. 

The latter was seated at his desk and looked up at the stray-man'sentrance. He opened his lips to speak, but closed them again, surprised at the stray-man's appearance. 

During the months that Ferguson had worked at the Two Diamond, Staffordhad not seen him as he looked at this moment. Never, during the manytimes the manager had seen him, had he been able to guess anything ofthe stray-man's emotions by looking at his face. Now, however, therehad come a change. In the set, tightly drawn lips were the tell-talesigns of an utterable resolve. In the narrowed, steady eyes was alight that chilled Stafford like a cold breeze in the heat of asummer's day. In the man's whole body was something that shocked themanager into silence. 

He came into the room, standing near the door, his set lips moving avery little, "You heard anything from Leviatt yet?" he questioned. 

"Why, yes, " returned Stafford, hesitatingly; "he was here, talkin' tome. Ain't been gone more'n half an hour. I reckon he's somewherearound now. "

"You talkin' to him, you say?" said the stray-man slowly. He smiledmirthlessly. "I reckon you told him about them missin' calves?"

"I sure did!" returned Stafford with much vehemence. He laughedharshly. "I told him more, " he said; "I told him you was goin' to showme the man who'd rustled them. "

Ferguson's lips wreathed into a grim smile. "So you told him?" hesaid. "I was expectin' you'd do that, if he got in before me. That'swhy I stopped in here. That was somethin' which I was wantin' him toknow. I don't want it to be said that I didn't give him a chance. "

Stafford rose from his chair, taking a step toward the stray-man. 

"Why, what----?" he began. But a look at the stray-man's face silencedhim. 

"I've come over here to-day to show you that rustler I told you aboutyesterday. I'm goin' to look for him now. If he ain't sloped I reckonyou'll see him pretty soon. "

Leviatt stepped down from the door of the manager's office and strodeslowly toward the bunkhouse. On the way he passed several of the men, but he paid no attention to them, his face wearing an evil expression, his eyes glittering venomously. 

When he reached the bunkhouse he passed several more of the men withouta word, going directly to a corner of the room where sat Tucson andconversing earnestly with his friend. A little later both he andTucson rose and passed out of the bunkhouse, walking toward theblacksmith shop. 

After a little they appeared, again joining the group outside thebunkhouse. It was while Leviatt and Tucson were in the blacksmith shopthat Ferguson had come in. When they came out again the stray-man haddisappeared into the manager's office. 

Since the day when in the manager's office, Ferguson had walked acrossthe floor to return to Leviatt the leather tobacco pouch that thelatter had dropped in the depression on the ridge above the gully wherethe stray-man had discovered the dead Two Diamond cow and her calf, Leviatt had known that the stray-man suspected him of being leaguedwith the rustlers. But this knowledge had not disturbed him. He feltsecure because of his position. Even the stray-man would have to haveabsolute, damning evidence before he could hope to be successful inproving a range boss guilty of cattle stealing. 

Leviatt had been more concerned over the stray-man's apparent successin courting Mary Radford. His hatred--beginning with the shootingmatch in Dry Bottom--had been intensified by the discovery of Fergusonon the Radford porch in Bear Flat; by the incident at the bunkhouse, when Rope Jones had prevented Tucson from shooting the stray-man frombehind, and by the discovery that the latter suspected him ofcomplicity with the cattle thieves. But it had reached its highestpoint when Mary Radford spurned his love. After that he had realizedthat just so long as the stray-man lived and remained at the TwoDiamond there would be no peace or security for him there. 

Yet he had no thought of settling his differences with Ferguson as manto man. Twice had he been given startling proof of the stray-man'squickness with the six-shooter, and each time his own slowness had beencrushingly impressed on his mind. He was not fool enough to think thathe could beat the stray-man at that game. 

But there were other ways. Rope Jones had discovered that--when it hadbeen too late to profit. Rope had ridden into a carefully laid trapand, in spite of his reputation for quickness in drawing his weapon, had found that the old game of getting a man between two fires hadproven efficacious. 

And now Leviatt and Tucson were to attempt the scheme again. Since hisinterview with Stafford, Leviatt had become convinced that the time foraction had come. Ferguson had left word with the manager that he wasto show the latter the rustler, and by that token Leviatt knew that thestray-man had gathered evidence against him and was prepared to showhim to the manager in his true light. He, in turn, had left a messagewith the manager for Ferguson. "We'll be ready for him, " he had said. 

He did not know whether Ferguson had received this message. It hadbeen a subtle thought; the words had been merely involuntary. By "We"the manager had thought that he had meant the entire outfit was to beheld ready to apprehend the rustler. Leviatt had meant only himselfand Tucson. 

And they were ready. Down in the blacksmith shop, while Ferguson hadridden in and stepped into the manager's office, had Leviatt and Tucsonmade their plan. When they had joined the group in front of thebunkhouse and had placed themselves in positions where thirty or fortyfeet of space yawned between them, they had been making the firstpreparatory movement. The next would come when Ferguson appeared, tocarry out his intention of showing Stafford the rustler. 

To none of the men of the outfit did Leviatt or Tucson reveal anythingof the nervousness that affected them. They listened to the roughjest, they laughed when the others laughed, they dropped an occasionalword of encouragement. They even laughed at jokes in which there wasno visible point. 

But they did not move from their places, nor did they neglect to keep asharp, alert eye out for the stray-man's appearance. And when they sawhim come out of the door of the office they neglected to joke or laugh, but stood silent, with the thirty or forty feet of space between them, their faces paling a little, their hearts laboring a little harder. 

When Ferguson stepped out of the door of the office, Stafford followed. The stray-man had said enough to arouse the manager's suspicions, andthere was something about the stray-man's movements which gave theimpression that he contemplated something more than merely pointing outthe thief. If warning of impending tragedy had ever shone in a man'seyes, Stafford was certain that it had shone in the stray-man's duringthe brief time that he had been in the office and when he had steppeddown from the door. 

Stafford had received no invitation to follow the stray-man, butimpelled by the threat in the latter's eyes and by the hint of coldresolution that gave promise of imminent tragedy, he stepped down also, trailing the stray-man at a distance of twenty yards. 

Ferguson did not hesitate once in his progress toward the bunkhouse, except to cast a rapid, searching glance toward a group of two or threemen who lounged in the shade of the eaves of the building. Passing theblacksmith shop he continued toward the bunkhouse, walking with asteady stride, looking neither to the right or left. 

Other men in the group, besides Leviatt and Tucson, had seen thestray-man coming, and as he came nearer, the talk died and a suddensilence fell. Ferguson came to a point within ten feet of the group ofmen, who were ranged along the wall of the bunkhouse. Stafford hadcome up rapidly, and he now stood near a corner of the bunkhouse in anattitude of intense attention. 

He was in a position where he could see the stray-man's face, and hemarveled at the sudden change that had come into it. The tragedy hadgone, and though the hard lines were still around his mouth, thecorners twitched a little, as though moved by a cold, feline humor. There was a hint of mockery in his eyes--a chilling mockery, much likethat which the manager had seen in them months before when in DryBottom the stray-man had told Leviatt that he thought he was a "plumman. "

But now Stafford stood breathless as he heard the stray-man's voice, directed at Leviatt. "I reckon you think you've been some busylately, " he drawled. 

Meaningless words, as they appear here; meaningless to the group of menand to the Two Diamond manager; yet to Leviatt they were burdened witha dire significance. They told him that the stray-man was aware of hisduplicity; they meant perhaps that the stray-man knew of his dealingswith the cattle thieves whom he had visited yesterday in the hills nearthe river. Whatever Leviatt thought, there was significance enough inthe words to bring a sneering smile to his face. 

"Meanin'?" he questioned, his eyes glittering evilly. 

Ferguson smiled, his eyes unwavering and narrowing a very little asthey met those of his questioner. Deliberately, as though the occasionwere one of unquestioned peace, he drew out some tobacco and severalstrips of rice paper. Selecting one of the strips of paper, hereturned the others to a pocket and proceeded to roll a cigarette. Hismovements were very deliberate. Stafford watched him, fascinated byhis coolness. In the tense silence no sound was heard except a subduedrattle of pans in the bunkhouse--telling that the cook and hisassistant were at work. 

The cigarette was made finally, and then the stray-man lighted it andlooked again at Leviatt, ignoring his question, asking another himself. "You workin' down the creek yesterday?" he said. 

"Up!" snapped Leviatt. The question had caught him off his guard or hewould have evaded it. He had told the lie out of pure perverseness. 

Ferguson took a long pull at his cigarette. "Well, now, " he returned, "that's mighty peculiar. I'd have swore that I seen you an' Tucsonridin' down the river yesterday. Thought I saw you in a basin in thehills, talkin' to some men that I'd never seen before. I reckon I wasmistaken, but I'd have swore that I'd seen you. "

Leviatt's face was colorless. Standing with his profile to Tucson, heclosed one eye furtively. This had been a signal that had previouslybeen agreed upon. Tucson caught it and turned slightly, letting onehand fall to his right hip, immediately above the butt of his pistol. 

"Hell!" sneered Leviatt, "you're seein' a heap of things since you'vebeen runnin' with Mary Radford!"

Ferguson laughed mockingly. "Mebbe I have, " he returned. "Ridin' withher sure makes a man open his eyes considerable. "

Now he ignored Leviatt, speaking to Stafford. "When I was in here oneday, talkin' to you, " he said quietly, "you told me about you an'Leviatt goin' to Dry Bottom to hire a gunfighter. I reckon you toldthat right?"

"I sure did, " returned Stafford. 

Ferguson took another pull at his cigarette--blowing the smoke slowlyskyward. And he drawled again, so that there was a distinct spacebetween the words. 

"I reckon you didn't go around advertisin' that?" he asked. 

Stafford shook his head negatively. "There ain't anyone around hereknowed anything about that but me an' you an' Leviatt, " he returned. 

Ferguson grinned coldly. "An' yet it's got out, " he stated quietly. "I reckon if no one but us three knowed about it, one of us has beengassin'. I wouldn't think that you'd done any gassin', " he added, speaking to Stafford. 

The latter slowly shook his head. 

Ferguson continued, his eyes cold and alert. "An' I reckon that Iain't shot off about it--unless I've been dreamin'. Accordin' to thatit must have been Leviatt who told Mary Radford that I'd been hired tokill her brother. "

Leviatt sneered. "Suppose I did?" he returned, showing his teeth in asavage snarl. "What are you goin' to do about it?"

"Nothin' now, " drawled Ferguson. "I'm glad to hear that you ain'tdenyin' it. " He spoke to Stafford, without removing his gaze from therange boss. 

"Yesterday, " he stated calmly, "I was ridin' down the river. I found abasin among the hills. There was a cabin down there. Four men wastalkin' in front of it. There was twenty calves an' a dozen cows in acorral. Two of the men was----"

Leviatt's right hand dropped suddenly to his holster. His pistol washalf out. Tucson's hand was also wrapped around the butt of hispistol. But before the muzzle of either man's gun had cleared itsholster, there was a slight movement at the stray-man's sides and histwo guns glinted in the white sunlight. There followed two reports, sorapidly that they blended. Smoke curled from the muzzles of thestray-man's pistols. 

Tucson sighed, placed both hands to his chest, and pitched forwardheadlong, stretching his length in the sand. For an instant Leviattstood rigid, his left arm swinging helplessly by his side, broken bythe stray-man's bullet, an expression of surprise and fear in his eyes. Then with a sudden, savage motion he dragged again at his gun. 

One of the stray-man's guns crashed again, sharply. Leviatt's weaponwent off, its bullet throwing up sand in front of Ferguson. Leviatt'seyes closed, his knees doubled under him, and he pitched forward atFerguson's feet. He was face down, his right arm outstretched, thepistol still in his hand. A thin, blue wreath of smoke rose lazilyfrom its muzzle. 

Ferguson bent over him, his weapons still in his hands. Leviatt's legsstretched slowly and then stiffened. In the strained silence that hadfollowed the shooting Ferguson stood, looking gloomily down upon thequiet form of his fallen adversary. 

"I reckon you won't lie no more about me, " he said dully. 

Without a glance in the direction of the group of silent men, hesheathed his weapons and strode toward the ranchhouse. 

CHAPTER XXIII

AT THE EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD

Ferguson strode into the manager's office and dropped heavily into achair beside the desk. He was directly in front of the open door andlooking up he could see the men down at the bunkhouse congregatedaround the bodies of Leviatt and Tucson. 

The end that he had been expecting for the past two days had come--hadcome as he knew it must come. He had not been trapped as they hadtrapped Rope Jones. When he had stood before Leviatt in front of thebunkhouse, he had noted the positions of the two men; had seen thatthey had expected him to walk squarely into the net that they hadprepared for him. His lips curled a little even now over the thoughtthat the two men had held him so cheaply. Well, they had learneddifferently, when too late. It was the end of things for them, and forhim the end of his hopes. When he had drawn his guns he had thought ofmerely wounding Leviatt, intending to allow the men of the outfit toapply to him the penalty that all convicted cattle thieves must suffer. But before that he had hoped to induce Leviatt to throw some light uponthe attempted murder of Ben Radford. 

However, Leviatt had spoiled all that when he had attempted to draw hisweapon after he was wounded. He had given Ferguson no alternative. Hehad been forced to kill the only man who, he was convinced, could havegiven him any information about the shooting of Radford, and now, inspite of anything that he might say to the contrary, Mary Radford, andeven Ben himself, would always believe him guilty. He could not stayat Two Diamond now. He must get out of the country, back to the oldlife at the Lazy J, where among his friends he might finally forget. But he doubted much. Did men ever forget women they had loved? Someperhaps did, but he was certain that nothing--not even time--could dimthe picture that was now in his mind: the hill in the flat, the girlsitting upon the rock beside him, her eyes illuminated with a soft, tender light; her breeze-blown hair--which he had kissed; which theSun-Gods had kissed as, coming down from the mountains, they had bathedthe hill with the golden light of the evening. He had thought thenthat nothing could prevent him from enjoying the happiness which thatafternoon seemed to have promised. He had watched the sun sinkingbehind the mountains, secure in the thought that the morrow would bringhim added happiness. But now there could be no tomorrow--for him. 

Fifteen minutes later Stafford entered the office to find his stray-manstill seated in the chair, his head bowed in his hands. He did notlook up as the manager entered, and the latter stepped over to him andlaid a friendly hand on his shoulder. 

"I'm thankin' you for what you've done for me, " he said. 

Ferguson rose, leaning one hand on the back of the chair upon which hehad been sitting. The manager saw that deep lines had come into hisface; that his eyes--always steady before--were restless and gleamingwith an expression which seemed unfathomable. But he said nothinguntil the manager had seated himself beside the desk. Then he took astep and stood looking into Stafford's upturned face. 

"I reckon I've done what I came here to do, " he said grimly. "I'mtakin' my time now. "

Stafford's face showed a sudden disappointment. 

"Shucks!" he returned, unable to keep the regret from his voice. "Ain't things suited you here?"

The stray-man grinned with straight lips. He could not let the managerknow his secret. "Things have suited me mighty well, " he declared. "I'm thankin' you for havin' made things pleasant for me while I'vebeen here. But I've done what I contracted to do an' there ain'tanything more to keep me here. If you'll give me my time I'll begoin'. "

Stafford looked up at him with a sly, significant smile. "Why, " hesaid, "Leviatt told me that you'd found somethin' real interestin' overon Bear Flat. Now, I shouldn't think you'd want to run away from her!"

The stray-man's lips whitened a little. "I don't think Mary Radford isworryin' about me, " he said steadily. 

"Well, now, " returned Stafford, serious again; "then I reckon Leviatthad it wrong. "

"I expect he had it wrong, " answered the stray-man shortly. 

But Stafford did not yield. He had determined to keep the stray-man atthe Two Diamond and there were other arguments that he had not yetadvanced which might cause him to stay. He looked up again, his facewearing a thoughtful expression. 

"I reckon you remember our contract?" he questioned. 

The stray-man nodded. "I was to find out who was stealin' yourcattle, " he said. 

Stafford smiled slightly. "Correct!" he returned. "You've showed metwo thieves. But a while ago I heard you say that there was two more. Our contract ain't fulfilled until you show me them too. You reckon?"

The stray-man drew a deep, resigned breath. "I expect that's right, "he admitted. "But I've told you where you can find them. All you'vegot to do is to ride over there an' catch them. "

Stafford's smile widened a little. "Sure, " he returned, "that's allI've got to do. An' I'm goin' to do it. But I'm wantin' my range bossto take charge of the outfit that's goin' over to ketch them. "

"Your range boss?" said Ferguson, a flash of interest in his eyes, "Why, your range boss ain't here any more. "

Stafford leaned forward, speaking seriously. "I'm talkin' to my rangeboss right now!" he said significantly. 

Ferguson started, and a tinge of slow color came into his face. Hedrew a deep breath and took a step forward. But suddenly he halted, his lips straightening again. 

"I'm thankin' you, " he said slowly. "But I'm leavin' the Two Diamond. "He drew himself up, looking on the instant more his old indomitableself. "I'm carryin' out our contract though, " he added. "If you'rewantin' me to go after them other two men, I ain't backin' out. Butyou're takin' charge of the outfit. I ain't goin' to be your rangeboss. "

An hour later ten of the Two Diamond men, accompanied by Stafford andthe stray-man, loped their horses out on the plains toward the river. It was a grim company on a grim mission, and the men forbore to joke asthey rode through the dust and sunshine of the afternoon. Fergusonrode slightly in advance, silent, rigid in the saddle, not evenspeaking to Stafford, who rode near him. 

Half an hour after leaving the Two Diamond they rode along the crest ofa ridge of hills above Bear Flat. They had been riding here only a fewminutes when Stafford, who had been watching the stray-man, saw himstart suddenly. The manager turned and followed the stray-man's gaze. 

Standing on a porch in front of a cabin on the other side of the flatwas a woman. She was watching them, her hands shading her eyes. Stafford saw the stray-man suddenly dig his spurs into his pony'sflanks, saw a queer pallor come over his face. Five minutes later theyhad ridden down through a gully to the plains. Thereafter, even thehard riding Two Diamond boys found it difficult to keep near thestray-man. 

Something over two hours later the Two Diamond outfit, headed by thestray-man, clattered down into a little basin, where Ferguson had seenthe cabin two days before. As the Two Diamond men came to within ahundred feet of the cabin two men, who had been at work in a smallcorral, suddenly dropped their branding irons and bolted toward thecabin. But before they had time to reach the door the Two Diamond menhad surrounded them, sitting grimly and silently in their saddles. Several of Stafford's men had drawn their weapons, but were nowreturning them to their holsters, for neither of the two men was armed. They stood within the grim circle, embarrassed, their heads bowed, their attitude revealing their shame at having been caught so easily. One of the men, a clear, steady-eyed fellow, laughed frankly. 

"Well, we're plum easy, ain't we boys?" he said, looking around at thesilent group. "Corraled us without lettin' off a gun. That's what I'dcall re-diculous. You're right welcome. But mebbe you wouldn't havehad things so easy if we hadn't left our guns in the cabin. Eh, Bill?"he questioned, prodding the other man playfully in the ribs. 

But the other man did not laugh. He stood before them, hisembarrassment gone, his eyes shifting and fearful. 

"Shut up, you damn fool!" he snarled. 

But the clear-eyed man gave no attention to this outburst. "You're TwoDiamond men, ain't you?" he asked, looking full at Ferguson. 

The latter nodded, and the clear-eyed man continued. "Knowed you rightoff, " he declared, with a laugh. "Leviatt pointed you out to me oneday when you was ridin' out yonder. " He jerked a thumb toward thedistance. "Leviatt told me about you. Wanted to try an' plug you withhis six, but decided you was too far away. " He laughedself-accusingly. "If you'd been half an hour later, I reckon youwouldn't have proved your stock, but we loafed a heap, an' half of thatbunch ain't got our brand. "

"We didn't need to look at no brand, " declared Stafford grimly. 

The clear-eyed man started a little. Then he laughed. "Then you musthave got Leviatt an' Tucson, " he said. He turned to Ferguson. "IfLeviatt has been got, " he said, "it must have been you that got him. He told me he was runnin' in with you some day. I kept tellin' him tobe careful. "

Ferguson's eyelashes twitched a little. "Thank you for thecompliment, " he said. 

"Aw, hell!" declared the man, sneering. "I wasn't mushin' none!"

Stafford had made a sign to the men and some of them dismounted andapproached the two rustlers. The man who had profanely admonished theother to silence made some little resistance, but in the end he stoodwithin the circle, his hands tied behind him. The clear-eyed man madeno resistance, seeming to regard the affair in the light of a hugejoke. Once, while the Two Diamond men worked at his hands, he toldthem to be careful not to hurt him. 

"I'm goin' to be hurt enough, after a while, " he added. 

There was nothing more to be done. The proof of guilt was before theTwo Diamond men, in the shape of several calves in the small corralthat still bore the Two Diamond brand. Several of the cows were stilladorned with the Two Diamond ear mark, and in addition to this wasFerguson's evidence. Therefore the men's ponies were caught up, saddled, and the two men forced to mount. Then the entire company rodeout of the little gully through which the Two Diamond outfit hadentered, riding toward the cottonwood that skirted the river--milesaway. 

A little while before sunset the cavalcade rode to the edge of thecottonwood. Stafford halted his pony and looked at Ferguson, but thestray-man had seen enough tragedy for one day and he shook his head, sitting gloomily in the saddle. 

"I'm waitin' here, " he said simply. "There'll be enough in there to doit without me. "

The clear-eyed man looked at him with a grim smile. 

"Why, hell!" he said. "You ain't goin' in?" his eyes lighted for aninstant. "I reckon you're plum white!" he declared. "You ain't aimin'to see any free show. "

"I'm sayin' so-long to you, " returned Ferguson. "You're game. " Aflash of admiration lighted his eyes. 

The clear-eyed man smiled enigmatically. "I'm stayin' game!" hedeclared grimly, without boast. "An' now I'm tellin' you somethin'. Yesterday Leviatt told me he'd shot Ben Radford. He said he'd lied toBen about you an' that he'd shot him so's his sister would think youdone it. You've been white, an' so I'm squarin' things for you. I'mwishin' you luck. "

For an instant he sat in the saddle, watching a new color surge intothe stray-man's face. Then his pony was led away, through a tangle ofundergrowth at the edge of the cottonwood. When Ferguson looked again, the little company had ridden into the shadow, but Ferguson could makeout the clear-eyed man, still erect in his saddle, still seeming towear an air of unstudied nonchalance. For a moment longer Ferguson sawhim, and then he was lost in the shadows. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE END OF THE STORY

Two weeks later Ferguson had occasion to pass through Bear Flat. Coming out of the flat near the cottonwood he met Ben Radford. Thelatter, his shoulder mending rapidly, grinned genially at the stray-man. 

"I'm right sorry I made that mistake, Ferguson, " he said; "but Leviattsure did give you a bad reputation. "

Ferguson smiled grimly. "He won't be sayin' bad things about anyoneelse, " he said. And then his eyes softened. "But I'm some sorry forthe cuss, " he added. 

"He had it comin', " returned Ben soberly. "An' I'd rather it was himthan me. " He looked up at Ferguson, his eyes narrowing quizzically. "You ain't been around here for a long time, " he said. "For a manwho's just been promoted to range boss you're unnaturally shy. "

Ferguson smiled. "I ain't paradin' around showin' off, " he returned. "Someone might take it into their head to bore me with a rifle bullet. "

Radford's grin broadened. "I reckon you're wastin' valuable time, " hedeclared. "For I happen to know that she wouldn't throw nothingworse'n a posy at you!"

"You don't say?" returned Ferguson seriously. "I reckon----"

He abruptly turned his pony down the trail that led to the cabin. Ashe rode up to the porch there was a sudden movement, a rustle, a gaspof astonishment, and Mary Radford stood in the doorway looking at him. For a moment there was a silence that might have meant many things. Both were thinking rapidly over the events of their last meeting atthis very spot. Then Ferguson moved uneasily in the saddle. 

"You got that there rifle anywheres handy?" he asked, grinning at her. 

Her eyes drooped; one foot nervously pushed out the hem of her skirts. Then she laughed, flushing crimson. 

"It wasn't loaded anyway, " she said. 

The sunset was never more beautiful than to-day on the hill in BearFlat. Mary Radford sat on the rock in her accustomed place andstretched out, full length beside her, was Ferguson. He was lookingout over the flat, at the shadows of the evening that were advancingslowly toward the hill. 

She turned toward him, her eyes full and luminous. "I am almost at theend of my story, " she said smiling at him. "But, " and her foreheadwrinkled perplexedly, "I find the task of ending it more difficult thanI had anticipated. It's a love scene, " she added banteringly; "do youthink you could help me?"

He looked up at her. "I reckon I could help you in a real love scene, "he said, "but I ain't very good at pretendin'. "

"But this is a real love scene, " she replied stoutly; "I am writing itas it actually occurred to me. I have reached the moment when you--Imean the hero--has declared his love for me, --of course (with a blush)I mean the heroine, and she has accepted him. But they are facing aproblem. In the story he has been a cowpuncher and of course has nopermanent home. And of course the reader will expect me to tell howthey lived after they had finally decided to make life's journeytogether. Perhaps you can tell me how the hero should go about it. "

"Do you reckon that any reader is that inquisitive?" he questioned. 

"Why of course. "

He looked anxiously at her. "In that case, " he said, "mebbe the readerwould want to know what the heroine thought about it. Would she wantto go back East to live--takin' her cowpuncher with her to show off toher Eastern friends?"

She laughed. "I thought you were not very good at pretending, " shesaid, "and here you are trying to worm a declaration of my intentionsout of me. You did not need to go about that so slyly, " she told him, with an earnestness that left absolutely no doubt of her determination, "for I am going to stay right here. Why, " she added, taking a deepbreath, and a lingering glance at the rift in the mountains where therose veil descended, "I love the West. "

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing with sympathy. "I reckon it's apretty good little old country, " he said. He smiled broadly. "An' nowI'm to tell you how to end your story, " he said, "by givin' you thehero's plans for the future. I'm tellin' you that they ain't what youmight call elaborate. But if your inquisitive reader must know aboutthem, you might say that Stafford is givin' his hero--I'm meanin', ofcourse, his range boss--a hundred dollars a month--bein' some tickledover what his range boss has done for him. 

"An' that there range boss knows when he's got a good thing. He'sgoin' to send to Cimarron for a lot of stuff--fixin's an' things forthe heroine, --an' he's goin' to make a proposition to Ben Radford tomake his cabin a whole lot bigger. Then him an' the heroine is goin'to live right there--right where the hero meets the heroine the firsttime--when he come there after bein' bit by a rattler. An' then if anylittle heroes or heroines come they'd have----"

Her hand was suddenly over his mouth. "Why--why----" she protested, trying her best to look scornful--"do you imagine that I would think ofputting such a thing as that into my book?"

He grinned guiltily. "I don't know anything about writin', " he said, properly humbled, "but I reckon it wouldn't be any of the reader'sbusiness. "

THE END.