The Project Gutenberg EBook of HiddenGold, by Wilder Anthony

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Title: Hidden Gold

Author: Wilder Anthony

Release Date: April 11, 2008 [EBook#25043]

Language: English

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Produced by D. Alexander and the OnlineDistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net(This file wasproduced from images generously madeavailable by TheInternet Archive)

HIDDEN GOLDBY

WILDER ANTHONY

FRONTISPIECE BY

G. W. GAGE

NEW YORK

THE MACAULAYCOMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1922,

By THE MACAULAYCOMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATESOF AMERICA

At the sharp crack of the rifle, Moran stoppedshort.

CONTENTSCHAPTER PAGE

ITheComing ofthe Sheep

11

IIA Meetingand aParting

23

III Jealousy 35

IVTheGatheringStorm

44

V Treachery 57VI Murder 73

VII The OldTrail

84

VIII

HigherThanStatuteLaw

93

IXThe Battleat theRanch

106

XTheSenatorGets Busy

114

XI TangledThreads 129

XII DesperateMeasures 144

XIII Into theDepths 156

XIVADastard'sBlow

171

XV The FirstClew 181

XVI Trapped 200

XVII A War ofWits 212

XVIII

A Rescue,and aVigilanceCommittee

234

XIXBaffled,But StillDangerous

250

XX The StormBursts 262

XXI With BareHands atLast

272

XXIIChurch-GoingClothes

283

HIDDEN GOLD

CHAPTER I

THE COMING OF THESHEEP

From his seat on the top of a high ridge,Gordon Wade looked into the bowl-shaped valley beneath him, with anexpression of amazement on his sun-burned face. Pouring through a narrowopening in the environing hills, andimmediately spreading fan-like over thegrass of the valley, were sheep; hundreds,thousands of them. Even where he sat, agood quarter mile above them, the air wasrank with the peculiar smell of the animals

he detested, and their ceaseless "Ba-a-a,ba-a-a, ba-a-a," sounded like the roar ofsurf on a distant coast. Driven frantic bythe appetizing smell of the sweet bunch-grass, the like of which they had not seenin months, the sheep poured through thegap like a torrent of dirty, yellow water;urged on from the rear and sides bybarking dogs and shouting herders.

Straightening his six feet of bone andmuscle, the cattleman stood up andstepped to the extreme edge of the rim-rock, with hardened countenance andgleaming eyes. A herder saw him standingthere, in open silhouette against the skyline, and with many wild gesticulationspointed him out to his companions. With aquick motion, Wade half raised his rifle

from the crook of his arm toward hisshoulder, and then snorted grimly as theherders scrambled for shelter. "Coyotes!"he muttered, reflecting that constantassociation with the beasts that such mentended, seemed to make cowards of themall.

With an ominous shake of his head, hewent back on the ridge to his waitinghorse, eager to bear word of the invasionto Santry, his ranch foreman and closestfriend. Thrusting the short-barreled rifleinto its scabbard beneath the stirrupleather, he mounted and rode rapidlyaway.

Dusk was gathering as he pushed his waythrough the willows which fringed PiahCreek and came out into the clearing

which held his ranch buildings. Nestlingagainst the foot of a high bluff with theclear waters of the creek sparkling a scantfifty yards from the door, the log ranchhouse remained hidden until one wasalmost upon it. To the left, at the foot of along slope, the corrals and out-buildingswere situated, while beyond them a rangeof snow-capped mountains rose inmajestic grandeur. Back of the house, atthe top of the bluff, a broad tablelandextended for miles; this, with CrawlingWater Valley, comprising the fine rangeland, on which fattened three thousandhead of cattle, carrying the Wade brand,the Double Arrow. Barely an hour before,the owner had surveyed the scene withmore than satisfaction, exulting in thepromise of prosperity it seemed to

convey. Now all his business future wasthreatened by the coming of the sheep.

After putting his horse in the corral, theranch owner turned toward the house. Ashe walked slowly up the hill, he made afine figure of a man; tall, straight, andbronzed like an Indian. His countenance inrepose was frank and cheerful, and hewalked with the free, swinging stride ofan out-door man in full enjoyment ofbodily health and vigor. Entering the cabinby the open door, he passed through to therear where a rattling of pots and pans andan appetizing smell of frying bacon toldthat supper was in progress.

Bill Santry was standing by the stove,turning the bacon in its sizzling grease,with a knack which told of much

experience in camp cookery. The facewhich the lean and grizzled plainsmanturned toward his friend was seamed by athousand tiny wrinkles in the leathery skin,the result of years of exposure to all kindsof weather.

"Hello, Gordon!" he exclaimed. His paleblue eyes showed like pin points under theshaggy, gray brows. "You're back early,just in time for me to remark that if wedon't get a pot-wrastler for this here outfitpretty durn quick, the boys'll be cookin'their own chuck. I'm blamed if I'll herdthis stove much longer."

Wade smiled as he passed into theadjoining room to remove his spurs andchaps. "There's a Chinese coming up fromtown to-morrow," he said.

Santry peered across the stove to watchhim as he moved about his room. Theweek before, a large picture of anextremely beautiful girl, which she hadsent to Wade and which at first he hadseemed to consider his most preciousornament, had fallen face downward onthe table. Santry was curious to see howlong it would be before Wade would set itup again, and he chuckled to himself whenhe saw that no move was made to do so.Wade had presented Santry to the girlsome months before, when the two menwere on a cattle-selling trip to Chicago,and the old plainsman had not cared forher, although he had recognized her beautyand knew that she was wealthy in her ownright, and moreover was the only child ofa famous United States Senator.

"There's thunder to pay over in the valley,Bill." Wade had produced "makings," androlled himself a cigarette as he watchedthe foreman cooking. "Sheep—thousandsof them—are coming in."

"What?" Santry straightened up with a jerkwhich nearly capsized the frying pan."Sheep? On our range? You ain't kiddin'me?"

"Nope. Wish I was, but it's a fact. Thesheep are feeding on the grass that wehoped to save against the winter. It's theJensen outfit, I could make that out fromwhere I stood."

"Hell!" Stamping angrily across the floor,Santry gazed out into the twilight. "Thatdirty, low-lived Swede? But we'll fix him,

boy. I know his breed, the skunk! I'll...."The veins in the old plainsman's throatstood out and the pupils of his eyescontracted. "I'll run his blamed outfit outof the valley before noon termorrer. I'llmake Jensen wish...."

"Steady, Bill!" Wade interposed, beforethe other could voice the threat. "Violencemay come later on perhaps; but right nowwe must try to avoid a fight."

"But by the great horned toad...!"

Santry stretched out his powerful handsand slowly clenched his fingers. He wasthinking of the pleasure it would give himto fasten them on Jensen.

"The thing puzzles me," Wade went on,

flecking his cigarette through the window."Jensen would never dare to come in hereon his own initiative. He knows that wecowmen have controlled this valley foryears, and he's no fighter. There's lots ofgood grass on the other side of themountains, and he knows that as well aswe do. Why does he take chances, then, onlosing his stock, and maybe some of hisherders by butting in here?"

"That's what I want to know," Santryimmediately agreed, as though the thoughtwere his own. "Answer me that! By thegreat horned toad! If I had my way...."

"This country isn't what it was ten yearsago, Bill. We're supposed to have courtshere now, you know." Santry sighedheavily. "To-morrow," Wade continued,

"I'll ride over and have a talk withwhoever's in charge of the outfit. Maybe Ican learn something. You stay here andkeep Kelly and the rest quiet if they getwind of what's going on and seem inclinedto show fight. I've been, in a way, lookingfor trouble ever since we refused to letthat fellow, Moran, get a foothold in thevalley. If he's back of this, we've got aclever man to fight."

"There's another hombre I'd like awfulwell to get my hands on to," declaredSantry belligerently. "Damned oily,greedy land shark! All right, all right!Needn't say nothin', Don. You're the brainsof this here outfit, an' 'thout you say theword, I'll behave. But when the timecomes and you want a fightin' man, just let

me at him! When you want to run some ofthese here crooks outer the country, youwhisper quiet like to old Bill Santry. Untilthen, I'll wait. That is—" He waved awarning finger at Wade.—"That is, up to acertain point! We don't want war, that is tosay, to want it, you understand me! But bythe great horned toad, I ain't a-goin' to letno lousy, empty headed, stinkin',sheepherdin' Swede wipe his feet on me.No, siree, not by no means!"

Wade made no reply to this, and with afurther admonitory shake of his grizzledhead, the old man resumed his cooking.

"You're sure that Chink'll be over in themornin'?" he asked anxiously, after a little;and Wade nodded abstractedly. "Cookin'ain't no job for a white man in this

weather. Breakin' rock in Hell would beplumb cool alongside of it." He wiped thesweat from his forehead with the back ofhis hand. "Say, do you remember thembiscuits you made over in the PaintedRock country? The batch I et ain't digistedyet.

"Every time I cook a meal," he went on,chuckling, "I think about the time FlourSack Jim hired out to wrastle grub for thatEnglishman. Flour Sack was one of yourreal old timers, rough and ready, with aheart as big as a bucket, but he wouldn'tbend his knee to no man livin'. TheEnglish jasper was all kinds of a swell,with money enough to burn a wet dog. Forfamily reasons, he'd bought him a ranchand started to raise hosses. He wore one

of these here two-peaked hats, with a bowon top, and he always had an eyeglassscrewed into one eye.

"The first night after Flour Sack come onhis job, he got up a mess of jack-rabbitstew, and stickin' his head out the door,yelled in real round-up style—'Come andgit it!' Then he piled up his own plate andstarted in ter eat. In about ten minutes, inwalks the English dude, and when he seenthe cook eatin' away, he rares back andsays, haughty-like—'Bless me soul, Icawn't eat with me servants, doncherknow.' Flour Sack never bats an eye, butsays, with his mouth full 'Take a cheer,' hesays, 'an' wait until I git through.'"

Although Wade had heard the storybefore, he laughed pleasantly as Santry

began to dish up the food; then the lattersummoned the hired men.

"Mind, now, Bill," Wade admonished."Not a word about the sheep."

The next morning, after a restless night,the young rancher set out alone for thesheep camp. He was more than everconcerned over the outlook, because sleephad brought to his pillow visions of cattlestarving on a denuded range, and of Santryand Race Moran engaged in a deathstruggle. Particularly because of thedanger of this, he had insisted upon Santrystaying at home. The old plainsman,scarred veteran of many a frontier brawl,was too quick tempered and too proficientwith his six-shooter to take back-talk fromthe despised sheep herders or to bandy

words with a man he feared and hated.Wade was becoming convinced thatMoran was responsible for the invasion ofthe range, although still at a loss for hisreasons. The whole affair was markedwith Moran's handiwork and the silentswiftness of his methods.

This Race Moran was a stranger who hadcome to Crawling Water some monthsbefore, and for reasons best known tohimself, had been trying to ingratiatehimself in the neighborhood, but, althoughhe seemed to have plenty of funds, theranch and stock men did not take kindly tohis advances. He posed as the agent ofsome Eastern capitalists, and he hadopened an office which for sumptuousappointments had never been equaled in

that part of the country; but he had notbeen able to buy or lease land at theprices he offered and his businessapparently had not prospered. Then sheephad begun to appear in great flocks invarious parts of the surrounding countryand some of these flocks to overflow intoCrawling Water Valley. Moran denied, atfirst, that they had come at his instance,but later on, he tacitly admitted to theprotesting cattlemen that he had a certainamount of interest in sheep raising.

More far-sighted than some of hisneighbors, Wade had leased a large stripof land in the valley for use as winterrange. Moran had seemed to want thisland badly, and had offered a really fairprice for it, but Wade had not cared to

sell. Relying upon his privilege as lessee,Wade had not feared the approach of thesheep, and he had no reason to wish todispose of his holdings. Now, it began tolook as if the purpose was to "sheep" himout of his own territory, so that the agentmight buy up the lease and homesteadrights on practically his own terms. Thething had been done before in variousparts of the cattle country.

Cattle and sheep cannot live on the samerange, and when sheep take possession ofa country, cattle must move out of it, orstarve. No wonder, then, that the cattlemenof Crawling Water Valley were aroused.Their livelihood was slipping away fromthem, day by day, for unless prompt stepswere taken the grass would be ruined by

the woolly plague.

Thus far, Gordon Wade, a leader in thecattle faction, had been firm for peacefulmeasures though some of the ranchers hadthreatened an open war on the herders."Avoid bloodshed at almost any cost," hadbeen his advice, and he had done his bestto restrain the more hot-headed membersof his party, who were for shooting thesheep and driving out the herders at therifle point. But there was a limit, even toWade's patience, and his jaws squaredgrimly as he considered the probableresult, should Moran and his followers,the sheep owners, persist in their presentcourse of action.

It was still very early in the morning whenWade arrived at the herder's camp. Oscar

Jensen, a short, thick-set man, with anunwholesome, heavy face, stepped out ofthe little tent as the rancher rode up.

"Mornin'."

"Good-morning!" The cattleman affected acheerfulness which he did not feel. "Arethese your sheep, Mr. Jensen?" He wavedin the direction of the grazing band, a dirtywhite patch on the green of the valley.

"Yes."

"Perhaps you don't know that you are onDouble Arrow land? I've ridden over toask you to move your sheep. They'respoiling our grass."

Jensen grinned sardonically, for he hadbeen expecting Wade's visit and was

prepared for it.

"I got a right here," he said. "There'splenty good grass here and I take my sheepwhere they get fat. This is governmentland."

"It is government land," Wade quietlyacknowledged, "but you have no right onit. I control this range, I've paid for it, andunless you move within the next twelvehours you'll be arrested for trespass."

The sheepman's sullen face darkened withanger.

"Who'll do it? The sheriff won't, and I'mnot afeerd of you cattlemen. My sheepmust eat as well as your cattle, and I got agood right here. I won't move."

"Then remember that I warned you if youget into trouble, Jensen. There's plenty ofopen range and good water on the otherside of the hills. I advise you to trail yoursheep there before it is too late. Don'tthink that Race Moran can save you fromthe law. Moran is not running this valley,and don't you forget it."

"How do you know Moran's backin' me?"The Swede could not conceal his surprise."You can't bluff me, Wade. I know myrights, and I'm goin' to stick to 'em."

"The devil you say!" Now that he wassure of Moran's complicity in the matter,Wade felt himself becoming angry, inspite of his resolve to keep cool. "You'dbest listen to reason and pull out whileyou're able to travel. There are men in this

valley who won't waste time in talk whenthey know you're here."

"Bah!" Jensen snorted contemptuously. "Ican take care of myself. I know what I'mdoin', I tell you."

"You may, but you don't act like it," wasWade's parting remark, as he turned hishorse and rode off.

"Go to hell!" the Swede shouted after him.

Heading toward Crawling Water, theranch owner rode rapidly over the sun-baked ground, too full of rage to takenotice of anything except his ownhelplessness. The sting of Jensen'simpudence lay in Wade's realization thatto enlist the aid of the sheriff against the

sheep man would be very difficult, if notaltogether impossible. There was verylittle law in that region, and what littlethere was seemed, somehow, to have beentaken under the direction of Race Moran.

It was now broad day and the prairiewarmed to the blazing sun. Long, rollingstretches of grass, topped with rocks andalkaline sand, gave back a blinding glarelike the reflection of a summer sea, fromwhich arose a haze of gray dust like oceanmists over distant reaches. Far to theSouth, a lone butte lifted its corrugatedfront in forbidding majesty.

Beyond the summit of the butte was agreenish-brown plateau of sagebrush andbunch-grass. Behind this mesa, a range ofsnow-topped mountains cut the horizon

with their white peaks, and in their deepand gloomy canyons lurked great shadowsof cool, rich green. As far as the eye couldsee, there was no sign of life save Wadeand his mount.

The horse's feet kicked up a cloud ofyellow dust that hung in the air like smokefrom a battery of cannon. It enveloped theranchman, who rode with the loose seatand straight back of his kind; it came to liedeeply on his shoulders and on his broad-brimmed Stetson hat, and in the wrinklesof the leather chaps that encased his legs.He looked steadily ahead, from underreddened eyelids, over the trackless plainthat encompassed him. At a pace whichwould speedily cover the twenty oddmiles to Crawling Water, he rode on his

way to see Race Moran.

Two hours later Oscar Jensen was shotfrom behind as he was walking alone, alittle distance from his camp. He fell deadand his assassin disappeared withoutbeing seen.

CHAPTER II

A MEETING AND APARTING

Had some one of Gordon Wade'smultitude of admirers in the East seen himas he stood looking out over his Wyomingranch, he might have recognized the truecowboy composure with which theranchman faced the coming storm, but hewould not have recognized the striplingwho had won scholastic and athletichonors at Princeton a few short yearsbefore, and who had spent a year aftergraduating in aimless travel and reckless

adventure.

After flitting rapidly and at random almostall over the habitable globe, he hadreturned to his home in New York withsome thought of settling down there, butthe old family mansion was emptyexcepting for the servants, and his sense ofloneliness and sorrow for the loved oneswho were no longer there to greet him,drove him on speedily and he turnedtoward the West to explore his owncountry last of all, as so many othertravelers do.

Attracted by the surpassing beauty of thecountry, he had lingered in Wyoming longenough to feel fascination of the ranch lifethat was then to be found in all itsperfection in the wilder part of that State,

and realizing that he had found the preciselocation and vocation that suited him, hehad converted his modest fortune intocash, and invested all in the DoubleArrow Ranch.

But on his way thither, he had stopped inChicago, and there he had come face toface with Romance.

Before he had gone a dozen steps aftergetting off the train, some one dealt him amighty blow between the shoulders, thatwell nigh sent him spinning. Before hecould recover himself, he was caught frombehind and hurled headlong into a taxicab.

"I've heard of Western hospitality before,"he said, calmly, before he could see whohis assailant was, "but you seem to be

hard up for guests."

"No," said his college chum, GeorgeStout, grinning happily as he clamberedinto the taxi, "but I wasn't taking chances;somebody else might have seen you first."

Followed three feverish days and nights;then as they sat in pajamas in Stout'sapartment, Wade said: "I don't imaginethere is anything more to see or do in thishectic city of yours, and I am free to say Idon't like it; I think I'll move on."

"Not yet," said Stout, with the grin thatendeared him to everybody that ever methim. "You've only seen the outside edgesso far. To-night you are going to breakinto society."

"Do they have society here?" asked Wade.

"Well, they call it that," still grinning,"anyhow you'll be interested, not to sayamused. The game is new as yet, but theygo through the motions, and Oh, boy, howlavish they are! You'll see everythingmoney can buy this evening, and probablymeet people you wouldn't be likely to runacross anywhere else.

"You're bidden to appear, sir, at the ornatemansion of a Senator of the United States—the Senator, perhaps, I should say, I'vesecured the invitation, and Mrs. Rexhillwill never recognize me again if you don'tgo."

"Would that be serious?"

"Very serious. I am counsel for one of theSenator's companies."

"And does that imply social obligation?"

"It does with Mrs. Rexhill."

"Oh, very well, I'll go anywhere once, butwho is Mrs. Rexhill? I suppose, of course,she is the Senator's wife, but who is she insociety? I never heard of her."

"You wouldn't; it isn't what she is, it iswhat she wants to be. You must not laughat her; she is doing the best she can. You'lladmit one thing readily enough when yousee her. She is probably the handsomestwoman of her age in Chicago, and she isn'tmore than forty. Where the Senator foundher, I can't say, but she was his wife when

he made his first strike in Denver, and Iwill say to his credit that he has alwaysbeen a devoted husband."

"I'm glad to hear something to his credit,"said Wade dryly. "The general impressionI've gathered from reading the newspaperslately, hasn't been of the most exaltedsort."

"Oh, well," replied Stout, and his habitualgrin faded away as he spoke. "A man inpublic life always makes enemies, and theSenator has plenty of them. It almostseems sometimes that he has moreenemies than friends, and yet he hascertainly been a very successful man, notonly in politics, but in business. He hasmore irons in the fire than any one else Iknow, and somehow or other he seems to

put everything through. I doubt if he coulddo so well if he was not at the same time apolitical power."

"Yes," said Wade, still more dryly. "Ihave heard the two facts mentionedtogether."

"Come, come," said Stout, more earnestlythan he was in the habit of speaking, "youmustn't put too much faith in what thenewspapers say. I know how they talkabout him in the other party, but I happento know him pretty well personally, andthere is a good side to him as I supposethere is to everybody. Anyhow, he paysme well for my professional services, andI have seen nothing thus far that leads meto be disloyal to him."

It seemed to Wade's sensitive ear that hisfriend was speaking with a large mentalreservation, but wisely reflecting that thematter did not concern him, he said nomore, and when evening came, he went,willingly enough, to make theacquaintance of the man who was thencounted as one of the greatest politicalpowers in the country. Nor had he anypremonition that in the near future he andhis host of the evening would be engagedin a life and death struggle.

Of all that, however, there was no presentindication whatever. On the contrary, thegreat man welcomed him with all thesuavity of manner for which he wasequally as famous as he was for the over-bearing rudeness he often displayed when

his will was disputed. This latter trait hadwon for him the nickname of the Czar ofAmerican Politics; but he was an adroitpolitician, not lacking in courtesy to guestsin his own house. Moreover, he was keenin his appraisal of men and quick to seethat a man of Wade's type would be morevaluable to him as an ally than as a foe.

Accordingly, he presented the youngaristocrat to Mrs. Rexhill, who openlyshowed her delight in meeting one of suchdistinguished appearance, and with a greatdisplay of cordiality, she introduced himto her daughter Helen.

"It is her coming-out party, Mr. Wade,"she said, gushingly, "and you must do allyou can to make it a happy occasion."

One glance at the beautiful girl who stoodbefore him was enough to determine Wadethat her evening should be as happy as hecould make it. The glaring ostentation ofthe house and its equipment had offendedhis fastidious taste when he entered, andthe sight of the really handsome, butvulgarly overdressed and richly be-jeweled mother, had made him shudderinwardly, but when he looked into Helen'seyes, he forgot all his first impressionsand imagined himself in Fairyland for theremainder of the evening.

An older head than his might easily havebeen turned and a wiser man bewilderedby the tender glances of the charming girlwho frankly met his advances half way,being as much impressed by his

appearance as he with hers, and showingcarelessness equal to his in regard to thecomment they excited among the otherguests. One thing that Helen Rexhill hadnever learned at school, or from theparents who had done all that could bedone to spoil her, was to conceal herfeelings. Just now she felt no inclination todo it, and she gave Wade dance afterdance, with reckless disregard of herengagements and of the ill-concealedanger of some of the men she threw overwith utter carelessness of socialobligation.

Wade saw it clearly enough, but thepreference she showed for him was soflattering as to make him indifferent, evenhad he considered himself responsible. He

was therefore amused rather than exultantwhen man after man came up to claim adance, only to be told "I just promised thisone to Mr. Wade."

One such there was, who took his rebuffexceeding ill. Instead of retiring as theothers had done, he stepped up closer tothe girl and said rudely, "That's all verywell, Helen, but you promised me first,and I hold you to it."

And he looked contemptuously at Wadewho had started in surprise at his words,and had stiffened himself instinctively, asif to interfere, but who controlled himselfinstantly and kept silent despite hisinclination.

A moment later he was glad he had done

so. Helen's eyes flashed and shestraightened her form proudly as shespoke.

"Did I really promise you, Race Moran? IfI did, I have forgotten it, and anyhow, I amgoing to sit this dance out with Mr. Wadein the conservatory."

Race Moran, as she called him, was ahandsome enough man, though ratherflashy in appearance. But the evil look thatcame quickly on his face, no less than hishuge and burly build, indicated that hewould have been more at home in abarroom or a street fight, than where hewas. For just a moment he seemed aboutto say more, but apparently thought betterof it, and turning away with what soundedlike a muttered oath, he walked toward the

Senator, who stood at the other side of theroom.

"I've made an enemy for you, Mr. Wade,"said Helen, half laughingly and halfseriously, as she led the way to theconservatory, closely followed by hereager escort.

"Well," said Wade lightly, "they say a manis poor, indeed, who hasn't a few enemies.I don't know that one more or less is ofgreat importance, but it is well to knowsomething about them. Who is thegentleman?"

"I hardly think you would call him agentleman," said Helen, "though he thinkshe's one; I wouldn't tolerate him a moment,only on my father's account. Dad calls him

a political heeler, and says he is veryuseful."

"He ought to be that," said Wade, smiling;"I'd hardly call him ornamental."

"Indeed he isn't," said Helen, poutingprettily, "and he presumes too much onDad's favor. He actually persecutes mewith his attentions, but you know apolitician's daughter has to put up with agood deal, sometimes."

"I don't think you need to suffer much,"said Wade, gallantly. "You will alwaysfind admirers enough to stand between youand any trouble you may have. I ratherthink there is one of them coming this wayat the moment. I shall certainly takepleasure in recognizing Mr. Moran as an

enemy, but is this likely to be anotherone?"

"Oh, no," said Helen, laughingly, as aneffeminate looking young man came up,evidently in search of her.

"I beg pardon, Miss Helen," he said, witha bow that seemed to include Wade,politely enough, in the apology, "But yourmother asked me to find you. She wantsyou to meet some new guests who havejust arrived."

"Oh, bother," said Helen carelessly. "Shecan look after them for a while. Tell herI'll be with her by-and-by," and she turnedback to Wade, paying no further attentionto the luckless messenger, who departed,hiding his chagrin as best he could, though

not very successfully.

After he had gone, she said, "No, I don'tthink Maxwell Frayne is likely to be anenemy; at least, not one that you need fear.He is a gentleman, though he is too insipidto interest me."

"And you think Moran is a man to fear,"asked Wade, trying to speak gravely, butshowing amusement in spite of himself.

"I don't believe you fear the devil," saidHelen, with open admiration, "but RaceMoran can be very dangerous, and I feelsure he will try to injure you, if he everfinds a chance."

"Well in that case he will at least beinteresting," said Wade, lightly. He would

have been amazed if he had realized at thetime how prophetic the girl's words were.

For the moment, however, he had littlethought of peril and adventures to come.The time, the girl and the place, were allat hand, and he plunged headlong into acomplication that kept him for weeks inChicago, strongly inclined to staypermanently, yet reluctant to settle in acity so little to his liking, when the greatout-doors was calling to him so urgently.

While the petals of the passion flowerwere unfolding so rapidly in theconservatory, Race Moran had taken theSenator to the latter's private room wherethey had had many secret conferencesbefore. He had done the great man favorsin New York where he was a valuable

cog in the political machine, while theSenator was still a newcomer in the field,and with accurate judgment he hadforeseen that Rexhill would be a winner.

Quick to see opportunities, he hadcultivated the latter's acquaintance andcourted his favor until he had become theSenator's most trusted adherent, and wasadmitted to the closest intimacy, so that hehad become a constant visitor in theRexhill home, and had definitelydetermined in his own mind, to becomeone of the family. He knew well enoughthat Helen disliked him, but his ideas ofwomen had been gained from associationwith a class that is easily dominated, andhe was confident of his own powers,which, in fact, were very considerable.

The Senator was not blind to the other'spurpose, but though he was far fromapproving it, having other ideasconcerning the daughter he idolized, hehad not sought to discourage Moran, nordid he intend to. He would let him go onuntil a crisis should come, and in themeantime, Moran had not declaredhimself.

Helen's insolence at the door of theconservatory, however, had stung Moran,and as soon as he had the Senator inseclusion, he broke out.

"Who is that puppy Helen has on a stringto-night?" he demanded roughly.

But the Senator could overlook rudenesswhen it suited his purpose to do so.

"I wouldn't call him a puppy exactly," hesaid, pleasantly enough; "he is a good dealyounger than you and I, but he comes ofpretty good stock in your town, Moran,and Stout tells me he has distinguishedhimself already in two or three ways. Ireckon he'd be a pretty good friend tohave, if he ever takes an interest inpolitics."

"Oh, I know the Wade family all right,"said Moran impatiently; "they belong tothe silk stockings, but we have our ownway of dealing with that kind in NewYork, and I'm able to do the same thinganywhere else, if I have to. Maybe I willhave to if he comes between me andHelen. Senator, I want to marry that girlmyself. I ain't asking your consent, exactly,

for me and her will be likely to do whatwe want to, anyhow, but I'd a heap ratherhave you favor the match."

That was almost too much, but the Senatorknew his man and also knew howvaluable he was. There was no sense inbreaking with him until it wasunavoidable, so he still spoke pleasantly,though he had flushed with anger for amoment.

"Yes, I reckon you and Helen will do asyou like about it, especially as Helenlikes. It was sort of decent of you to speakto me first, but there doesn't seem to beanything particular for me to say till youfind out what Helen really thinks."

"Oh, I'll find that out, all right," said

Moran, boastfully. "But this Wade personbetter look out; I might have him run intothe river some night, if he pokes his nosein too far."

"I'd go easy on that, if I were you," saidthe Senator laughing heartily, "a deadWade might interfere with your plansworse than a live one."

"Oh, of course," replied Moran, refusingto laugh. "I talk foolish with my mouthsometimes, when I'm mad, but all thesame, he'd better look out."

"Now I wonder," said the Senatorthoughtfully, after the other had left him,"how long it will be before he does findout, and how serious it will be. He's hitpretty hard, but I will have to keep him

along some way or other; I can't afford tolose him."

And he sat musing over his cigar till oneby one his guests had gone, but not untilthe great drawing room was well-nighempty, did Helen leave the conservatory.

For a few weeks thereafter Chicagoseemed, to Gordon Wade's fancy, to be thevery center of the Universe. Gradually,however, the sturdy nature of the manasserted itself, and realizing that for himthere were many more desirable places,he determined to look farther beforechoosing a permanent home. He toldHelen frankly of his purpose, and to hisgreat satisfaction she approved. Therewas no definite word of marriage betweenthem, though they both looked forward to

it and both, at the time of parting, deemedthe understanding complete between them.

Helen would have had him turn to theEast, for her heart was set on city life inone of the world's great capitals, but hedeclared he must see the West beforedeciding, and though she was dissatisfied,she was too wise to seek the dominationshe intended, at that stage of the game.

He departed, therefore, to find inWyoming later on, his ideal of a home.His thought of Chicago thereafter, was thatof the place where the girl he thought heloved was waiting for him, to claim her,so soon as his home was made suitable.There was much to do by way ofpreparation, however, and almostimperceptibly his ardor cooled as he

found himself becoming prominent amongthe bold and independent citizens whowere rapidly putting Wyoming on the map.

CHAPTER III

JEALOUSY

Meantime, many things of great interest toGordon Wade happened without hisknowledge.

A national election at which thepreviously dominant party was defeated,was a sad blow to Senator Rexhill, whonot only suffered in prestige but in pocket.There was no question, even in the mindsof his friends, that he frequently used hispolitical influence to back up the manybusiness enterprises in which he held aninterest, and in which the greater part of

his quickly-made fortune was invested.With the loss of his political pull, disastercame to one after another of thoseenterprises, and his successive losseswere soon heavy enough to drive himalmost to desperation.

His previous successes, however, had allbeen due to the audacity of his plans, forhis boldness and courage wereunquestionable. For a time he feltconfident of winning again, andaccordingly, maintained his lavishexpenditures and luxurious style of living,with no word of caution to his wife anddaughter, and he continued to seek for thelong chances in business that offered thelargest risks and the greatest gains.

All the redeeming qualities of his nature

(and he had more than his enemies gavehim credit for), were shown in his familylife, and it was not surprising that Helenand her mother were both undisturbed bythe gathering storm, but continued to liveas he encouraged them to, having perfectconfidence in his ability to overcome anyand all the difficulties he might encounter.

Mrs. Rexhill continued to dream of socialdistinction. Failing to see that she had lostmuch of her own prestige by the Senator'spolitical reverses, she continued toentertain so extravagantly in her palatialhome, that she was still tolerated and shetook infinite satisfaction in the positionshe thought she occupied.

She considered Chicago the greatest cityin the world, and she dreamed of Helen as

its queen. To her mind, the easiest way toaccomplish that ambition was to persuadeHelen to marry Maxwell Frayne. He hadpersistently courted the girl ever since hefirst met her, and he was heir to the greatFrayne fortune.

The idea was not entirely revolting toHelen, though she had a small opinion ofthe elegant young trifler who pursued herso persistently, for she, too, had socialaspirations, though being more clear-sighted than her mother, she dreamed ofwider circles than those of Chicago. Herhusband, whoever he was to be, shouldtake her to Paris, or at least to New York.

Her infatuation for Gordon Wade,however, was as strong as ever. Perhapsshe was right in thinking of it as true love,

but she was greatly annoyed by Wade'schoice of a ranchman's life, and by hissettling down out of the world, as sheconsidered he had done. Her letters tohim, tender as they were, told him plainlyenough of her dissatisfaction, and therebyundoubtedly contributed to the slowgrowth of his indifference.

For a time she failed to perceive this, andenjoying the excitement of the life she wasleading, she was content to wait till Wadeshould tire of the wilderness, as she fullyexpected him to do, and should return toher. So she drifted, until after a time hersuspicions were aroused by the tone of hisletters, and she became anxious.

As time went on, Senator Rexhill's affairsbecame more and more involved. He

realized that he stood little chance ofreëlection, when his term of office shouldexpire, and meantime, his fortunedwindled rapidly, though he was stillcareful not to betray that fact at home.

Moran knew the situation perfectly well,but he remained outwardly loyal to hisemployer, partly because of the latter'sliberality, but more, perhaps, because ofthe hope he still had of winning Heleneventually, despite the dislike she took nopains to hide.

Knowing how bold the Senator was in hisspeculations, he came to him one day withan exciting story.

"There's a guy in town," he said, "whomay be just a plain nut, but he has the

name of being a scientific sharp whoknows his business from A to Izzard, andhe's either got something almighty big, orhe's got the willies.

"What he says is, that he's found gold in anew spot and oodles of it. According towhat he tells, it beats California in '49. It'sso big, he says, that he's scared stiff,thinking he can't grab enough of it, and hedon't know, no more'n a baby, what to dowith it. So he's looking for somebody totake hold of it in a big way and give him awhack."

"Where is this gold?" asked the Senatorincredulously.

"That's the funny part of it," says Moran;"it's in Wyoming, and as near as I can

make out, it must be close to where thatyoung squirt is that Helen thinks she'sstuck on. I'm not sure but what it's on hisplace, but even if it is, there is no reasonwhy he should have any of it. The expensewill be pretty heavy to do the thing upright, but if you're game, I reckon we canhog the whole business. We can stall thisscientific nut off with promises, andprobably buy off Wade for the price ofpasture land, and then file claim on thewhole dog-gone tract."

This vision of enormous wealth wascaptivating to the Senator, who had madehis first start in mining and knewsomething of its possibilities. Bold as hewas, however, he was also cautious, butafter several conferences with Moran, he

fell in with the scheme, first securing theservices of a skilled metallurgist and anequally capable engineer, who wereliberally paid and solemnly sworn tosecrecy. He sent them out to verify thediscoverer's story, and sent Moran toCrawling Water, to establish himself, andto do such preparatory work as should benecessary. In due time, Moran reported byletter that the gold was located, and wasbeyond question abundant. He was havingtrouble, however, in getting the property,as Wade refused to sell.

"Of course," he wrote, "we can file miningclaims on the ground we know of, and getpossession that way, but we want to makemore surveys before doing that, so as tobe sure of getting all there is, and we can't

do that without giving the whole snapaway, and filling the mountains full ofprospectors. If that damn Wade won't sell,I'll find some means to drive him away."

It was just after the receipt of this letter,which filled the Senator with hope on theone hand, and anxiety on the other that hecame on Helen one evening, as she wasentering her own sitting room, andfollowed her in for a chat.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked,presently, when she failed to notice sometrivial question he had asked, and seemedto be in a reverie.

She looked at him with laughing eyes.

"Crawling Water."

"Gordon Wade, eh? Well, I wouldn't thinkof him too much. Better let that pass.You've outgrown it."

"Oh, no I haven't."

The Senator sighed.

"Mother said to me a little while ago, thathe was probably going with other girlsand forgetting me, and it made me angry."

"Well, I reckon your mother is about right.Gordon is a likely looking chap, youknow. I've got nothing against him, exceptthat he isn't good enough for you; no manis. You don't really care so much for him,do you?"

"Oh, don't I?" She viewed her fatherthrough half closed lids, in a quizzical

way. "I care so very much for him that if Ireally thought there was another girl, Iwould go to Crawling Water to-morrow.You'd have to drop everything and takeme."

Her father gently pinched her cheek.

"I would, eh? Well, maybe I'll have to goout there anyway. But do you realize whatCrawling Water is like,—a rough, frontiertown?"

"I wouldn't mind that for a while."

"No, I suppose not. You've got too muchof your old dad in you to balk at a fewdifficulties. There's somebody else outthere who'd be mighty glad to see yourpretty face. Race Moran."

"Mr. Moran!"

The sudden change in the girl's tone fromtenderness to scorn caused the Senator atwinge of uneasiness. His plans were soclosely linked with Moran's for thepresent, that the man might provedangerous if his love for Helen were tooopenly scorned. That she could scarcelytolerate him, despite his ability and forceof character, her father knew from thepast; but even in the moment of his need hedid not seek to influence her in Moran'sfavor. His love for her was genuine andvery deep.

"He's been out there for some time, as myagent."

"Yes, I know that. He—he has written to

me, although I've never answered hisletters. I've been curious to hear from himagain, because he promised to send mesome kodaks of Crawling Water."

"Maybe he hasn't done so because you'veignored his letters."

Helen's lip curled in disdain.

"He'd never let a little thing like that stophim. But perhaps I will answer the nextone, if only to find out what is going onout there. It's all so very mysterious. Doyou know, father,"—She playfully shookher finger at him—"this is the first time ina long while that you haven't taken me intoyour confidence, and I think it a veryominous sign. I'm sure you'll be punishedfor it."

The Senator winced at the word punished,and Helen laughed at what she thoughtwas the effect of her raillery.

"Why don't you tell me? You see, I'm soworried about Gordon. Honestly, father,I'm serious about that. I—I love him, and Idon't want him hurt."

"Hurt? Why, who is thinking of hurtinghim?"

"Oh, I don't know. Moran hates him, andhas referred to him once or twice in a waythat I do not understand. Do tell me allabout it."

"Oh, well, my dear, there's really nothingto tell. It's all concerned with somehomestead lands out there that I want to

get hold of for an investment. Wade willnot be hurt, no; that is, he won't be if hebeats me out. If I win, he'll lose."

"He will?"

"We both can't win, of course. It's to be afight, yes,—an amicable business struggle,I hope. There's no reason for it to beotherwise." The Senator appearedstrangely nervous, despite his effort atself-control. "Wade as a man and aWesterner doesn't expect to be fed on pap,you know, any more than I do. May thebest man win, that's the way of it."

Helen thought this over for a moment.

"Perhaps I'd better go out there with you,after all," she remarked, half in jest.

Then the Senator thought that over for amoment and left the room.

Next day Helen received a package bymail which proved to contain a dozenclear photographs of Crawling Water andits neighborhood.

First of all, as though Moran thought itmost important, was a snapshot of himself,which had been taken, so he wrote on theback of the print, by an obliging cowboy.The girl's face was a study in amusedscorn as she looked at the photograph, forwhich Moran has posed with a cigar in hismouth, his hands in his pockets.

Then there were a number of views of thetown itself; of its main street, its hotel, itsdance-hall, and of "some of the boys" in

various poses of photographic self-consciousness. There were also picturesof the marvelously beautiful countryside,but as she neared the end of them, Helenwas disappointed to find none of Wade."Of course, he wouldn't send me one ofhim," she said petulantly to herself, andshe was rapidly running through theremaining prints only to pause suddenly atthe very last, while a rosy tide flooded herface and neck.

The little photograph showed a tall,handsome, vigorous looking man, in thegarb of a cattleman, half turned in hissaddle, with one hand resting on hispony's flank. The man was Wade. With hisother hand, he was pointing ahead,apparently for the benefit of a girl—a very

good looking girl whose fine head wasthrown back, as the wind blew her hairinto pretty disorder.

Helen Rexhill had not hithertoexperienced real jealousy, but this littlephotograph excited it. In the highly actiniclight of Crawling Water at noon thecamera had done its work well, and thefigures of the two stood out from thedistant background with stereoscopicclearness. Wade was smiling at the girl,who seemed to be laughing back at him,although her face in the picture waspartially turned away, so that Helen gotonly an impression of charm. But theimpression was enough to rouse herjealousy.

On the back of the print, Moran had

written:

"A surprise picture of Gordon Wade andour new fellow-townswoman, MissDorothy Purnell, whose beauty andgeneral attractiveness have made her theidol of Crawling Water."

CHAPTER IV

THE GATHERING STORM

On the north bank of the river, from whichit derived its name, the town of CrawlingWater lay sprawled out in the shape of anirregular horn. Its original settlers hadbeen men of large ideas, and having hadplenty of space at their disposal, they hadused it lavishly. The streets, bordered bydusty, weather-beaten, frame buildings,were as wide as those of a large city;indeed, in area, the town could competewith many a metropolis; but there theresemblance ended. Crawling Water was

not fated to become a big city. The factthat the nearest railroad point was atSheridan, forty miles away, did away withany ambitions that Crawling Water mighthave had to be more than a neighborhoodcenter.

The mixed population was composed ofcattlemen, sheep men, cow punchers andherders, with a sprinkling of gamblers andother riff-raff. Rough, uncouth, full-blooded men, they were, for the most part;hard working; decisive in their likes anddislikes; fearing neither God nor man, theymet Life as they found it and faced Deathwith a laugh. They were the last of a fastdisappearing type, picturesque, butlacking in many of the attributes whichdifferentiate mankind from the beasts.

Hardly more than a village, CrawlingWater was yet a town, and the seat of suchmachinery of government as had beenestablished, and accordingly, GordonWade had ridden directly thither after hisfar from satisfactory interview with OscarJensen. After he had stabled his horse andseen it fed, he started up the street in thedirection of Moran's office. He wasresolved to find out where the agent stoodon the sheep question without anyunnecessary delay. Save for a few dogs,sleeping in the blaze of the noon-day sun,which hung overhead like a ball of fire,the town seemed deserted.

When Wade entered the office, Moranwas seated at his desk, chewing on acigar, above which his closely cropped

reddish mustache bristled. Like SenatorRexhill, he was a man of girth and bulk,but his ape-like body was endowed with astrength which not even his gross life hadbeen able to wreck, and he was alwaysmuscularly fit. Except for the miner's hipboots, which he wore, he was ratherhandsomely dressed, and would have beencalled tastefully so in the betting ring of ametropolitan race-track, where hisdiamond scarf-pin and ring would havebeen admired.

"Hello!" he boomed as Wade entered."Have a cigar." He pushed a box of anexcellent brand toward his visitor andwaved him to a chair. His greeting wasnoisy rather than cordial.

Wade declined both the chair and the

cigar.

"I dropped in to find out why you toldJensen to run his sheep in on my range," hebegan bluntly.

"Let me see—" The agent verydeliberately lifted a large, white hand andtook the cigar out of his mouth. "Just whatrange is that?"

"The upper valley range which I haveunder lease."

"Which you have under lease?" Moranaffected sarcastic surprise. "I wasn'taware that you had any legal right to thatpart of the valley. It's government land,ain't it?"

"You seem to have forgotten that you once

tried to buy the lease from me." Therancher bared his teeth in a grim smile."We'll not quibble over that, however.We've got our legal rights, all of us; butwe're a long distance from the courts here.What I want to know in plain English is,will you order Jensen to trail those sheep?Now, wait a moment!"

Moran subsided with a show of tolerancehe did not feel.

"Think well before you answer," Wadewent on. "I'm not here to threaten you, butthere are desperate men in this valley whowill take matters into their own hands, ifthis business is not stopped. There's plentyof grass on the other side of the mountainsand your sheep are welcome to it. Whydon't you make use of it?"

"Why should I? The sheep have a right tobe where they are and there they'll stayuntil I get ready to move 'em. Youcattlemen think you own this country, butwhen it comes to the show down, you're abunch of bluffers. Now, Wade, I made youan offer once,—I'll admit it, and I'll makeit again for the last time. Sell me yourhomestead and lease rights at the price Ioffered you—ten thousand dollars, and getout smiling. There isn't room for the twoof us in the valley."

"Ten thousand for the homestead and thelease combined!" Wade laughedmirthlessly. "You're crazy, man. Why, youoffered me that much for the lease alone afew weeks ago."

"Did I? I'd forgotten it. Anyway, it's a fair

offer. The land is still owned by UncleSam, you know. You haven't proved up onyour claims, and you never will if I canhelp it. We are spending lots of moneyhere, and the government will see that ourinterests are protected. You cattlemencan't hog the whole of Crawling WaterValley. Times have changed. Well, whatdo you say?"

The ranchman dismissed the propositionwith a gesture, but did not immediatelyspeak. Silently, the two big men facedeach other, their glances crossing likerapiers: the cattleman like a statue inbronze in the fixed rigidity of his attitude,but with an expression that showed himone dangerous to trifle with; the agentaffecting that half tolerant amusement

which one may feel toward an enemyunworthy of one's prowess. Wadepresently broke the silence.

"Moran, you may be a big man in the East,but you're not big enough for the jobyou've tackled here. I've held my friendsback as long as I can—longer than Ithought I could—and when they breakloose, this valley will be a little hell,perhaps a shambles. Men are going to bekilled, and I have a feeling that you aregoing to be one of them. Against that time,once more, I warn you. Tell Jensen to trailhis sheep!"

Swinging on his heel, the ranchman left theoffice, paying no attention to the ironical"Good night," which Moran called afterhim.

In the street, Wade chanced upon aneighboring cattle owner, LemTrowbridge of the Circle Heart outfit,who fell into step with him.

"Gordon, how long are we going to standfor this thing, eh? Say, do you know whatsome are saying about you? Now, I'm yourfriend, and I'm telling you straight thatyou've gone far enough with this pacifiststuff."

"They say I'm afraid, I suppose?" Wadestopped and faced Trowbridge. "Havethey said that to you?"

"To me? Say, what the —— kind of afriend do you take me for?" Trowbridgeflamed up like a match. "No, they haven'tsaid just that, Gordon; but they're hinting,

and I don't like it."

"Well, if you hear it direct, send the manon to me with it," said Wade, his lipscompressing ominously. "I'm aboutthrough, Lem, not quite, but pretty nearly.I've told Moran to have Jensen trail thosesheep, and if he doesn't...."

Trowbridge nodded and smiled, as theypaused at a street corner—one of the fewthat Crawling Water possessed.

"That's the idea, Gordon. We'll all be thereadier for the waiting. Well, I'll not goany farther with you." He winked withelaborate precision and looked in thedirection of a snug little cottage, withflower boxes in the windows, a biscuittoss away. "She's home. I saw her leave

the store yonder a little while ago."

Wade blushed like a boy and lookedfoolish.

"I don't get into town so very often," hebegan lamely, when Trowbridge slappedhim heartily on the back.

"You don't need to make any excuses tome, old man," he said, moving off. "Thatlittle woman has put Crawling Water onedge with admiration. You're not the onlyone—or, maybe, you are."

Secretly eager though Wade was to reachthe cottage, the nearer he approached it,the slower he walked, fuming at himselffor his sudden spinelessness. Although noladies' man, he had never been woman

wary until lately, and this of itself was asign, the significance of which he was farfrom realizing. When he was with DorothyPurnell, he almost forgot her sex in theeasy companionability of theirrelationship; when away from her, hethought no more of her than he might ofsome man friend; but the approach hadbecome a matter of embarrassingdifficulty with him. There had even beenoccasions when he had walked past thecottage and ridden home without seeingher, trying speciously to convince himselfthat such had all along been his intention.

Something of the sort might have happenednow had she not hailed him from the opendoorway.

"Whither bound, stranger?" she smilingly

demanded, in her low, rich contralto."Better come in where it's cool. Mother'llbe glad to see you, and I—shan't mind."

She had come to Crawling Water for therestorative effect of the bracing mountainair upon the health of her mother, who wasthreatened with nervous invalidism,following the death of Mr. Purnell, twoyears before. The town called themEasterners because their home was as farEast as Michigan, but they had never beencity dwellers, as Dorothy's freshcomplexion and lithe, alert figure borewitness.

Her chestnut hair, piled in a silken crownon her shapely head, shaded a face thatmade those who saw it for the first time,catch their breath in instant admiration.

Her radiance was of a glorious,compelling, and wholly distinct type, asrefreshing as some view of greenmountains from out a gloomy canyon. Shehad eyes, blue in repose, but shading toviolet tints when aglow with vivacity; hernose was not perfect, because a trifle tip-tilted, but her face gained characterthrough the defect; her very red lips heldmost delicious allurement in their slightlyfull curves. Her hands and feet were smallenough to pay tribute to her birth andbreeding, but not so small as to be doll-like. She wore a simple, white dress,freshly laundered, which made her lookcool and inviting.

"You won't mind? Now that's good of you,and no mistake." Wade shook hands with

her, slowly relinquishing her cool palm."How is Mrs. Purnell? Better?"

"Oh, yes, I think so. You're better, aren'tyou, mother?" she asked, as they enteredthe cozy little living-room, where thetemperature was in pleasant contrast to theouter heat. "The air up here does yougood, doesn't it?"

Mrs. Purnell, a dispirited little person,admitted that she felt very well indeed,and seemed cheered at the sight of Wade,who greeted her deferentially but witheasy geniality. She liked him for hiswholesomeness, and she frequentlydeclared that he was worth all the doctorsin the country because of the impression ofhealth and optimism which he bore withhim. But she was aware that Dorothy liked

him, too, and so presently made an excuseto leave the two young people together.

"Now, you may tell me all about what'sworrying you," the girl said, seatingherself across from Wade. "Something is.You can't keep the signs from me."

"Good girl!" His voice held a suggestionof tenderness, as he rolled and lighted acigarette, in the home-like privilege whichthey allowed him there. "That's your way,always. No matter who's in trouble, youare ready to hasten to the rescue."

"Oh—," she deprecatingly began, with atrace of violet showing in her eyes, whichmeant a great deal more than words.

"No wonder every man in the valley

considers himself your own, especialknight."

"I thought perhaps I could help you," shesaid briskly, to cover her sentimentalmoment. "But that was foolish of me, too,wasn't it? The idea of any one helpingyou."

"I'm likely to need all my friends soon,Dorothy," Wade answered soberly. "Icame in to-day to see Race Moran.There's a big band of sheep on our upperrange, and Jensen, who has charge ofthem, admitted to me this morning thatMoran is behind him."

"Goodness, more sheep! Wherever dothey come from?"

"I don't know where they come from, butthey can't stay where they are unless I goout of business, that's certain." In a fewwords, he explained to her thesignificance of the movement, and told herof his talk with Moran. "I've no use for theman," he concluded, "and if it comes to ashowdown between us, he need expect nosympathy. I've held back as long as I can. Iunderstand better than he does what thecrack of the first rifle will lead to."

"You have not liked him since you foundthat he took that snapshot of me," she saidwhimsically. "I didn't mind, but I can'timagine what he wanted it for."

Wade's face darkened.

"It was a confounded impertinence,

whatever he wanted with it. But mydislike of him goes farther back than that."

"What are you going to do?" she asked,resting her chin in her hand, and lookinghim straight in the eyes, as she always didto those with whom she talked.

"It largely depends on him. Santry—youknow how hot-headed he is—would runthe herders away by force and kill off thesheep. As a last resort, of course, we mayhave to do something like that, but I wantto win this fight without open violence ifwe can. A faction war, in the end, wouldbe likely to ruin us all."

"You must be careful," the girl declaredearnestly. "Moran is not going to be aneasy man to handle. He seems to have

plenty of money, and they say here in townthat he stands in with the government; thathe has some sort of 'pull.' He's clever, Ithink. He'll trick you if he can."

"I'm sure of that, Dorothy, but we're notgoing to let him. If only...! Say, do youknow something else that is being said inthis town? Something that they're sayingabout me?"

"Something nice?" her tone was archlyinquiring.

He leaned forward and lightly rested hishand on her knee, just as he might havedone with a man friend, and she took aslittle notice of it. His fingers weretrembling a little under the stress of theemotion he felt.

"They're saying, those who don't like me, Iguess, that I'm afraid of Moran and hiscrowd; afraid of a lot of sheep herders.No, of course, my friends don't believe it,"he hastened to add when she started tointerrupt. "But it's not doing me any good,especially now that public feeling isrunning so high."

"But you mustn't mind what they say,Gordon. That's part of the courage yourfriends know that you have; to do whatyou feel to be right, no matter what issaid."

Her cheeks were glowing withindignation, and he appreciatively pattedher hand before sitting erect in his chairagain. It was no wonder, he reflected, inthat almost womanless land, that many a

cowpuncher rode the range by night,seeing her image in every star. The thoughtthat each single man, and many a marriedone, in Crawling Water, would ride intothe Pit itself to win one of her smiles, hadbeen Wade's comfort, even when he wasthinking of the possibility of bloodshedbetween the two hostile factions. But now,in the moment of her sympathy for him, hefelt that he could not be content withoutsome further assurance of her safety.

"What you say sounds well, Dorothy, butmy pride's working on me, too, now. Ican't help it. If my friends, who have beengood enough to accept my leadership sofar, should lose their heads and go to itwithout me, I might talk afterward untilKingdom come. I'd never convince

anybody that I hadn't funked the thing. Youspoke a few minutes ago of helping me.You can help me a great deal."

Her lovely face instantly blazed witheagerness.

"Can I? How?"

"By promising me that, if it comes to afight, you and your mother will come outto my ranch. You'd be safer there. That is,of course, unless you'd prefer to leaveCrawling Water altogether."

"Indeed, I shouldn't prefer to leaveCrawling Water at this stage of the game,and"—she smiled reassuringly—"I'm surewe should be safe enough right herewhatever happened. But, if you'd feel

better about it, we would go to the ranch."

"Thanks. I feel better about it already,more free to show my hand. You are safeenough here now, of course, and might beclear through to the finish; but cheapwhiskey has led many a fairly good manastray."

"If only there were some peaceable wayout of it all." Her eyes became anxious asshe thought of what he might have to face."Can't you telegraph to Washington, orsomething?"

"Washington doesn't know whetherCrawling Water is in the United States orin Timbuctoo," Wade laughed. "If we hadsome one in authority right here on theground we might make him understand, but

Mahomet will never come to thesemountains, and they can't go to Mahomet.Why, what's the matter?"

His question was prompted by the suddenelation with which she had clapped herhands and sprung to her feet.

"How stupid of me, Gordon, to haveforgotten." She stood over him withshining eyes and eager countenance, aslovely as a Lorelei. "There is an officialof the United States Government here atthis very moment."

"Here? In Crawling Water?" he exclaimedin amazement. "Who is he?"

"Senator Rexhill, Gordon." Wade staredalmost vacuously at her as she ran on with

her news. "He came in with his daughterlast night on the Sheridan stage. Isn't thatglorious? You must go up to see him atonce."

"I will, of course," Wade said slowly,trying to catch his mental balance. "Andwith pleasure, too. It's been a long timesince I last saw either of them."

"You know them—him?" Dorothyhesitated a little over which pronoun touse, with the somewhat disturbingreflection that Helen Rexhill was a mostbeautiful and distinguished looking girl."That will make it all the easier," sheadded generously.

"Of course, Senator Rexhill has noauthority of his own in such a matter, you

know; but if we can get him interested, hemay wake up Washington in our behalf.Only, I don't see what can have broughthim to Crawling Water."

"Do you—do you know the daughterwell?" Dorothy asked, with femininecogency. "I suppose you met her backEast?"

"We've known each other for a number ofyears." He arose, his face expressive ofthe delight he felt at the Rexhills' presencein town. "We used to be good friends.You'll like her. But it's strange they didn'ttell me of their coming. You'll pardon meif I hurry over to the hotel, won't you,Dorothy?"

She gently urged him out of the house.

"Of course! Don't waste a moment, and letme know just as soon as you can what theoutcome is. I do hope the Senator cansettle all this trouble."

"I want you to meet them right away," hecalled, over his shoulder, and when helooked back for his answer, she noddedbrightly.

But as she turned back into the cottageafter watching him swing up the street shewas not at all sure that she would likeHelen Rexhill.

CHAPTER V

TREACHERY

Overjoyed at the prospect of a peacefulsolution of the problem which confrontedhim, Wade walked rapidly toward thehotel, happy, too, in the thought of meetingHelen Rexhill.

Whether he loved her with the single-hearted devotion which a man should feeltoward his future wife, he was not sure;but he was confident that he did not loveany one else. The idea of love inconnection with Dorothy had neveroccurred to him; she was his good friend,

nothing more. To Helen, belonged theromance of his life, fostered in other yearsby the distinct preference she had shownfor him. At one time, they had beenreported engaged, and although the wordhad never actually passed between them,many things more significant than speechhad contributed to the warm regard whichthey felt for each other. Beneath Helen'sreputed coldness of heart lay intensefeeling, and on numerous occasions shehad verged on unwomanliness in baringher moods to Wade, in a way that manyother men would have been quicker tofathom, and perhaps to take advantage of,than he had been.

Now, the knowledge that she was close athand, and that he might see her at any

moment, caused his heart to beat rapidly.If to others she had been cool, to him shehad been ardent, and this warmth had beenthe one thing needful to make herphysically captivating. Only when somevital cause impends is a young man likelyto distinguish between the impulses of hisbody and the cravings of his soul, and nosuch vital exigency had as yet appeared inWade's life. He wondered if she was asbeautiful as ever, and began to reproachhimself for lack of ardor in his recentletters to her, lest he should now be repaidin kind. He wanted to be received uponthe old, delicious footing, with her in hisarms, and her lips trembling beneath his.

There were dozens of men in Washingtonand New York who would almost have

bartered their souls for such privilege, andGordon Wade need not be decried for hismoment of passionate yearning. He wasenough of a man to put the thought aside,pending his interview with the Senator,which was his first purpose. He felt surethat if Senator Rexhill could be moved tointerest in Crawling Water affairs, hisinfluence would be potent enough tosecure redress for the cattlemen, andWade meant to pull every string that couldbear upon so happy a result. He was gladthat Mrs. Rexhill had not made thejourney, for he was conscious of herhostility to him, and he felt that hischances of moving her husband werebetter without her.

When he inquired at the hotel, he was told

that the Rexhills were in, and he presentlyfound himself shaking hands with theSenator, who greeted him with effusivewarmth.

"Helen is changing her gown and will bein shortly," the big man explained. "I'mmighty glad to see you, Gordon. Only thismorning we were talking of looking youup. How are you? Sit down, my boy, sitdown!"

"Senator," Wade began, after they hadexchanged commonplaces for a fewmoments. "Glad as I am to see you, on myown account, I am more than glad inbehalf of my friends, who have not yet hadthe pleasure of meeting you. Your arrivalin Crawling Water could not possiblyhave been more opportune. You have

come just in time to save us, most likely,from an internecine strife which mighthave ruined us all. I was more glad than Ican tell you to learn that you were here."

"Indeed, Gordon? I—I am muchinterested. Perhaps, you will...."

While Wade succinctly sketched thesituation, the Senator nervously toyed withhis eyeglasses, now and then lifting hisdouble chin from the confinement of hiscollar, only to let the mass of flesh settleagain into inertness. He thought rapidly.Evidently, Moran had not divulged the factthat he, the Senator, was concerned in theCrawling Water enterprise. Certainly,Moran had done very well in that, andRexhill almost wished now that he hadbeen less precipitate in coming to

Crawling Water. If he had stayed in theEast, his complicity in the affair mightpossibly have been concealed to the veryend. He hastily considered theadvisability of remaining under cover; butnow that he was on the ground he decidedthat he had better be open and aboveboard, in so far at least as he could be so.It would prove awkward in the event ofsubsequent investigation, if he should bemade to appear in the guise of a deliberateconspirator.

So, presently, as Wade neared the end ofh i s résumé of the situation, Rexhillpermitted an oleaginous smile tooverspread his countenance. At the last, heeven chuckled.

"It's really a bit amusing. No, no, not what

you have said, my boy; but what I amabout to say to you. You invoke myinfluence to stop these—er—depredations, as you call them, and up to acertain point, you shall have my aid,because I seem to see that matters havegone a bit beyond bounds. But when youask me to go to extremes myself, why, I'mbound to tell you that I, too, have interestsat stake. Why do you suppose I came toCrawling Water?"

"I'll admit that puzzled me."

Rexhill looked keenly at Wade,wondering if he were foolish enough tobelieve the trip a sentimental journey,purely. He concluded that the youngranchman had too much sense to jump atsuch a conclusion.

"Well, the reason is...." The Senatorleaned ponderously forward, twiddlinghis glasses upon his thumb. "The reason isthat I, if you please, am the moving spiritbehind the company which Race Moran isrepresenting here. You see...." Hechuckled plethorically again at Wade'sstart of surprise. "It really is a bitamusing."

"Then Moran is your agent?"

"In a sense, yes."

"Well, I'll be damned!" The cattleman'stone was rich in disgust, but even morekeen was his intense disappointment atthis failure of his hopes. "Would you mindtelling me, Senator, just what the purposeof your company is?"

"Certainly not. It's no secret," Rexhillreplied briskly. "Certain parties backEast, myself included, as I've told you,have reason to believe that a railroad willbe put through this valley in the nearfuture. This is an extremely rich andproductive section, with natural resourceswhich will make it heard from some day,so we are anxious to obtain a portion ofthe valley for speculative purposes. If therailroad comes through we'll probablybuild a town somewhere nearby and openup an irrigation project we have in mind.If not, we'll use our holdings to raisewheat and livestock. The proposition is asound investment either way you look atit."

"A few years ago," said Wade, "I and

several others leased upwards of twentythousand acres of grass land here in thevalley for stock grazing purposes. I,personally, filed a claim on the land I nowcall my home ranch. Our lease, which isdirect from the Government, gives usentire control of the land so long as wepay for it.

"Besides ourselves, there are a number ofranches in the valley, all of them cattleand horse outfits. There has always been atacit agreement that sheep should not begrazed here because sheep and cattle can'tlive on the same range in large numbers.Until Moran came here, we had no troublewhatever—the sheep ranchers kept totheir own side of the mountains and wecattlemen kept to ours. Since Moran has

arrived, however, the sheep have crossedthe Divide in thousands, until the entirevalley is being overrun with them.

"Only this morning, Moran admitted to methat the sheep men are acting with hisauthority and backing. Senator Rexhill,this is wrong, and your agent, or manager,is making a big mistake. Since you are theprime mover in this matter, your arrival iseven more opportune than I at first thought,because you have the power toimmediately correct your hired man'smistake. So far as we cattle ranchers canlearn, Moran is bringing sheep in herewith the deliberate intention of starving usout of our homes. He seems to want ourrange and he—I'll not say you—thinks thatsuch a course is the cheapest way to gain

possession. He'll find it the dearest in theend. Unless the sheep are moved mightysoon, we shall be mixed up in one of thebloodiest little wars in the history of therange country. Mark you, I'm no firebrand,—some call me too conservative; but wehave about reached the limit, andsomething is bound to happen before manydays."

Senator Rexhill drummed with his fingerson the table.

"Um! Does Moran know of this attitude inyou and your friends, Gordon?"

"Yes. I have just finished telling him of it.But he merely laughs at us. We are a longway from the courts here, Senator, and wecan't easily appeal to the authorities. We

are obliged to settle our differencesamong ourselves. Moran knows this aswell as I do; but he forgets that the thingcan work two ways. Each day that thesheep are here in the valley they spoilmore grass than all our cattle could eat ina week; in two months, if the sheep stay,the range will be as bare as a ball-roomfloor. Can you wonder that we ranchersare becoming desperate?"

"It's strange," Rexhill commented,apparently much perturbed. "Moran is notthe sort to take useless risks. He'sdominant, but he's no fool. Well, my boy,I'll talk this over with him; in fact, I reallycame out here to see how things wereshaping up. If things can be peacefullyarranged, that's the way we want them.

We're not looking for trouble. Certainly,you are quite right to object to sheep beingrun on your leased pasture. I'll look into itright away and see what can be done."

"Thank you." Wade was much relievedand he showed it. "I felt sure that anappeal to your sense of fair play wouldnot be fruitless. I'm mighty glad you are intown."

"Gordon!" a girl's voice exclaimed softlybehind him.

"Helen!" He sprang to his feet and turnedto seize her hands.

Those who admired Helen Rexhill atWashington social functions never sawher look more lovely than she did at this

moment of meeting with Wade, for thereason that all the skill of the costumercould not beautify her so much as theradiance of love now in her face. Thedress she wore was far from inexpensive,but it was cut with the art which concealsart, and to Wade it appeared simple.

Yet his first sensation was one of acutedisappointment, which he strove ratherineffectually, to conceal. Doubtless, thiswas because his recollection of her hadsoared beyond the bounds of humanperfection. But the gown, which she hadchosen with so keen a wish to impresshim, reminded him of the simple frockswhich Dorothy Purnell wore, and in HelenRexhill's face there was not the samesweet simplicity of expression which

distinguished her rival. Flaming love wasthere, to transform her from the suggestionof a lily to that of a pomegranate; but itwas the love that demands and devours,rather than the constant affection which, ingiving all, seeks nothing but the privilegeof loving in return. Without actuallyanalyzing the impression which Helenmade upon him, Wade felt something ofthe truth of this, and was disappointed inthe realization of his dream of her.Materially she was too perfect, too exotic,for the setting of Crawling Water.

"Why, you look just the same," she happilyexclaimed. "And I? Have I changed?Now, be careful what you say! You're nota bit of a courtier."

"Everything changes, doesn't it?" he said,

slowly feeling his way. "Except theheart?" His answer pleased her.

"Will you listen to that, Father? In thecattle country, too."

"Very pretty," the Senator observedjudicially. "Inspired, perhaps."

"How long are you going to stay?" askedWade.

Helen laughed happily.

"Perhaps that will depend upon how glad Ithink you are to have us."

She gave him an ardent glance, which hewas not proof against, nor would anyother man have been so.

"No doubt of that." He laughed with her,his disappointment passing before the oldlove spell, which she knew so well howto cast about him. "You couldn't havecome at a better time, either, for now thereis some one here who can be company foryou. That is," he added lamely, "whenyou're tired of having me around."

"Really?" Helen was a bit chilled by thisobvious faux pas. Truly, despite his worthas a man, Gordon Wade was no courtier."Who is it?"

"Of course, you haven't heard of her, butyou'll like her. She's Miss DorothyPurnell. Everybody does like her."

Helen affected a gayety which she couldscarcely have been expected to feel.

Although she was not socially adept inconcealing her real feeling, Wade sawnothing wrong. Only the Senator twistedhis mouth in a grim smile.

"Oh, but I have heard of her; indeed, Ihave. Mr. Moran sent me a littlephotograph of you both on horseback. Justsee how her fame has crossed thecontinent. I shall be charmed to meet her."

A great light dawned upon Wade.

"Then that was what he wanted with thepicture," he exclaimed. "We wondered atthe time. I thought it pretty impudent ofhim, but, of course, if he wanted it just tosend to you, that was all right."

Miss Rexhill winced inwardly. In spite of

herself, her face expressed a certainamount of pique, for the implication wasmanifestly that if Race Moran had wantedthe picture for himself, the idea wouldhave been intolerable to Wade.

"Oh, yes, quite all right. You seem...." Shechecked herself, with the reproach uponher tongue, reflecting that, after all, shewas most fond of Wade because of hisnaturalness. Maxwell Frayne, for instance,was without a peer in spinning gracefulphrases; but he spun little else.

"But I don't understand why he shouldsend it to you," Wade said, in a low tone,as the Senator turned to bend over an opentraveling bag on a nearby chair. "Is he—do you—?" A slight rigor of jealousyseemed to seize upon him, under the

witchery of her slow smile.

"Oh, he's been writing to me, and Isuppose he thought I'd be interested. Ofcourse, I was." She leaned toward him atrifle, a mere swaying of her body, like alily in a breeze, and impulsively he placedhis big hand over hers.

"He'd better not—he'd better mind hisown business!" he said grimly.

She laughed softly, tantalizingly, and beinghuman, Wade kissed her; the Senatorbeing still busy with the contents of thebag.

Thus engaged, none of them heard a knockat the door, which finally opened beforeMoran, who, even if he did not actually

see the kiss, could hardly have failed tosuspect it from their embarrassed manner.Helen felt sure from his annoyedexpression that he had witnessed thecaress, and she was rather glad of it.

He exchanged a slightly stiff greeting withthe rancher, and then while Wade andHelen continued their talk, the agent spokein a carefully guarded undertone with hisemployer. The news he brought, whateverit was, seemed significant, for the Senatorappeared worried and presently turned toWade.

"You'll not mind if I go over to the officewith Moran, Gordon?"

"Certainly not, Senator. Don't let meinterrupt you. But what's the use of us

staying indoors, Helen? The sun hasturned now and it's cooler out. I'll showyou something of our little metropolis. Or,I tell you what we'll do! Why not let metake you over and introduce you to theonly woman you're likely to find congenialin this neighborhood? She'll be glad tomeet you, I know."

In any other company, Miss Rexhill wouldprobably have resented an invitation tocall upon a rival, even apart from theethics of social calls, but not before RaceMoran. Before him, she would not humbleWade in the least degree, if only becauseto do so would reflect upon her ownpreference between the men. She couldonly pretend to welcome the prospect ofgoing to see Miss Purnell, and she played

her part well.

"We may as well stay here now," Rexhillsaid, when the two young people had leftthe room. "When did all this happen?"

"I just got word of it," Moran answered, abit excitedly. "Don't you see how it playsright into our hands? It's the greatest thingthat could have happened for us. It mighthave been made to order."

"Are you sure it wasn't? Are you sure youdidn't have the man shot, Race?" SenatorRexhill's tone was very dry and hewatched his companion keenly as he askedthe question.

Moran assumed an attitude of indignation.

"Why, Senator...!"

"Tush! I want to know where we stand. ByGod, Race, you mustn't go too far! We'retraveling mighty close to the wind as itis."

"But these brawls are likely to happen atany time. This one in particular has beenbrewing for weeks. Why connect me withit, unnecessarily?"

"All right. I see your point, of course. Theassassin is unknown; suspicion naturallyfalls upon Wade, who is at the head of thecattle faction and who, as you say,threatened Jensen only this morning. If wecan jail him for awhile his party is likelyto fall down."

"Exactly!" Moran cried eagerly. "Fortunehas placed him right in our hands."

"Well, I'm not going to have him arrested,"Rexhill announced doggedly, "at least, noton any trumped up charge. He's broken mybread, Helen likes him. We call him afriend, in fact. I always play square withmy friends—as far as possible. Strategy isstrategy, nobody can quarrel with that; butthis thing you propose is something more."

Moran, while listening, had restrained hisimpatience with difficulty. He not onlyhad reason on his side, but personal hateas well. His sense of triumph in bringingthe news to Rexhill had not been for theirmutual cause alone; it had seemed toMoran to point toward the end of hisrivalry with Wade for the love of Helen.To have the fruits of victory snatched fromhim, because of a sentiment of friendship,

was almost more than the agent couldstand for.

"Good God, Senator," he burst out, "don'tthrow this chance away! Think what itmeans to us! We are running close to thewind, and until this moment, it's been atoss up whether we'd get out of here withour lives; whether I would, at any rate.I've run a mighty big bluff on these cattlepeople, but I did it because it was the onlyway. I've held my own so far, but whenthey find out that it's not farm land we'reafter, but ore—why, Senator, there'll beno holding them at all! With Wade at theirhead and forty miles between us and thecars, where would we get off? We'd belucky if we didn't swing from the limb of atree. Do you suppose Wade would

remember then that he'd broken yourbread? I'll bet dollars to doughnuts hewouldn't.

"But"—his voice sank to a significantwhisper—"if we land him in jail...."

"His friends here would get him out,"interposed the Senator, nervously wipinghis glasses.

"Then Uncle Sam would put him in again,with a troop of cavalry to keep order here,a n d that would be another advantagegained for our side. No, sir, once we gethim in jail, we've got the law with us andagainst him, don't forget that. Then thecattle party would lay mighty low. Wadehas been their leader right along. I tellyou, it's the only way, and you know what

it means to us—to you."

"You don't have to tell me that," raspedRexhill. "If we fail to put this through, I'ma ruined man."

Moran's eyes gleamed.

"Well, then, it's the only way, unless—unless...."

"Unless what?"

"Unless your daughter marries him, and itall comes into the family." Upon thatpoint, Moran wished to know just wherehe stood.

"I've never made a dollar through mydaughter yet, and I never will," said theSenator grimly. "I'm not selling my own

flesh and blood. I'll rot in the poor-housefirst."

Moran gently breathed his relief. Hewould have fought to the fullest extent ofhis power to have aborted such amarriage, but if the Senator had favored it,he knew that it would have been difficultto prevent.

"Wade has a foreman he's mighty fond of,an old man named Santry," the agentremarked, trying another tack.

"That's a horse of another color." Rexhillappeared aroused, at last. "I remember theold fellow. He must be nearly ready forthe bone yard by this time anyhow. Saddleit on him, if you can. Wade's devoted tohim. He'd do as much for Santry as for

himself, maybe more."

"I've heard about that kind of devotion,"the agent sneered, "but I've yet to see asample of it."

"Well, you may before long. Your firstproposition's no good anyway. It wouldsimply further antagonize Wade's friends.It's quite possible, though, that Santrymight have been mixed up in such a brawl.Get him arrested, and then we'll let Wadeknow, gradually, that our influence is athis command, for a price. I've noobjection to that—none at all. By Heaven,we've got to do something."

"We'll do it all right. I'll have a warrantsworn out."

"Meanwhile, Race, go easy with thosesheep. Wade was telling me about them,and as a matter of strategy, I had topretend that I would help him. Move themacross the Divide until we see whatcomes of this Santry affair. I can't go tooheavy with the boy right at the start."

"All right." Moran arose. "The sheep don'tcount much now anyway."

"I don't mind saying, Race," SenatorRexhill observed, a trifle pompously, "thatyou've done pretty well so far. If you stickto it, you'll not find me ungrateful when thebattle is over. You'll be entitled to yourreward."

Moran hesitated, seeming to summoncourage to say something.

"Maybe you've guessed the reward I'llask, Senator," he said slowly. "There aresome things that mean more to a man thanmere money. I'm thinking of Miss Helen."

Rexhill found some difficulty in placinghis gaze so that it would appear tonaturally fall elsewhere than on Moran.He was mortified by a sense of shame thathe could not deal squarely with thisaspirant for his daughter's hand. He hadbeen sincere in saying that he would neverbarter her to further his own interests, butso much hung in the balance here that untilthe issue really arose he feared to passupon it. He felt himself stultified by thistruth.

"I haven't spoken to her, Senator, becausethe time has not come, and just now she's

too much occupied elsewhere, perhaps.But all my hopes are fixed on her, sir, andwhen the time does come, I trust you'll notoppose them."

Rexhill coughed to hide what his facemight otherwise have shown.

"Well, Race," he said, with a chokingsensation that was new to him, "you knowwhat I think of you. As for the rest, well,that will depend entirely upon Helen."

CHAPTER VI

MURDER

"How do you think you'd like to live inCrawling Water?"

Wade looked whimsically at Helen, as shepicked her way with the grace of a kittenthrough the dust of the main street.Carefully though she walked, her shoesand the bottom of her skirt were coveredwith dust, and gray with it.

"I shouldn't like it," she said, with a littlemoue. "I don't see why you stay here. Youaren't going to always, are you?"

"I reckon it's likely."

"Not—for always?" She had stopped andwas looking up into his face withdelicious dismay. "That would be awful."

"Most of my friends, and all of mybusiness interests are here. Besides, Ihave a kind of pride in growing up withthis country. Back in the East, things havebeen settled for so long that a man's only acog in a machine. Out here, a fellow has asense of ownership, even in the hills. Ithink it's because he gets closer to the soil,until he comes to love it and to be almosta part of it."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed the girl. "Thatsounds fine, but the reality isn't up to myanticipation of it."

Wade laughed in his hearty way.

"That's only because you haven't been herelong enough, Helen."

"There are things that are splendid aboutthe West," she generously admitted. "Itsvastness and wholesomeness, andespecially its men. I'm sure that's why Ifirst liked you, Gordon, because you weredifferent—not like the general run ofyoung men in the East."

"Oh, there are lots of good men East, too."

"Not so very many. At least, I have seenvery few who were at all worth while.There's one, Maxwell Frayne, who hasbeen plaguing me for months; but I don'tcare for him—much." She was closely

watching him as she spoke, and she smiledwhen he started.

"You'd better not."

"But if I really thought you meant to stayhere all the time, I'm sure I'd love himdevotedly. Now"—she eyed himmischievously—"I think this would be anice place to call home, don't you know,just for fun, and then spend most of thetime in New York and London. See thatman staring at me!"

"How, staring at you?"

Wade turned and looked in the directionshe indicated, surprised at the suggestionthat she was being annoyed in CrawlingWater, where chivalry to women ran high.

"Oh, he didn't mean anything, I daresay."

"They're friends of mine, and curious,perhaps." He referred to a group ofcattlemen across the street, who did seemto be staring and talking, with someindecision in their attitude. "I wonder ifanything can have happened? Oh, I guessnot. Well, what would I do in London?"

"I didn't say anything about you being inLondon, did I?"

"Well, it's safe to say that where youwere, I'd want to be, at any rate. Haven't Imade two trips to Chicago for no realreason except to see you?" he demanded,fast slipping into the thralldom of herfascination.

She viewed him through half-closed eyes,knowing that the pose has always alluredhim.

"Don't you think you'd be kept busylooking after me?" she playfully asked."Seriously, I hate an idle man, but I don'tknow what you'd find to do there. What aquestion. You'd have to have investmentsthat would take you over every year ortwo."

"Now you're trying to make a city man ofme," he said, half in jest. "Besides,"—adogged note crept into his voice—"I'dhave the right to expect something of you,wouldn't I?"

"Not the right, but the privilege," sheanswered softly.

"This is where the Purnells live." Heturned her into the pathway to the door."This is what I'd like, a neat little homelike this, with a couple of kiddies andsome dogs. Then I could spend my out-door time at the ranch."

Before Helen could reply to this, Mrs.Purnell appeared on the threshold towelcome them, but to Wade's surprise, shetold them that Dorothy was not there.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Helen, withintense relief.

"I don't know where she went either," themother went on. "She was out for a fewminutes soon after you left, Gordon. Thenshe came back and called out something tome, but I didn't catch what she said.

Before I knew what she was doing she hadsaddled her pony and ridden off. But comeright in. I don't think she'll be gone long."

They entered and Helen, graciouslychoosing to overlook the fact that this wasevidently Wade's second visit there withina very short time, sought to impress himwith her tactfulness to Mrs. Purnell. Shewould have been amazed could she haveguessed that she was actually arousing himto resentment. He felt, somehow, that shewas patronizing their hostess, who was awoman of refinement, even if she lackedthe artificiality of manner that Helenaffected. He was sincerely glad when thevisit came to an end.

"You must come again," said Mrs. Purnell,in a spirit of friendliness.

"So glad to have met you," Helen replied."I hope to have the pleasure of meetingyour daughter, too, before we leaveCrawling Water."

"They're splendid women, both of them,"Wade remarked, as they walked backtoward the center of the town.

"Oh, yes," Helen agreed, without muchspirit. "Nice, comfortable home people, Isuppose."

"Best kind in the world."

"Gordon!" Helen laughed good-naturedly,facing him as she walked. "What in theworld has been the matter with you to-day? We usually get on so well together,and to-day, if I do say it, only my

unwillingness to quarrel has kept us fromit."

"Oh, no!" He smiled, too. "Maybe thatNew York and London business rubbedme the wrong way; that's all. I have plentyof faults, but I'm loyal to my friends. Idon't like even hints that they aren't thebest friends a man could have."

"Surely, I haven't...."

"Maybe not. Maybe I imagined it. ButCrawling Water is a lot more real thanLondon, to my way of thinking."

"You haven't been to London."

"I'm not likely to go, either," he retorted.

Her red lips curled in a way that seemed

to indicate that she thought he would go.Already, she was planning to get him outof Crawling Water and beyond theinfluence of Dorothy Purnell.

As they turned into the main street again, aman leaving a group near the livery stable,and mounting a horse, rode toward them.

"I wonder what's up now?" Wademuttered, recognizing the horseman as oneof the Trowbridge outfit.

"Mr. Wade. Just a minute." With the graceof a Centaur, the rider swung his mount inbeside them and doffed his hat. "Two ofJensen's herders have been shot. I thoughtyou ought to know about it."

"What?" The ranch owner's jaw dropped

at the news.

"It's true, sir. Word just came in."

"Thanks, Barker." Wade pulled himselftogether, as the restless pony raced backto the barn. "I must go, Helen," he wenton, turning to the girl at his side. "There'sbeen fighting—murder, perhaps—out nearthe ranch. Santry will need me." He wasuneasy lest the old plainsman should havebeen concerned in the shooting.

"You'll take me to the hotel?"

"Of course, yes! Would you mind walkinga little faster?" They quickened their pace."I'm sorry, Helen; but I must hurry to theranch." Even at that moment he could notbut reflect that there would have been no

need to take Dorothy home. Somehow, theways of the East seemed to fit less andless aptly into the life of Crawling Water.

On his way to the livery stable after hishorse, Wade did some rapid thinking.Santry might have been concerned in theshooting, but his employer thought not.The old fellow had promised to stay athome, and his word was as good asanother man's bond. It was too bad,certainly, that the thing should havehappened just when Senator Rexhill'spromised aid had seemed in a fair way tosettle the controversy. Now, the wholething was more upset than ever, for Moranand Rexhill could hardly be blamed if theybacked up their own men, especially if theherders had been blameless, as was

probably the case. Yet if the Senator didthis, Wade knew that a bloody little warwould be the outcome.

"Where's Trowbridge, Barker?" he askedof the cowpuncher, whom he foundwaiting at the stable.

"At the ranch, I think."

Wade nodded. Ten minutes later he was inthe saddle and headed for the mountains,just as dusk began to fall. The cool nightair, blowing against his face as he reachedthe higher levels, was delightfullyrefreshing after the heat of the day. Hetook off his hat and opened the neck of hisshirt to the breeze, which revived hisenergies like wine. He knew that as hefelt, so his horse felt, and he was glad, for

the animal would have to make a fast, hardtrip. At the crest of the first hills, beforedipping into the valley, he turned for aninstant in his saddle to look backwardover his trail toward the twinkling lightsof Crawling Water in the distance below.

He had covered some five miles of hisjourney, to no other sound than theoccasional note of some bird, when hisquick ears caught the thud of a horse's feeton the trail ahead, with now and then asharp clatter as the animal slipped on thestones. Wade slowed his own horse downto a walk, and eased his Colt in its holster.He expected to meet some harmlesswayfarer, but, under the circumstances, itwas just as well to be prepared fortrouble. Soon, however, he smiled to

himself, for whoever rode toward himmade too much noise for any but apeaceful mission. The other horse, too,had been slowed down and the two ridersapproached each other with such cautionthat the rancher finally became impatientand pressed forward recklessly.

Out of the night the stranger came on, stillslowly, until a turn in the trail broughtthem face to face.

"Don't shoot!" said a woman's contralto."I'm a friend."

"Dorothy!" Wade ejaculated, at oncerecognizing the voice, although he couldnot see the girl distinctly in the darkness."In Heaven's name, what are you doing outhere?"

"Is it you, Gordon?" In her relief, shelaughed softly as she pulled her pony upside of him. "I was a little scared for asecond or two. I've awfully bad news, I'mafraid," she added, immediately serious."I've been trying to find you. I went to thehotel and they told me you'd gonesomewhere."

"Miss Rexhill and I went to call on you."

"You did? If I'd only known. I've beenclear out to the ranch."

"Is Santry there?" In his anxiety he forgotmomentarily the loneliness of her longride. "They say some of Jensen's men havebeen shot up; and I'm anxious to find outwhat Bill knows."

"That's just what I want to tell you. I heardof the shooting before I left town. Whoa,Gypsy!" She reined up her pony,nervously, for it would not stand still.Wade seized the animal's bridle andquieted it. "I don't know if he's there ornot," the girl went on. "I couldn't see. Theranch house is full of men."

"Men? What men?" Wade demandedsharply.

"Race Moran's crowd. They went out toarrest Santry. The Sheriff is with them. Iheard part of it in town, and that's why Itried to find you." Wade groaned. "Ipeeped in at a window, and when I couldsee neither you nor Santry I slipped awaywithout being seen and took the old trailback because it was shorter."

"Lord, what a mess!" Wade ground histeeth savagely. "Poor old Bill was allalone there and they must have surprisedhim. But I don't see why Barker didn'tmention the posse when he told me of theshooting?"

"He didn't know of it, probably. They lefttown very quietly. I happened to be outback of the house and I heard one of themtalking as they rode by."

"Good Lord!" Wade's head drooped. "Itold Bill to stay at the ranch, and hepromised me...."

"I don't believe he shot Jensen at all,"Dorothy declared, with spirit. "Yes, itwas Jensen himself and one of his herders.Both in the back—killed."

"Bill Santry never shot any man in theback," Wade declared, in a relieved tone."If you're sure of the facts, Santry willcome clear all right."

"It's just a devilish scheme of Moran's,that's all, to put it on you and Santry. I'msure it is. He hates you both. Whoa,Gypsy!" She reined the little mare inagain. "No, it's all right, Gordon. I canmanage her," she remonstrated, as hereached for the bridle once more.

"So that's their game, eh? By Heaven, Imore than half believe you're right." Hisface grew ugly with rage. "Dorothy," hecontinued grimly, "thanks are useless.You're a brick, that's all. Do one thingmore for us, will you?"

"Anything," she replied simply, her eyesshining with devotion to him, but he wastoo overwrought to read them in thedarkness.

"When you get back to town get word tosome of the men for me. You may meetthem on the way out, if not they'll bearound the barn. Tell them to meet me atthe big pine, on the old trail."

His horse had grown restless and now heallowed it to have its head; he wasmoving past her when she clutched hisarm.

"Gordon!"

She loved him dearly, too dearly to lethim know how well until he should speak,

if he ever did speak; but above them wasthe starlit sky and over them hovered thewondrous spirit of the Western night. Herpulse was beating, too, to the call ofdanger, and despite the control which shehad over her nerves, she was just a bithysterical beneath the surface. She knewthat ahead of him was a little army ofhostile men, and already that day two menhad been killed. So, tremulously, she heldon to his sleeve, until she stopped him.

"What are you going to do? You can't doanything alone against so many. They maykill you."

Her sympathy was very sweet to him andhe warmly squeezed the little hand whichhad held him back.

"Don't you be afraid, little girl," he saidtenderly. "I shall not get hurt if I can helpit."

"Wait until the others come, won't you?"

"Surely," he answered readily, touched bythe anxiety in her voice. "I'm going to lookaround—just as you did—on the quiet.You wouldn't hold me back, where youwent in, now would you?"

"No—!" She smiled a little into his face.

"That's the stuff! Then I'm coming back tothe big pine, and you'll send the boysthere. They'll not put Santry in jail if wecan prevent them. They've played theirlast card to-night. It's war from now on."

"All right, Gordon, I'll go." Her voice was

full of courage again; the moment ofweakness had passed. "Remember now,take good care of yourself."

"You bet," he retorted cheerily, and as hermare moved ahead, he caught her arm asshe had caught his. She went quite limp inher saddle and swayed toward him, but hemerely added: "You're a wonder,Dorothy."

He released her then, and with a wave ofher hand she disappeared into the night.Not until she was beyond recall did herealize that he might have kissed her; thatshe had wanted him to kiss her, for thefirst time since they had known each other.He sat in abstraction for several momentsbefore he shook the reins in his hand andhis horse sprang forward.

"I've kissed one girl to-day," he mutteredaloud, "and I reckon that's enough."

CHAPTER VII

THE OLD TRAIL

For another mile Wade followed the mainroad and then diverged sharply to the leftinto what was known as the old, or upper,trail. This had formerly been the valleyroad until made dangerous by a wash-outa year or two previous. In the followingspring the wash-out had been partiallyrepaired, but the going was still so roughthat the new road was widened, and hadbeen used by preference ever since. Theold trail, however, was nearly four milesthe shorter of the two, and was still

traveled in cases of emergency, althoughto do so at speed and in the dark washazardous.

Wade's promise to Dorothy to take goodcare of himself had been made withmental reservation, for, obsessed by hisanxiety over Santry, the young ranchmanwas in no mood to spare either himself orhis horse. His going was marked by aconstant shower of stones, sometimesbehind him, as the wiry cayuse climbedlike a mountain goat; but as often in front,as horse and rider coasted perilouslydown some declivity. The horse sweatedand trembled with nervousness, as afrightened child might, but never refusedto attempt what its master demanded of it.One might almost say that there existed a

human understanding between man andbeast as to the importance of their errand;a common impulse, which urged themonward.

When Wade reflected that Dorothy, too,had come over that trail by night in hisinterest, he thought her more than ever awonderful girl. Even to one born andraised in the cattle country, the trip wouldhave been difficult; but then he realizedthat Dorothy seemed much like a ranch-bred girl in her courage and frankwomanliness, nor was she any lesscharming on that account. After all, hethought, women paid too highly for littleaccomplishments, if to gain them they hadto sacrifice the vital points of character.He could not help but contrast Helen's

insistence that she should be escortedback to the hotel with Dorothy's braveride alone, and while he was too loyal toHelen Rexhill to blame her in this respect,the thing made a deep impression uponhim.

The way was long, and he had time formany thoughts. It was natural, in the stillnight, with Dorothy only a little whilegone, that he should think tenderly of her,for this cost Santry nothing. For Santry,Wade was reserving not thought butaction. He was making up his mind that ifMoran had taken the foreman into custodyon a trumped up charge of murder, theagent should feel the power of a greatertribunal than any court in the locality—thelaw of the Strong Arm! Behind him in this,

the ranchman knew, was the whole of thecattle faction, and since war had beenthrust upon them he would not stop untilthe end came, whatever it might be. Hisconscience was clean, for he had exertedhimself manfully in the cause of peace,even to the point where his own characterhad suffered, and now the hour of reprisalwas at hand.

He rode, at last, over the top of the Divideand into the little draw that led up to theranch buildings, in the windows of whichlights gleamed. With an imprecation atsight of them, he tied his horse to a post,and, revolver in hand, crept toward thehouse as quietly as a Sioux.

Except for the light, there was no sign oflife about the place, and Wade craftily

advanced into the deeper shadows closeto the wall of the house. Taking off his hat,so that the crown might not betray him, hepeeped through a window. What he sawmade him clinch his fingers and grit histeeth in rage.

Inside were half a dozen men, besidesthree of his own ranch hands who laytrussed up like turkeys in one corner of theroom; doubtless they had been surprisedby the posse before they had opportunityto run or put up a fight. Moran was there,stretched comfortably on Wade's own cot,smoking a cigar. Once, he looked directlytoward the window at which the watcherhad placed himself, but the latter did notmove. Instead, he fingered his gun andwaited; he was not sure that he really

wanted to avoid detection; if it came,Moran would pay, and the rest, at themoment, did not seem to matter. He hadforgotten Dorothy entirely.

But Santry was not there and this factpuzzled Wade. The Sheriff was not thereeither, and presently it occurred to thecattleman that a part of the posse, withSantry, might have returned to CrawlingWater over the main trail. ProbablyMoran, with the rest, was waiting for him.The mere thought of Santry already on hisway to jail filled Wade with a bafflingsense of rage, and creeping from thehouse, he examined the surrounding turf bythe faint rays of the moon. It was badly cutup by the feet of many horses, and severalminutes passed before Wade was really

sure that a number of mounted men hadtaken the trail back to town. Satisfied ofthis at length, he untied his horse andswung into the saddle.

Before riding away he considered theadvisability of driving off the horsesbelonging to Moran's party, but therewould still be others in the corral, andbesides their absence, when discovered,would give warning of the impendingattack. On second thought, however, hequietly made his way to the corral andcaught a fresh horse of his own. When hehad saddled it he set out over the old trailfor the big pine.

When he reached the rendezvous his menwere not there; but knowing that he mustmeet them if he followed the road from

there on he did not stop. He came uponthem in a few minutes, riding toward himat full speed, with Tim Sullivan in the van,too drunk to stand erect, but able tobalance himself on a horse's back, drunkor sober.

"We come acrost Santry and the Sheriff awhile back," explained Big Bob Lawson,one of Wade's own punchers. "They mustbe in town by now. We was aimin' to lightinto 'em, but Santry wouldn't hear of it.Course, we took our orders from himsame as usual. He said to tell you that youwanted him to keep quiet, an' that's whathe aimed to do."

"He said we wasn't to tell you that hedidn't shoot them Swedes," put in anotherof the men.

"What?" Wade demanded sharply.

"He said—hic!" broke in Tim Sullivan,with drunken gravity. "He said—hic!—that if you didn't know that without—hic!—bein' told, you wasn't no friend of his'n,an'—hic!—you could go to hell."

"Shut up, you drunken fool!" Lawsonsnapped out.

"Jensen and his herder were shot in theback, they say. That clears Santry," Wadedeclared, and sat for some moments indeep thought, while the men waited aspatiently as they could. "Lawson," he said,at last. "You're in charge for the present.Take the boys to the big pine and campthere quietly until I come back. I'm goinginto town."

"Hadn't you better take us with you, boss?We'll stick. We're for you an' Bill Santryan' ag'in' these—sheepherders, wheneveryou say the word."

"That's—hic—what we are!" Sullivanhiccoughed.

Wade shook his head.

"No. You wait for me at the pine. You'llhave to rustle your grub the best way youcan. I may not get back until to-morrow—until this evening—it's morning now. Butwait until I come. There will be plenty foryou to do later on and there is no use ofyou going back to town with me. It mightget you into worse trouble than you'reheaded for already, and what I've got todo, I can do alone."

Wheeling his horse, he rode off towardCrawling Water.

That he could take his men with him,storm the jail and release Santry, Wadedid not doubt, but to do so would be tobring each of the men into open conflictwith the law, a responsibility which hewas resolved to bear alone. Then, too,because his long ride had cooled himsomewhat, he intended to make one moreappeal to the Senator. Possibly, Moranhad exceeded his instructions, and if thiswere so, it was no more than just thatRexhill, who had seemed to evince awillingness to be helpful, should have theopportunity to disown the act of his agent.Besides, if Santry could be peaceablyreleased, he would be freed of the charge

hanging over him, which would not be thecase if he were taken from the jail bystrategy or violence.

With haggard countenance and inflamedeyes, Wade bore little resemblance to hisnormal self when he again appearedbefore the Senator, who received him inhis dressing-gown, being just out of bed.Rexhill listened with a show of sympathyto the cattleman's story, but evidently hewas in a different mood from the daybefore.

"My boy, your friendship for your foremanis leading you astray. Your faith in him,which is natural and does you credit, is

blinding you to an impartial view of thecase. Why not let the law take its course?If Santry is innocent his trial will prove it.At any rate, what can I do?"

"Senator—" Wade spoke with intenseweariness. "Only yesterday you offered tohelp us. The situation, as I explained itthen, is unchanged now, except for theworse. Bill Santry is free of anycomplicity in Jensen's death. I am positiveof it. He sent me word that he had not leftthe ranch, and he would not lie to savehimself from hanging. Besides, the menwere shot in the back, and that is absoluteproof that Santry didn't do it."

"Mere sentiment, Gordon; mere sentiment.Proof? Pooh!"

Rexhill's slightly contemptuous toneworked upon Wade in his exhausted,overwrought condition, and stung him. Astrange look of cunning appeared in hiseyes, as he leaned across the table whichseparated them.

"Senator, Moran made me an offer theother day for my land. If—I accept thatoffer, will you exert your influence inSantry's behalf?"

Coming so swiftly upon his planning, theprospect of such signal success was sogratifying to Rexhill that only in haltingspeech could he maintain a show ofdecorous restraint. His countenanceexpressed exultant relief, as well it might,since he seemed to see himself snatchedout of the jaws of ruin.

"Why, Gordon, I—Of course, my boy, ifyou were to show such a generous spiritas that, I—er—should feel bound...." Thesense of his remarks was lost in the crashof Wade's fist upon the table.

"Damn you!" The cattleman was beyondhimself with fatigue, rage, and a ranklingsense of injustice. "They told me that wasyour game. I believed it of Moran, but Ithought you were square. So you're thatsort, too, eh? Well, may you rot in hellbefore you get my land, you robber! Nowlisten to me." He waved his hand in thedirection of the street. "Out there's ahundred men—real men—who're waitingthe word to run you out of this country,you and Moran, too, and by God we'll doit—we'll do it—and we'll begin right

away!" Again his heavy fist crashed downon the table "Never mind Bill Santry"—the instinct of discretion was gaining inWade.—"He can stay where he is for thepresent. First, we'll attend to you pirates—then we'll see."

He stopped suddenly at sight of Helen,who attracted by the noise, had entered theroom, and stood before him in a filmynegligee.

"What is the matter, Gordon?" shedemanded anxiously.

"I beg your pardon." Wade spokeawkwardly, unashamed of himself, exceptfor her. "I'm worn out and I—I lost mytemper."

"Will you—er—leave this room!" TheSenator was beginning to pull himselftogether. It was the first time he had everbeen ragged in such a way, and hiscomposure had suffered; he spoke nowwith more than his usual pomposity.

"I will," Wade answered curtly, as heturned on his heel and departed.

The Senator, puffing slightly, fiddled withhis glasses.

"Your young friend has seen fit to accuseme of—of—" For the life of him, he couldnot at once say of just what he had beenaccused, unless he allowed self-accusation to prompt his words. "Somesheepherders have been murdered, Ibelieve," he went on, "and Wade seems to

think that Moran and I are implicated."

"You!" his daughter exclaimed; evidentlyher amazement did not extend to Moran.

"Preposterous nonsense!"

"Yes, of course." Helen walked to thewindow and stood looking down into thestreet. "I'm afraid Gordon hasn't improvedsince we saw him last," she added,finally. "He seems quite a different personfrom the man I used to know. What are yougoing to do about it?"

"Crush him!" The Senator's lips set in athin, white line, as his hand descended onthe table on the spot where Wade's fisthad fallen. "This, apparently, is hisgratitude to me for my interest in him.

Now I intend to show him the other side ofme."

"Certainly, no one could blame you forpunishing him. Oh, everything betweenhim and me is quite over," said the girl,with a peculiar smile. "He's a perfectbear."

"I'm glad you feel that way about it,Helen." Her father's set lips relaxed into aresponsive smile. "You couldn't be mydaughter and not have some sense."

"Have I any?" Helen naïvely asked.

She was gazing out of the window again,and to her mind's eye the dusty, squalidstreet became a broad highway, withjewelers' shops on either side, and

modistes, and other such charming things,just as they are found in New York, or—Paris!

CHAPTER VIII

HIGHER THAN STATUTELAW

Wade descended the stairs of the hotel andwent into the barroom, fuming with rageand chagrin because Helen had seen himin such a temper. Like most men of action,he took pride in his self-control, whichseldom failed him, but the villainy of theSenator's attitude had momentarilymastered his patience.

Gathered about the bar were a number ofmen whom he knew, but beyond a nod

here and there he took no notice of them,and went to sit down alone at a smalltable in the corner. His friends respectedhis desire to be left alone, althoughseveral eyed him curiously and exchangedsignificant remarks at his appearance.They seemed to be of the opinion that, atlast, his fighting blood had been aroused,and now and then they shot approvingglances in his direction.

"Whiskey," Wade called to the bartender,and a bottle and glass were placed on thetable in front of him.

With a steady hand the ranchman pouredout and quickly swallowed two stiffdrinks of the fiery liquor, although he wasnot ordinarily a drinking man. The fact thathe drank now showed his mental state

more clearly than words could haveexpressed it. Searching in his pockets, hefound tobacco and papers and rolled andlighted a cigarette. Nothing could be donefor Santry until night, and meanwhile heintended to get something to eat and takethe sleep that he needed to fit himself forthe task ahead of him. He ordered a steak,which on top of the whiskey put new lifeinto him.

The more he thought of his outburst oftemper before Helen the more it annoyedhim, for he realized that he had "bitten offa bigger wad than he could chew," as BillSantry would have expressed it. Rascalthough the Senator was, so far as he wasconcerned, Wade felt that his hands weretied on Helen's account. For her sake, he

could not move against her father in acountry where the average man thought ofconsequences after the act rather thanbefore it. In a sense Wade felt that hestood sponsor for Crawling Water in thehospitality which it offered Helen, and hecould not bring peril down on her head.

But as for Moran and his hirelings, thatwas a different matter! When the ranchmanthought of Moran, no vengeance seemedtoo dire to fit his misdeeds. In thatdirection he would go to the limit, and heonly hoped that he might get his hands onMoran in the mix-up. He still looked uponhis final visit to Rexhill as a weakness,but it had been undertaken solely onSantry's account. It had failed, and no onenow could expect tolerance of him except

Helen. If the posse was still at the ranch,when he and Santry returned there at thehead of their men, they would attack inforce, and shoot to kill if necessary.

He learned from Lem Trowbridge, whopresently joined him at the table, that theposse would probably still be there, forthe report in town was that Moran hadtaken possession of the property andmeant to stay there.

"He does, eh?" Wade muttered grimly."Well, he may, but it will be with his toesup. I'm done, Lem. By Heaven, it's morethan flesh and blood can stand!"

"It sure is! We're with you, Gordon. Yourmen were over at my place a few hoursago. We grubbed them and loaned them all

the guns we could spare. I sent over mynew Winchester and a belt of shells foryou."

"Thanks."

"That's all right. You're more thanwelcome to all the help I can give you, notonly against Moran and his gang, butagainst Rexhill. If you like, we'll run himout of town while you're putting the fear ofGod into Moran. Lord! I sure would liketo go back to the ranch with you, but it'syour own quarrel and I won't butt in."

Wade briefly explained his attitudetoward the Rexhills and added that theircause would not be helped by violencetoward the Senator, who was a big man atWashington, and might stir the authorities

into action on his behalf if he could provepersonal abuse. The noise that would bemade by such a happening might drownout the justice of the cattlemen's claim.

"Well, that's true, too," Trowbridgeadmitted. "I can see the point all right.What we want to do is to get something'on' the Senator. I mean something sure—something like this Jensen shooting."

Wade nodded slowly.

"That's the idea, but I'm afraid we can't doit, Lem. I haven't a doubt but that Moran ismixed up in the killing, but I hardlybelieve Rexhill is. Anyhow, they'veprobably covered their tracks so well thatwe'll never be able to connect them withit."

"Oh, I don't know. You can't always tellwhat time'll bring to light." Trowbridgelowered his voice. "What's your ideaabout Santry? Do you want help there?"

"No." Wade spoke with equal caution. "Ibelieve I can manage all right alone. TheSheriff will probably be looking for us torush the jail, but he won't expect me tocome alone. Bat Lewis goes on duty as therelief, about nine o'clock. I mean to beathim to it, and if the Sheriff opens up forme I'll be away with Santry before Batappears. But I must get some sleep, Lem."

The two men arose.

"Well, good luck to you, Gordon."Trowbridge slapped his friend on theshoulder, and they separated.

"Frank, can you let me have a bed?" Wadeasked of the hotel proprietor, a freckledIrishman.

"Sure; as many as you want."

"One will do, Frank; and another thing,"the ranchman said guardedly. "I'll need anextra horse to-night, and I don't want to beseen with him until I need him. Can youhave him tied behind the school-house alittle before nine o'clock?"

"You bet I can!" The Irishman slowlydropped an eyelid, for the school-housewas close by the jail.

Wade tumbled into the bed provided forhim and slept like a log, having that happyfaculty of the healthy man, of being able to

sleep when his body needed it, no matterwhat impended against the hour ofawakening.

When he did wake up, the afternoon waswell advanced, and after another heartymeal he walked over to the Purnells' topass the time until it was late enough forhim to get to work.

"Now, Gordon will tell you I'm right,"Mrs. Purnell proclaimed triumphantly,when the young man entered the cottage. "Iwant Dorothy to go with me to call onMiss Rexhill, and she doesn't want to go.The idea! When Miss Rexhill was niceenough to call on us first."

Mrs. Purnell set much store upon hermanners, as the little Michigan town

where she was born understood goodbreeding, and she had not been at allannoyed by Helen Rexhill's patronage,which had so displeased Wade. To hermind the Rexhills were very great people,and great people were to be expected tobear themselves in lofty fashion. Dorothyhad inherited her democracy from herfather and not from her mother, who,indeed, would have been disappointed ifHelen Rexhill appeared any less than theexalted personage she imagined herself tobe.

"Oh, I'd like to meet her well enough,only...." Dorothy stopped, unwilling to saybefore Wade that she did not consider theRexhills sufficiently good friends of his,in the light of recent developments, for

them to be friends of hers.

"Of course, go," he broke in heartily."She's not responsible for what her fatherdoes in the way of business, and I reckonshe'd think it funny if you didn't call."

"There now!" Mrs. Purnell exclaimedtriumphantly.

"All right, I'll go." In her heart Dorothywas curious to meet the other woman andgauge her powers of attraction. "We'll goto-morrow, mother."

Quite satisfied, Mrs. Purnell made someexcuse to leave them together, as sheusually did, for her mother heart hadtraveled farther along the Road to To-morrow than her daughter's fancy. She

secretly hoped that the young cattlemanwould some day declare his love forDorothy and ask for her hand in marriage.

In reply to the girl's anxious questionsWade told her of what had happened sincetheir meeting on the trail, as they sattogether on the porch of the little cottage.She was wearing a plain dress of greengingham, which, somehow, suggested tohim the freshness of lettuce. She laughed alittle when he told her of that and calledhim foolish, though the smile that showeda dimple in her chin belied her words.

"Then the posse is still at the ranch?" sheasked.

"I think so. If they are, we are going to runthem off to-morrow morning, or perhaps

to-night. I've had enough of this nonsenseand I mean to meet Moran halfway fromnow on."

"Yes, I suppose you must," she admittedreluctantly. "But do be careful, Gordon."

"As careful as I can be under thecircumstances," he said cheerfully, andtold her that his chief purpose in coming tosee her was to thank her again for theservice she had rendered him.

"Oh, you don't need to thank me for that.Do you know"—she puckered up herbrows in a reflective way—"I've beenthinking. It seems very strange to me thatSenator Rexhill and Moran should bewilling to go to such lengths merely to gethold of this land as a speculation. Doesn't

it seem so to you?"

"Yes, it does, but that must be theirreason."

"I'm not so sure of that, Gordon. Theremust be something more behind all this.That's what I have been thinking about.You remember that when Moran firstcame here he had an office just across thestreet from his present one?"

"Yes. Simon Barsdale had Moran'spresent office until he moved to Sheridan.You were his stenographer for a while, Iremember." Wade looked at her curiously,wondering what she was driving at.

"Moran bought Mr. Barsdale's safe." Hervoice sounded strange and unnatural. "I

know the old combination. I wonder if ithas been changed?"

"Lem Trowbridge was saying only thismorning," said Wade thoughtfully, for hewas beginning to catch her meaning, "thatif we could only get proof of somethingcrooked we might...."

"Well, I think we can," Dorothyinterrupted.

They looked searchingly at each other inthe gathering dusk, and he tried to read thelight in her eyes, and being strangelyaffected himself by their close proximity,he misinterpreted it. He slipped his handover hers and once more the desire to kissher seized him. He let go of her hand andwas just putting his arm around her

shoulders when, to his surprise, sheappeared suddenly indignant.

"Don't!"

He was abashed, and for a moment neithersaid a word.

"What is the combination?" he finallyasked hoarsely.

"I promised Mr. Barsdale never to tell anyone." Her lips wreathed into a little smile."I'll do it myself."

"No, you won't." Wade shook his headpositively. "Do you suppose I'm going tolet you steal for me? It will be bad enoughto do it myself; but necessity knows nolaw. Well, we'll let it go for the presentthen. Don't you think of doing it, Dorothy.

Will you promise me?"

"I never promise," she said, smiling again,and ignoring her last words in womanlyfashion, "but if you don't want me to...."

"Well, I don't," he declared firmly. "Let itrest at that. We'll probably find someother way anyhow."

She asked him then about Santry, but heevaded a direct answer beyond expressingthe conviction that everything would endall right. They talked for a while ofcommonplaces, although nothing that hesaid seemed commonplace to her andnothing that she said seemed so to him.When it was fully dark he arose to go.Then she seemed a little sorry that she hadnot let him put his arm around her, and she

leaned toward him as she had done on thetrail; but he was not well versed inwoman's subtleties, and he failed to guessher thoughts and walked away, leavingher, as Shakespeare put it, to

"Twicedesire,ereitbeday,

Thatwhichwithscornsheputaway."

Having mounted his horse at the liverystable, he first made sure that the extrahorse was behind the school-house, wherehe tied his own, and then walked aroundto the jail. On the outside, this building

was a substantial log structure; within, itwas divided into the Sheriff's office andsleeping room, the "bull pen," and a singlenarrow cell, in which Wade guessed thatSantry would be locked. After examininghis revolver, he slipped it into the sidepocket of his coat and walked boldly up tothe jail. Then, whistling merrily, for BatLewis, the deputy, was a confirmed humansong-bird, he knocked sharply on the doorwith his knuckles.

"It's me—Bat," he called out, mimickingLewis' voice, in answer to a question fromwithin.

"You're early to-night. What's struck you?"Sheriff Thomas opened the door, andturning, left it so, for the "relief" to enter.He had half feared that an attempt might be

made to liberate Santry, but had neverdreamed that any one would try the thingalone. He was glad to be relieved, for apoker game at which he wanted to sit inwould soon start at the Gulch Saloon.

He was the most surprised man inWyoming, when he felt the cold muzzle ofWade's Colt boring into the nape of hisneck and heard the ranchman's sternwarning to keep quiet or take theconsequences. Sheriff Thomas had earnedhis right to his "star" by more than oneexhibition of nerve, but he was toofamiliar with gun ethics to argue with thebusiness end of a "45."

"Not a sound!" Outwardly cold as ice, butinwardly afire, Wade shoved the weaponagainst his victim's neck and marched him

to the middle of the room. "I've got theupper hand, Sheriff, and I intend to keepit."

"You're a damn fool, Wade." The Sheriffspoke without visible emotion and in alow tone. "You'll go up for this. Don't yourealize that...."

"Can it!" snapped Wade, deftly disarmingthe officer with his free hand. "Nevermind the majesty of the law and all thatrot. I thought that all over before I came.Now that I've got you and drawn yourteeth, you'll take orders from me. Get myforeman out of that cell and be quick aboutit!"

There was nothing to do but obey, whichThomas quietly did, although somewhat in

fear of what Santry might do when atliberty. When the cell door was unlocked,the old plainsman, in a towering rage atthe injustice of his incarceration, seemedinclined to choke his erstwhile jailer.

"None of that, Bill," Wade admonishedcurtly. "He's only been a tool in thisbusiness, although he ought to know better.We'll tie him up and gag him; that's all.Rip up one of those blankets."

"I knew you'd come, boy!" The foreman'sjoy was almost like that of a big dog atsight of his master. "By the great hornedtoad, I knew it!" With his sinewy hands hetore the blanket into strips as easily asthough the wool had been paper. "Now forhim, drat him!"

Wade stood guard while the helplessSheriff was trussed up and his mouthstopped by Santry, and if the ranch ownerfelt any compunction at the sight, he hadonly to think of his own men as he hadseen them the night before, lying on thefloor of the ranch house.

"Make a good job of it, Bill," was his onlycomment.

"You bet!" Santry chuckled as he drew thelast of the knots tight. "That'll hold him fora spell, I reckon. How you feel, Sheruff,purty comfortable?" The flowing end ofthe gag so hid the officer's features that hecould express himself only with his eyes,which he batted furiously. "Course,"Santry went on, in mock solicitude, "if I'dthought I mighta put a bit of sugar on that

there gag, to remind you of your mammylike, but it ain't no great matter. You canput a double dose in your cawfee whenyou git loose."

"Come on, Bill!" Wade commanded.

"So long, Sheruff," Santry chuckled.

There was no time to waste in loitering,for at any moment Bat Lewis might arriveand give an alarm which would summonreënforcements from amongst Moran'sfollowing. Hurrying Santry ahead of him,Wade swung open the door and theylooked out cautiously. No one was insight, and a couple of minutes later thetwo men were mounted and on their wayout of town.

"By the great horned toad!" Santry exulted,as they left the lights of Crawling Waterbehind them. "It sure feels good to be outof that there boardin'-house. It wasn't ourfault, Gordon, and say, about this hereshootin'...."

"I know all about that, Bill," Wadeinterposed. "The boys told me. They'rewaiting for us at the big pine. But yourarrest, that's what I want to hear about."

"Well, it was this-a-way," the old manexplained. "They sneaked up on the housein the dark and got the drop on us. Righthere I rise to remark that never no morewill I separate myself from my six-shooter. More'n one good man has gothisself killed just because his gun wasn'twhere it oughter be when he needed it. Of

course, we put up the best scrap we could,but we didn't have no chance, Gordon.The first thing I knew, while I was tusslin'with one feller, somebody fetched me arap on the head with a pistol-butt, an' Iwent down for the count. Any of the boysshot up?"

Wade described the appearance of theranch house on the previous night, andSantry swore right manfully.

"What's on the cards now?" he demanded."How much longer are we goin' to standfor...."

"No longer," Wade declared crisply."That's why the boys are waiting for us atthe pine. We're going to run Moran and hisgang off the ranch as soon as we can get

there, and then we're going to run them outof the country."

"Whoop-e-e-e-e-e!" The old plainsman'syell of exultation split the night like theyelp of a coyote, and he brought his handdown on Wade's back with a force whichmade the latter wince. "By the greathorned toad, that's talkin! That's the finestnews I've heard since my old mammy saidto the parson, 'Call him Bill, for short.'Whoop-e-e-e-e!"

Wade's warning to keep still was lost onthe wind, for Santry stuck his spurs intohis horse's flanks and charged along thetrail like an old-time knight. With a grimsmile his employer put on speed andfollowed him.

CHAPTER IX

THE BATTLE AT THERANCH

When Wade and Santry approached thebig pine, the waiting men came out fromits shadow and rode forward, with theborrowed rifles across their saddle horns.

"All right, boys?" the rancher asked,taking Trowbridge's new rifle, a beautifulweapon, which Lawson handed to him.

"All right, sir," answered Tim Sullivan,adding the "sir" in extenuation of hisbefuddled condition the night before,

while each man gave Santry a silent hand-shake to welcome him home.

Grimly, silently, then, save for the dashingof their horses' hoofs against the loosestones, and an occasional mutteredimprecation as a rider lurched in hissaddle, the seven men rode rapidly towardthe mountains. In numbers, their party wasabout evenly matched with the enemy, andWade meant that the advantage ofsurprise, if possible, should rest with himin order to offset such advantage as Moranmight find in the shelter of the house. But,however that might be, each man realizedthat the die had been cast and that the fight,once begun, would go to a finish.

"I only hope," Santry remarked, as a steepgrade forced them to lessen their speed, "I

can get my two hands on that cussed tin-horn, Moran. Him and me has amisunderstandin' to settle, for sure."

"You leave him to me, Bill." Wade spokevindictively. "He's my meat."

"Well, since you ask it, I'll try, boy. Butthere's goin' to be some fightin' sure astaxes, and when I get to fightin', I'm liableto go plumb, hog wild. Say, I hope youdon't get into no trouble over this here jailbusiness o' mine. That 'ud make me feelbad, Gordon."

"We'll not worry about that now, Bill."

"That's right. Don't worry till you have to,and then shoot instead. That's been mymotto all my born days, and it ain't such

durn bad philosophy at that. I wonder"—the old man chuckled to himself—"Iwonder if the Sheruff et up most of thatthere gag before Bat let him loose?"

Wade laughed out loud, and as though inresponse, an owl hooted somewhere in thetimber to their right.

"There's a durned old hoot owl," growledSantry. "I never like to hear them things—they most always mean bad luck."

He rode to the head of the little column,and the rest of the way to the ranch waspassed in ominous silence. When theyfinally arrived at the edge of the clearingand cautiously dismounted, everythingseemed from the exterior, at least, just asit should be. The night being far gone, the

lights were out, and there was no sign oflife about the place. Wade wondered if theposse had gone.

"There ain't no use in speculatin',"declared Santry. "They may be asleep, andthey may be layin' for us there in the dark.This will take a rise out of 'em anyhow."

At sight of the old fellow, pistol in hand,Wade called to him to wait, but as hespoke Santry fired two quick shots into theair.

There was an immediate commotion in theranch house. A man inside was heard tocurse loudly, while another showed hisface for an instant where the moonlightfell across a window. He hastily duckedout of sight, however, when a rifle bullet

splintered the glass just above his head.Presently a gun cracked inside the houseand a splash on a rock behind the attackerstold them where the shot had struck.

"Whoop-e-e-e-e!" Santry yelled,discharging the four remaining shots in hisrevolver at the window. "We've got 'emguessin'. They don't know how many weare."

"They were probably asleep," said Wadea bit sharply. "We might have sneaked inand captured the whole crowd withoutfiring a shot. That's what I meant to dobefore you cut loose."

Santry shook his grizzled head as heloaded his revolver.

"Well, now, that would have been just amite risky, boy. The way things standwe've still got the advantage, an'...." Hebroke off to take a snapshot at a man whoshowed himself at the window for aninstant in an effort to get a glimpse of theattacking force. "One!" muttered the oldplainsman to himself.

By this time Wade had thrown himselfdown on his stomach behind a bowlder toSantry's left and was shootingmethodically at the door of the house,directly in front of him. He knew thatdoor. It was built of inch lumber and wasso located that a bullet, after passingthrough it, would rake the interior of thecabin from end to end. The only way theinmates could keep out of the line of his

fire was by hugging the walls on eitherside, where they would be partiallyexposed to the leaden hail which Santryand the punchers were directing at thewindows.

There was a grim, baleful look on theyoung man's usually pleasant face, and hiseyes held a pitiless gleam. He wasshooting straight, shooting to kill, andtaking a fierce delight in the act. Theblood lust was upon him, that primal,instinctive desire for combat in arighteous cause that lies hidden at the verybottom of every strong man's nature. Andthere came to his mind no possiblequestion of the righteous nature of hiscause. He was fighting to regainpossession of his own home from the

marauders who had invaded it. Hisenemies had crowded him to the wall, andnow they were paying the penalty. Wadeworked the lever of his Winchester asthough he had no other business in life. Astreak of yellow clay mingled with abloody trickle from a bullet scratch on hischeek gave his set features a fairlyferocious expression.

Santry, glancing toward him, chuckledagain, but without mirth. "The boy's wokeup at last," he muttered to himself."They've drove him to it, durn 'em. I knewalmighty well that this law an' order stuntcouldn't last forever. Wow!"

The latter exclamation was caused by abullet which ricocheted from a rock nearhis head, driving a quantity of fine

particles into his face.

"Whoop-e-e-e-e!" he howled a momentlater. "We got 'em goin'. It's a cinch theycan't stand this pace for more'n a week."

Indeed, it was a marvel that the defenderskept on fighting as long as they did.Already the door, beneath Wade'smachine-like shooting, had beencompletely riddled; the windows werealmost bare of glass; and great splinters ofwood had been torn from the log walls bythe heavy rifle bullets on their waythrough to the interior. Soon the doorsagged and crashed inward, and into thegaping hole thus made Wade continued toempty his rifle.

At last, the fire of those within slackened

and temporarily ceased. Did this meansurrender? Wade asked himself andordered his men to stop shooting andawait developments. For some momentsall was still, and the advisability ofrushing the house was being discussedwhen all at once the fire of the defendersbegan again. This time, however, therewas something very odd about it. Therewas a loud banging of explodingcartridges, but only a few shots whistledaround the heads of the cattlemen.Nevertheless, Wade told his men toresume shooting, and once more settleddown to his own task.

"What'n hell they tryin' to do?" Santrydemanded. "Sounds like a Fourth o' Julybarbecue to me."

"I don't know," Wade answered, chargingthe magazine of his rifle, "but whatever itis they'll have to stop mighty soon."

Then gradually, but none the lesscertainly, the fire from within slackeneduntil all was still. This seemed more likea visitation of death, and again Wadeordered his men to stop shooting. Theyobeyed orders and lay still, keenlywatching the house.

"Do you surrender?" Wade shouted; butthere was no reply.

Santry sprang to his feet.

"By the great horned toad!" he cried. "I'ma-goin' in there! Anybody that wants tocome along is welcome."

Not a man in the party would be dared inthat way, so, taking advantage of suchcover as offered, they advanced upon thecabin, stealthily at first and then morerapidly, as they met with no resistance—no sign whatever of life. A final rushcarried them through the doorway into thehouse, where they expected to find ashambles.

Wade struck a light, and faced about witha start as a low groan came from a cornerof the back room. A man lay at full lengthon the floor, tied hand and foot, andgagged. It was Ed Nelson, one of theDouble Arrow hands who had beensurprised and captured by the posse, and alittle farther away in the shadow againstthe wall his two companions lay in a like

condition. With his knife Wade wascutting them loose, and glancing about in apuzzled search for the wounded men heexpected to find in the house, when Santryshouted something from the kitchen.

"What is it, Bill?" the ranch ownerdemanded.

Santry tramped back into the room,laughing in a shamefaced sort of way.

"They done us, Gordon!" he burst out. "Bythe great horned toad, they done us! Theychucked a bunch of shells into the hotcook-stove, an' sneaked out the side doorwhile we was shootin' into the front room.By cracky, that beats...."

"That's what they did," spoke up Nelson,

as well as his cramped tongue wouldpermit, being now freed of the gag. "Theygagged us first, so's we couldn't sing out;then they filled up the stove an' beat it."

What had promised to be a tragedy hadproved a fiasco, and Wade smiled a littlefoolishly.

"The joke's on us, I guess, boys," headmitted. "But we've got the ranch back, atany rate. How are you feeling, Ed, prettystiff and sore?"

"My Gawd, yes—awful!"

"Me, too," declared Tom Parrish, thesecond of the victims; and the third manswore roundly that he would not regain thefull use of his legs before Christmas.

"Well, you're lucky at that," was Santry'sdry comment. "All that saved you fromgettin' shot up some in the fight was layin'low down in that corner where you was."He let his eyes travel around the littered,blood-spattered room. "From the looks o'this shebang we musta stung some of 'empretty deep; but nobody was killed, Ireckon. I hope Moran was the worst hurt,durn him!"

"He'll keep," Wade said grimly. "We'venot done with him yet, Bill. We've onlyjust begun."

CHAPTER X

THE SENATOR GETS BUSY

It was daylight when the routed posse,with Race Moran in the lead, his left armtied up in a blood-stained handkerchief,rode into Crawling Water. A bullet hadpierced the fleshy part of the agent's wrist,a trifling wound, but one which gave himmore pain than he might have sufferedfrom a serious injury. None of themembers of the posse had beendangerously wounded; indeed, they hadsuffered more in the spirit than in theflesh; but there had been a number of

minor casualties amongst the men, whichmade a sufficiently bloody display toarouse the little town to active curiosity.

Under instructions from the leader,however, the fugitives kept grouchilysilent, so that curiosity was able to feedonly on speculations as to Wade's temper,and the fact that he had brought aboutSantry's release from jail. The story of thatachievement had been bruited aboutCrawling Water since midnight, togetherwith the probability that the Law would beinvoked to punish the ranchman for hisdefiance of it. Popular sentiment wasrunning high over the likelihood of such astep being taken, and the members of theposse were the targets of many hostileglances from the townspeople. At least

two-thirds of the citizens were strongly infavor of Wade, but before they took activesteps in his behalf they waited for thereturn of a horseman, who had hurried outto the ranch to learn at first hand exactlywhat had happened there.

Meanwhile Moran, in an ugly mood, hadawakened the Senator from the troubledsleep which had come to him after muchwakeful tossing. Rexhill, with tousledhair, wrapped in a bathrobe, from thebottom of which his bare ankles andslippered feet protruded, sat on the edgeof his bed, impatiently chewing anunlighted cigar while he listened toMoran's account of the fracas.

"You went too far, Race,—you went toofar," he burst out angrily at last. "You had

no orders to jump the ranch. I told you...."

"We've been fooling around long enough,Senator," Moran interrupted sullenly,nursing his throbbing wrist. "It was hightime somebody started something, andwhen I saw my chance I seized it. Youseem to think"—his voice trailed intoscorn—"that we are playing marbles withboys, but, I tell you, it's men we're upagainst. My experience has shown me thatit's the first blow that counts in any fight."

"Well, who got in the hardest lick, eh?"Rexhill snorted sarcastically. "The firstblow's all right, provided the second isn'ta knockout from the other side. Why,confound it, Race, here we had Wade atour mercy. He'd broken into jail and setfree a suspected murderer—a clear case

of criminality. Then you had to spoil itall."

Moran smothered an imprecation.

"You seem to forget, Senator, that we hadhim at our mercy before, and you wouldn'thear of it. If you'd taken my advice in thefirst place, we'd have had Wade in jailinstead of Santry and things might havebeen different."

"Your advice was worthless under thecircumstances; that's why I didn't take it."Rexhill deliberately paused and lightedhis cigar, from which he took severalsoothing puffs. To have been aroused fromhis bed with such news had flustered himsomewhat; but he had never knownanything worth while to come out of a

heated discussion, and he sought now tocalm himself. Finally, he spoke slowly."What you proposed to me then was aframe-up, and all frame-ups aredangerous, particularly when they havelittle to rest upon. For that reason I refusedto fall in with your ideas, Race. Thisrelease of Santry from jail is—or was—an entirely different thing, an overtcriminal act, with Sheriff Thomas on ourside as an unimpeachable witness."

Moran was suffering too keenly from hiswound and smarting under his defeat toomuch to be altogether reasonable. Hismanner was fast losing the appearance ofrespect which he had previously shownhis employer. His expression wasbecoming heated and contemptuous.

"You didn't base your refusal on logic atthe time, Senator," he said. "It wassentiment, if I remember right. Wade hadbroken bread with you, and all that. I don'tsee but what that applies just as well nowas it did then."

"It doesn't," the Senator argued smugly,still rankling from Wade's arraignment ofhim the day before, "because evenhospitality has its limits of obligation. Solong as I knew Wade to be innocent, I didnot care to have him arrested; but I don'tadmit any sentiment of hospitality whichcompels me to save a known criminalfrom the hand of justice. Sheriff Thomascame in to see me last night and I agreedwith him that Wade should be brought toaccount for his contempt of the law. Wade

forced his way into the jail and releasedhis foreman at the point of a gun. Even so,I feel sorry for Wade and I am a littleapprehensive of the consequences thatwill probably develop from hisfoolhardiness."

"Well, by God, if there's any sympathy forhim floating around this room, it allbelongs to you, Senator." Moran tenderlyfingered his aching wrist. "I'm not one ofthese 'turn the other cheek' guys; you cangamble on that!"

"But now where are we?" Rexhill ignoredthe other's remarks entirely. "We are butlittle better off than Wade is. He pulledSantry out of jail, and we tried to steal hisranch. The only difference is that so far hehas succeeded, and we have failed. He

has as much law on his side now as wehave on ours."

Moran's head drooped a little before theforce of this argument, although he waschiefly impressed by the fact that he hadfailed. His failures had been few, becauseFortune had smiled upon him in the past;and doubtless for this reason he was theless able to treat failure philosophically.His plans at the ranch house had goneawry. He had counted on meeting Wadethere in the daytime, in the open, and uponprovoking him, before witnesses, intosome hot-headed act which would justifya battle. The surprise attack had left theagent without this excuse for the hostilitieswhich had occurred.

Rexhill arose and walked up and down the

room in thought, his slippered feetshuffling over the floor, showing now andthen a glimpse of his fat, hairy legs as theskirt of his bathrobe fluttered about. Acloud of fragrant smoke from his cigartrailed him as he walked, and from theway he chewed on the tobacco hisconfrères in the Senate could haveguessed that he was leading up to one ofhis Czar-like pronouncements. Presentlyhe stopped moving and twisted the cigarin his mouth so that its fumes would be outof his eyes, as his glance focused onMoran.

"There's just one way out of this mess,Race," he began. "Now heed what I say toyou. I'm going to send a telegram to theDepartment of the Interior which will

bring a troop of cavalry down here fromFort Mackenzie. You must go slow fromnow on, and let the authorities settle thewhole matter."

The agent sat up alertly, as his employer,wagging a ponderous forefingerimpressively, proceeded.

"You were not on the ranch for thepurpose of jumping it at all. Mind thatnow! You and I stand for the majesty ofthe law in this lawless community."Moran's eyes began to twinkle at this, buthe said nothing. "When you and SheriffThomas went out to the ranch, you carriedtwo warrants with you, one for Santry, asthe accessory, and one for Wade, as theprincipal, in the Jensen shooting. Yes, yes,I know what you are going to say; but I

must save my own bacon now. SinceWade has proved himself to be alawbreaker, I'm not going to protect him."

"Now, you're talking!" exclaimed Moran,delighted at the prospect of what such acourse would start going.

"I'll have the matter of the warrants fixedup with Thomas," the Senator continued."Now, follow me carefully. Thomasarrested Santry at the ranch, and then leftyou, as his deputy, to serve the otherwarrant on Wade when he came home. Itwas because of his knowledge of whatwas in store for him that Wade, aftergetting Santry out of jail, attacked you andyour men, and it was in defense of the lawthat you returned their fire. It will all workout very smoothly, I think, and any further

hostilities will come from the other sideand be to our great advantage."

Moran looked at his employer inadmiration, as the latter concluded andturned toward his writing table.

"Senator," the agent declared, as Rexhilltook up his fountain pen and began towrite on a telegraph form, "you nevershould have started in Denver. If you'dbeen born in little old New York, you'd bein the White House now. From this minuteon you and I are going to carry this wholevalley in our vest-pockets."

"You take this over and put it on the wireright away, Race. It's to the Secretary ofthe Interior and my signature on it shouldget immediate attention." Senator Rexhill

handed over the telegraph form he hadfilled out.

"But what about State rights in thisbusiness?" Moran asked, anxiously. "Willthey send Government troops in here onyour say so?"

The Senator waved his hand in dismissalof the objection.

"I'll have Thomas wire the Governor thatthe situation is beyond control. This townis miles from nowhere, and there's nomilitia within easy reach. The State willbe glad enough to be saved the expense,especially with the soldiers close by atFort Mackenzie. Besides, you know,although Wade's ranch is inside the State,a good deal of his land is Government

land, or was until he filed on it."

When Moran had left the room in a mucheasier frame of mind than he came into it,the Senator sat down heavily on the bed.He was puffing at his cigar and thinkingintently, when he caught sight of the white,startled face of his daughter in the mirrorof the bureau across the room. Whirlingabout, he found her standing in thedoorway looking at him. Rexhill hadnever before been physically conscious ofthe fact that he had a spine, but in thatmoment of discovery a chill crept up anddown his back, for her expression toldhim that she had heard a good deal of hisconversation with Moran. The mostprecious thing to him in life was therespect of his child; more precious even,

he knew, than the financial security forwhich he fought; and in her eyes now hesaw that he was face to face with a greaterbattle than any he had ever waged.

"Father!"

"What, are you awake, my dear?"

He tried hard to make his tone cheery andnatural, as he stood up and wrapped thebathrobe more closely around him.

"I heard what you said to Race Moran."

Helen came into the room, with only adressing wrapper thrown over her thinnight-dress, and dropped into a chair. Sheseemed to feel that her statement of thefact was accusation enough in itself, andwaited for him to answer.

"You shouldn't have listened, Helen.Moran and I were discussing privatebusiness matters, and I thought that youwere asleep. It was not proper...."

Her lips, which usually framed a smile forhim, curled disdainfully and he winced inspite of himself. He avoided the keenappraisement of her gaze, which seemednow to size him up, as though to probe hismost secret thoughts, whereas before shehad always accepted him lovingly onfaith.

"Certainly, they were not matters that youwould want an outsider to hear," she said,in a hard voice, "but I am very glad that Ilistened, father. Glad"—her voice broke alittle—"even though I shall never be ableto think of you again as I...."

He went to her and put his heavy hands onher shoulders, which shrank under histouch.

"Now, don't say things that you'll regret,Helen. You're the only girl I have, and I'mthe only father you have, so we ought tomake the best of each other, oughtn't we,eh? You're prone to hasty judgments. Don'tlet them run away with you now."

"Don't touch me!" He made way for her asshe got to her feet. "Father,"—shetremblingly faced him, leaning for supportagainst a corner of the bureau,—"I heardall that you said to Mr. Moran. I don'twant you to tell me what we've been toeach other. Don't I know that? Haven't Ifelt it?"

The Senator swallowed hard, touched tothe quick at the sight of her suffering.

"You want me to explain it—more fully?"

"If you can. Can you?" Her lips twitchedspasmodically. "I want you to tell mesomething that will let me continue tobelieve that you are—that you are—Oh,you know what I want to say." Rexhillblushed a deep purple, despite his effortsat self-control. "But what can you say,father; what can you say, after what I'veheard?"

"You mean as regards young Wade? Youknow, I told you last night about his attackon the Sheriff. You know, too"—the blushfaded as the Senator caught his strideagain—"that I said I meant to crush him.

You even agreed with me that he shouldbe taught a lesson."

"But you should fight fairly," Helenretorted, with a quick breath ofaggression. "Do you believe that he killedJensen? Of course you don't. The mereidea of such a thing is absurd."

"Perhaps he planned it."

"Father!" The scorn in her tone stung himlike a whip-lash. "Did he plan thewarrants, too? The warrant that hasn'tbeen issued yet, although you are going toswear that it was issued yesterday. Did heplan that?"

Once in his political career, the Senatorhad faced an apparent impasse and had

wormed out of it through tolerant laughter.He had laughed so long and so geniallythat the very naturalness of his artifice hadwon the day for him. Men thought that if hehad had a guilty conscience, he could nothave seemed so carefree. He tried thesame trick now with his daughter; but itwas a frightful attempt and he gave it upwhen he saw its ill-success.

"See here, Helen," he burst out, "it isridiculous that you should arraign me inthis way. It is true that no warrant was outyesterday for Wade, but it is also true thatthe Sheriff intended to issue one, and itwas only through my influence that thewarrant was not issued. Since then Wade,besides insulting me, has proved himself alawbreaker. I have nothing to do with the

consequences of his actions, which restentirely with him. You have overheardsomething that you were not intended tohear, and as is usually the case, havedrawn wrong conclusions. The best thingyou can do now is to try to forget what youhave heard and leave the matter in myhands, where it belongs."

He had spoken dominantly and expectedher to yield to his will. He was totallyunprepared, well as he knew her spirit,for what followed.

She faced him with glowing eyes and hertrembling lips straightened into a thin, firmline of determination. He was her father,and she had always loved him for whatshe had felt to be his worth; she had givenhim the chance to explain, and he had not

availed himself of it; he was content toremain convicted in her eyes, or else,which was more likely, he could not clearhimself. She realized now that, despitewhat she had said in pique, only the nightbefore, she really loved Wade, and he, atleast, had done nothing, except free afriend, who, like himself, was unjustlyaccused. She could not condemn him forthat, any more than she could forget herfather's duplicity.

"I won't forget it!" she cried. "Ifnecessary, I will go to Gordon and tellhim what you've done. I'll tell it to everyone in Crawling Water, if you force me to.I don't want to because, just think whatthat would mean to you! But you shall notsacrifice Gordon. Yes, I mean it—I'll

sacrifice you first!"

"Don't talk so loud," the Senator warnedher anxiously, going a little white. "Don'tbe a fool, Helen. Why, it was only a fewhours ago that you said Wade should bepunished."

She laughed hysterically.

"That was only because I wanted to gethim away from this awful little town. Ithought that if he were—punished—alittle, if he was made a laughing stock, hemight be ashamed, and not want to stayhere. Now, I see that I was wrong. I don'tblame him for fighting with every weaponhe can find. I hope he wins!"

Rexhill, who had been really frightened at

her hysterical threat of exposure, andassailed by it in his pride as well, felt hisfear begin to leave him and his confidencein himself return. In the next minute ortwo, he thought rapidly and toconsiderable purpose. In the past he hadresolutely refused to use his child in anyway to further his own ends, but thepresent occasion was an emergency, andmajor surgery is often demanded in acrisis. If she were willing, as she said, tosacrifice him, he felt that he mightproperly make use of her and her moods tosave himself and her as well. He realizedthat if she were to shout abroad throughCrawling Water the conversation that hadpassed between him and Moran, thelikelihood of either of the two men gettingout of the county alive would be extremely

remote.

"So that was it, eh? And I complimentedyou upon your good sense!" His laugh wasless of an effort now. "Well, doesn't ithold good now as well as it did then?Come, my dear, sit down and we'll threshthis out quietly."

She shook her head stubbornly, but thewoman in her responded to the new noteof confidence in his voice, and she waitedeagerly for what he had to say, hopefulthat he might still clear himself.

"You tell me that I must fight fair. Well, Iusually do fight that way. I'm doing sonow. When I spoke yesterday of crushingWade, I meant it and I still mean it. Butthere are limits to what I want to see

happen to him; for one thing, I don't wantto see him hung for this Jensen murder,even if he's guilty."

"You know he isn't guilty."

"I think he isn't." Her eyes lighted up atthis admission. "But he must be tried forthe crime, there's no dodging that. The jurywill decide the point; we can't. But even ifhe should be convicted, I shouldn't want tosee him hung. Why, we've been goodfriends, all of us. I—I like him, eventhough he did jump on to me yesterday.That was why"—he leaned forward,impelled to the falsehood that hung uponhis tongue by the desperate necessity ofsaving himself his daughter's love andrespect—"I arranged with Moran to havethe boy arrested on such a warrant. He is

bound to be arrested"—Rexhill struck thetable with his fist—"and if he should needa basis for an appeal after conviction, hecould hardly have a better one than theevidence of conspiracy, which a crookedwarrant would afford. I wanted to givehim that chance because I realized that hehad enemies here and that his trial mightnot be a fair one. When the right momentcame I was going to have that warrantlooked into."

"Father!"

Helen dropped on her knees before him,her eyelashes moist with tears and hervoice vibrant with happiness.

"Why didn't you explain all that before,Father? I knew that there must be some

explanation. I felt that I couldn't haveloved you all my life for nothing. But doyou really believe that any jury wouldconvict Gordon of such a thing?"

"I hope not."

Never had Senator Rexhill felt himselfmore hopelessly a scoundrel than now ashe smoothed her hair from her forehead;but he told himself that the pain of thismust be less than to be engulfed inbankruptcy, or exposure, which wouldsubmerge them all. Moreover, hepromised himself that if future events boretoo heavily against Wade, he should besaved at the eleventh hour. The thought ofthis made the Senator's position less hard.

"I hope not, Helen," he repeated. "Of

course, the serving of the warrant at thistime will help my own interests, but sincea warrant must be served, anyway, I feeljustified, under the circumstances, inavailing myself of this advantage."

"Y-e-s, of course," Helen agreeddoubtfully. "Oh, it is all too bad. I wishnone of us had ever heard of CrawlingWater."

"Well, maybe the Grand Jury will notindict him, feeling runs so strong here,"her father continued, and she took freshhope at this prospect. "But, anyway, hewill feel the pressure before all is donewith, and very likely he'll be only too gladto dispose of his ranch and say good-by toWyoming when he is free to do as hepleases. Then you and he can make a fresh

start, eh? All will be sunshine and rosesthen, maybe, forever and aye."

"That's what I want to do—get away fromhere; and that was all I meant when I saidto punish Gordon."

The Senator patted her cheek tenderly anddrew a deep breath of relief.

"By the way, father," Helen said casually,when she started back to her room, a littlelater, "I saw Miss Purnell on the streetyesterday. You know, she was out whenGordon took me to see her."

"Well, is she dangerous?"

Helen looked at him in amusement, andshrugged her shoulders.

CHAPTER XI

TANGLED THREADS

Relieved though Helen was to someextent, by her father's assurances and bythe explanation which he had given, shewas far from being in a tranquil frame ofmind.

She knew that whatever might be theoutcome of the graver charge againstGordon, he would probably have to sufferfor his release of Santry, and she foundherself wishing more than ever that herlover had never seen the West. What littleit had contributed to his character was not

worth what it had cost already and wouldcost in the future. Surely, his manhoodwas alive enough not to have needed thedevelopment of such an environment, andif his lot had been cast in the East, shecould have had him always with her. Along letter, which she had recentlyreceived from Maxwell Frayne,recounting the gayeties of New York andWashington, made her homesick. Althoughshe could scarcely think of the two men atthe same moment, still, as she sat in thecrude little hotel, she would havewelcomed a little of young Frayne'scompany for the sake of contrast. She wasyearning for the flesh-pots of her ownEgypt.

From the news of the fight at the ranch,

which had been brought to town by themessenger, she gathered that Wade meantto intrench himself on the ranch and defythe law, which would probably embroilhim in other criminal acts. CrawlingWater, too, was rapidly filling up witharmed cattlemen, who, she thought, woulddo Gordon's cause more harm than good.Toward afternoon, word came of a bloodyskirmish on the Trowbridge range,between a number of his punchers andsome of Moran's hired men, and thatadded to the tension among thosecrowding the main street.

From the parlor windows of the hotel shewatched what was going on outside, notwithout alarm, so high did feeling seem torun. The threats of the ranch men, handed

about amongst themselves but loud enoughfor her to catch a word now and then,made her wonder if the town was reallysafe for her father, or for herself. A stormwas coming up, and the rising windwhipped the flimsy lace curtains of thewindows and kept them fluttering likeflags. The distant muttering of the thunderand an occasional sharp flash of lightningwore on her tired nerves until she couldsit still no longer.

For the sake of something to do, she wentup to her room, intending to write someletters there, but her bed had not beenmade up, so she returned to the parlorwith her fountain pen and writing-pad. ToMaxwell Frayne she wrote a brief note,which was not likely to cheer him much.

She had become so in the habit of takingher moods out on Maxwell that to do so,even with a pen, was second nature to her.She despised him for his tolerance of hertyranny, never realizing that he reserved tohimself the privilege of squaring theiraccount, if she should ever become hiswife.

Then to ease her mind of the strain it bore,she wrote at some length to her mother;not telling the whole truth but enough of itto calm her own nervousness. She saidnothing of the conversation she hadoverheard, but went fully into the scenebetween her father and Gordon Wade.With a little smile hovering on her lips,she wrote dramatically of the Senator'sthreat to crush the ranchman. "That will

please mother," she said to herself, as herpen raced over the paper. "Gordon felt,you see, that"—she turned a page—"fatherknew Santry had not killed Jensen, and...."

The hotel-keeper poked his head in at thedoorway.

"Two ladies to see you, Miss," heannounced. "Mrs. Purnell and daughter."

He gave Helen no chance to avoid thevisit, for with the obviousness of theplains, he had brought the visitors upstairswith him, and so, blotting what she hadwritten and weighing down her letteragainst the breeze, she arose to greet them.

"This is good of you, Mrs. Purnell, and Iam so glad to meet your daughter. I've

been lonely and blue all day and now youhave taken pity on me."

Mrs. Purnell shot an "I told you so" glanceat Dorothy, which made that young ladysmile to herself.

"I was sorry not to have been at homewhen you called, Miss Rexhill."

The two girls looked at each other, eachc a r e ful l y veiling hostility, Dorothybeneath a natural sweetness ofdisposition, and Helen with the savoirfaire of social experience. Each felt andwas stung by a realization of the other'spoints of advantage. Dorothy saw aperfection of well-groomed poise, such asshe could hardly hope to attain, and Helenwas impressed with her rival's grace and

natural beauty.

"Won't you sit down?"

"But aren't we disturbing you?" Mrs.Purnell asked, with a glance toward thewriting materials.

"Indeed, you are not. I was writing someduty letters to kill time. I'm only too gladto stop because I'm really in no writingmood and I am most anxious to hear whatis going on outside. Isn't it dreadful aboutMr. Wade?"

"You mean his helping Santry?" Dorothyasked, with a little touch of pride whichdid not escape her hostess.

"Partly that; but more because he is sure tobe arrested himself. I've been terribly

worried."

Dorothy glanced at her keenly and smiled.

"I have an idea that they may find Gordonhard to arrest," she remarked.

"Yes," Mrs. Purnell put in. "He is sopopular. Still, I agree with you that thereis every cause for anxiety." The good ladydid not have a chance every day to agreewith the daughter of a United StatesSenator, and the opportunity was not to beoverlooked.

"The people feel so strongly that Santryshould never have been arrested that theyare not likely to let Gordon be taken justfor freeing him," Dorothy explained.

Helen shook her head with every

indication of tremulous worry.

"But it isn't that alone," she insisted. "He'sto be arrested for the Jensen shooting.That was why the posse waited at hisranch after Santry had been caught."

"For the Jensen shooting?" Dorothyshowed her amazement very plainly. "Areyou sure?" she demanded, and when Helennodded, exclaimed: "Why, how utterlyabsurd! I understood that you were withhim yourself when he received word ofit?"

"I was," Helen admitted. "He is supposedonly to have planned the crime, I believe.He's supposed to have been the principal,isn't that what they call it?" She appealedto Mrs. Purnell.

"Oh, but do you think he could do such athing?" Mrs. Purnell asked, much shocked.

"I don't know. I hope not."

" I do know!" Dorothy burst outemphatically. "I know Gordon Wade toowell to think for one minute that he did it;and every true friend of his ought to speakout at once and say the same thing."

The challenge in her voice wasunmistakable, and Mrs. Purnell moveduneasily in her chair. She glancedanxiously at Helen and was relieved tosee that the latter had lost none of herpoise.

"I hope so as fully as you do," Helen saidsweetly, "but things move so fast here in

these mountains that I find it hard to keepup with them."

"Of course," Mrs. Purnell soothed, with atroubled look at her daughter.

"Who swore out the warrant, I wonder?"Dorothy asked, in a more tranquil tone, abit ashamed of her outburst. "Was it Mr.Moran?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Helen answered."I supposed it was the Sheriff. Why shouldMr. Moran have anything to do with it?"

"Because he seems to have beenconcerned in all the trouble we have had,"Dorothy replied calmly. "This was apeaceful little community until Mr. Moranmoved into it."

Helen made no direct reply to this, and forawhile Dorothy allowed her mother tosustain the conversation. She had no doubtbut that Moran was back of it all, and shewas thinking of what Lem Trowbridge hadsaid; that if they could only "get somethingon" Moran and the Senator, a solution ofthe whole problem would be at hand. Shethought that she had detected a defensivenote in Helen's voice, and she waswondering why it should have been there.

"But you haven't answered my question yetabout Mr. Moran," Helen presentlychallenged her. "You seemed to havesomething more in mind than what yousaid. Would you mind telling me?"

Dorothy looked steadily but notoffensively at her.

"Oh, it's nothing, Miss Rexhill. I was onlythinking that he has gone rather far: beenvery zealous in your father's interests.Probably...."

"Why, Dorothy—!" her mother interposed,in a shocked tone.

"Miss Rexhill asked me, mother, and youknow that I always speak frankly."

"Yes, do go on," Helen urged, with evenan added touch of sweetness in hermanner. "I really want to know. I am soout of touch with things here, so illinformed."

"Well, you can sit here at the windowsand learn all you wish to know. There isn'ta man in this town that would see Gordon

arrested and not fight to free him. Feelingis running high here now. You know, it'ssomething like a violin string. You canstretch it just so far and then it snaps.That's all."

"Dorothy, I'm really mortified that you...."

"Oh, you've no occasion to be, Mrs.Purnell," Helen interrupted, smiling. "Iasked for the plain truth, you know."

Mrs. Purnell laughed feebly.

"Dorothy has known Mr. Wade so longand we both like him so well that she can'tbear to hear a word against him," sheexplained. Her sense of lèse majesté wasrunning away with her judgment, andDorothy shot an irritated glance at her.

"Not that I think he did it at all, youunderstand; but...."

"Oh, perfectly," declared Helen, withrising color and an equal feeling ofannoyance. "Oh, dear me, do look at mypoor letters!"

A gust of wind, stronger than any that hadcome before, had swept the weight to thefloor and scattered letter paper,envelopes, and blotter about the room.Helen was just able to catch the writing-pad as it slid to the floor, while Dorothyand her mother laughingly salvaged therest. The incident happily relieved theawkward drift of their conversation, andthey all felt relieved.

"Well, now, did you ever?" Mrs. Purnell

ejaculated, looking at the lithographedblotter, which she held in her hand. "Ideclare this picture of a little girl remindsme of Dorothy when she was that age."

"Oh, mother!"

"Really?" Helen broke in. "Howinteresting. I hadn't noticed the picture. Dolet me see."

To be courteous, she agreed with Mrs.Purnell that there was a strong likeness,which Dorothy laughingly denied.

"I guess I know what you looked likewhen you were five better than you do,"Mrs. Purnell declared. "It's the image ofyou as you were then, and as Miss Rexhillsays, there is a facial resemblance even

yet."

"Perhaps you would like to take it withyou, then," Helen suggested, to Mrs.Purnell's delight, who explained that theonly picture she had of Dorothy at that agehad been lost.

"If it wouldn't deprive you?"

"No, indeed. You must take it. I have alarge blotter in my writing-pad, so I reallydon't need that one at all. So many suchthings are sent to father that we alwayshave more than we can use up."

When Dorothy and her mother left thehotel, urged homeward by the first bigdrops of the coming rain, Mrs. Purnelltucked the blotter in the bosom of her

dress, happy to have the suggestion of thepicture to recall the days when herhusband's presence cheered them all. Herworld had been a small one, and littlethings like this helped to make it bright.

Soon afterward the supper bell rang, andduring the meal Helen told the Senator,who seemed somewhat morose andpreoccupied, of the visit she had had.

"Sure tiresome people. Goodness! I wasglad to see them at first because I thoughtthey would help me to pass the afternoon,but instead I was bored to death. Thatlittle minx is crazy about Gordon, though. Icould see that."

"Um!"

"And the worst of it is that she just fitsinto the scenery here, and I don't. Youknow, father, I never could waxenthusiastic over shooing the cows toroost and things like that."

"Um!"

"I feel like a deaf person at a concert, herein this town."

This remark brought a wry laugh from herfather, and Helen smiled.

"Well, I've made you laugh, anyway," shesaid. "You're frightfully grouchy thisevening."

"My dear, I'm busy, very busy, and Ihaven't time to think of trifles. I'll be at itmost of the night."

"Oh, shall you? Goodness, that's cheerful.I wish I had never come to this awful littleplace. I suppose I must go back to myletters for something to do. And, father,"she added, as he lingered with her for amoment in the hallway, "the Purnells seemto think that you and Mr. Moran had betternot go too far. The people here are verymuch wrought up."

He patted her shoulder affectionately.

"You leave all that to me and go write toyour mother."

There was nothing else for her to do, soshe returned to the parlor. When she hadfinished her letters, she idly picked up aweek-old copy of a Denver newspaperwhich lay on the table and glanced through

the headlines. She was yawningly thinkingof bed, when Moran came into the room.

"Oh, are you and father through at last?"

"Yes," he answered, smiling. "That is,we're through upstairs. I'm on my wayover to the office to straighten up a fewloose ends before I turn in. There's no restfor the weary, you know."

"Don't let me keep you, then," she saiddryly, as he lingered. "I'm going to bed."

"You're not keeping me. I'm keepingmyself." He quite understood her motive,but he was not thin-skinned, and he hadlearned that he had to make hisopportunities with her. "Your father toldme you were getting anxious."

"Not anxious, tired."

"Things are getting a little warm here, butbefore there's any real danger we expectto have the soldiers here to take charge."

He rather ostentatiously displayed hisbandaged wrist, hoping to win hersympathy, but she professed none. Instead,she yawned and tapped her lips with herfingers, and her indifference piqued him.

"I was talking with Dorothy Purnell thisafternoon," Helen finally remarked, eyeinghim lazily, "and she seems to be of theopinion that you'll have hard workarresting Gordon Wade. I rather hope thatyou do."

"Well—" He teetered a little on his feet

and stroked his mustache. "We may have,at that. Miss Purnell is popular and shecan make a lot of trouble for us if shewants to. Being very fond of Wade, she'slikely to do all that she can."

"Would she really have so muchinfluence?" Helen asked, carefullyguarding her tongue.

He laughed softly as though amused at thethought.

"Influence? Evidently you don't realizewhat a good looking girl means in afrontier town like this. She's part sister,part mother, sweetheart and a breath fromHeaven to every man in Crawling Water.On that account, with one exception, I'vehad to import every last one of my men.

The exception is Tug Bailey, who'sbeyond hope where women areconcerned. To all the rest, DorothyPurnell is 'Wade's girl,' and they wouldn'tfight against her, or him, for all the moneyin Wyoming."

He was watching her keenly as he spoke,and was gratified to see spots of colorspring to her cheeks.

"How interesting!" Helen could make hertone indifferent to the point of languor, butshe could not keep the gleam of jealousyout of her eyes. "Gordon is a fortunateman to have such an able ally, isn't he?"

"The finish will decide that, I should say,"Moran replied sneeringly. "She may stirup more trouble than all her friends can

take care of."

For all of her social schooling, Helen wasnot proof against the sneer in his words,even though she fully saw through hispurpose to wound her. She felt her temperrising, and with it came curiosity to learnhow far the relationship between Wadeand Dorothy Purnell had really gone. ThatMoran would exaggerate it, she felt sure,for he had his own ends to gain, butpossibly from out of his exaggeration shecould glean some truth. Yet she did notwant to go so far in her anger as to gratifyhis malice, and this placed her insomething of a dilemma.

"I don't believe that she is 'Wade's girl,' asyou call her, at all," she said coldly."They may be good friends, and if so, I'm

glad; but they are nothing more than that.There is no 'understanding' betweenthem."

Moran carelessly waved his hand in thedirection of the rain-swept street,illuminated now and then by the lightning.

"Ask any one in Crawling Water."

"That sounds well, but it's impracticable,even if I wanted to do it. I prefer to drawmy own conclusions."

The agent drew up a chair with his wellhand, and sat down with that easyfamiliarity that came so natural to him.Helen watched him, lazily impertinent.

"I've been wanting to have a talk with you,Helen," he began, "and this looks like a

good chance to me. You've been foolishabout Wade. Yes, I know that you'rethinking that I've got my own ends tofurther, which is true enough. I have. Iadmit it. But what I am going to tell you istrue, also. Fortune's been playing into myhand here lately. Now, if you'll bereasonable, you'll probably be happier.Shall I go on?"

"Wild horses couldn't stop you," sheanswered, amused that he seemedflattered. "But if we were in Washington, Ifancy I'd have you shown out."

"We're not in Washington, my dear girl."He wagged his finger at her, in the wayher father had, to give emphasis to hiswords. "That's where you've made yourmistake with Wade. We're all just plain

men and women out here in the cattlecountry, and I'm talking its language, notthe language of drawing-rooms." He washimself a little surprised at the swiftdilation of her pupils, but his words hadprobed deeper than he knew, remindingher as they did of the truth which she hadso fully realized that afternoon. "Wadeliked you—loved you, maybe, in Chicago,but this ain't the East. He cares nothing foryou here, and he'd never be happy awayfrom here. You know that picture ofyourself that you sent to him?" Shenodded. "Well, we found it on the floor ofhis room, covered with dust. He hadn'teven troubled to pick it up from where itmust have fallen weeks ago."

She looked at him dumbly, unable to keep

her lips from twitching. He knew that shebelieved him, and he was glad; that shehad to believe him, because his story borethe impress of truth. It was not somethingthat he could have made up.

"And while your picture was lying there,Wade and this Purnell girl were makinggoo-goo eyes at each other. Why, it wasshe that rode out to warn him that we wereafter Santry." Helen's lips curled. "I can'tswear to that, but I heard it and I believe itmyself. They must've met on the trailsomewhere in the dark, and you can bet hewas grateful. I don't imagine that theystopped at a hand-shake. I imagine theykissed, don't you?"

"Oh, I'm tired, worn out," Helen declared,forcing a smile so artificial that it could

not deceive him. "Do go, please. I amgoing upstairs to bed."

"Wait one minute." He put out his injuredarm, and, thinking that he reached for herhand, she brushed it aside, accidentallystriking his wound.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you," she said coldly,as he winced.

"Maybe I've hurt you worse," he persisted,with a tenderness that was intolerable toher, "but, if I have, your wound'll heal justas mine will." He gently pushed her backinto her chair as she started to get up.

"Are you making love to me, Race?"Under the ridicule of her tone his facedarkened. "If you are, it's insufferable in

you."

"Go easy, now," he warned her. "I'll notbe made a fool of."

She did not heed his warning. Glad tohave him on the rack, where she had been,she laughed at him.

"Haven't you sense enough to know that,for that very reason, I'd refuse to believeanything you might say against GordonWade? I know how you hate him. Listen tome. Oh, this is absurd!" She laughed againat the picture he made. "You've pursuedme for months with your attentions,although I've done everything butencourage you. Now I want you to knowthat I shall never again even listen to you.What Gordon is to Dorothy Purnell is for

him, and her, and perhaps for me to beinterested in, but not for you. Now I'mgoing to bed. Good night!"

He caught her by the arm as she stood up,but immediately released her, and steppedin front of her instead.

"Hold on," he begged, with a smile thatmeant wonderful mastery of himself. "I'vegot feelings, you know. You needn't walkon them. I love you, and I want you. WhatI want, I usually get. I mean to get you."She looked up at him with heavy-liddedinsolence. "I may fail, but if I do, it'll beone more notch in my account againstWade. I know now where to strike him—to hurt."

"You be reasonable, and you'll be

happier," she retorted. "May I go?"

"Certainly." He stepped out of her way."Good night."

CHAPTER XII

DESPERATE MEASURES

If Moran or Helen, early in theirconversation, had looked out of thewindow of the hotel, during one of thosevivid lightning flashes, they might haveseen a woman stealthily approaching theagent's office across the street. Takingadvantage of the deeper shadows and ofthe darkness between lightning flashes,she stole to the rear of the building, whereshe found an unlatched window, throughwhich she scrambled with the agility of aboy.

Within, the place was pitch dark, but likeone amid familiar surroundings, shecrossed the hall and found the room shesought; the office room now of Moran, butformerly occupied by Simon Barsdale.She bent over the big safe, and wastwirling the combination knob in her slim,cold fingers, when she was startled by anoise in the hallway outside. With a gaspof fright, she stood motionless, listeningacutely, but there was no further sound;reassured, she produced a bit of candle,which she lighted and placed to one sideof the safe, so that the flame was shadedfrom the windows. She was in the act ofmanipulating the combination again when,her whole body rigid with fear, she stooderect once more, holding her breath andstriving for self-control. There was no

doubt about the noise this time. Some onehad entered the adjoining room.

Hastily snuffing out the candle, shecrouched into the darkness of a corner.She never doubted that the newcomer wasRace Moran, or that he would almostimmediately discover her. She tried tosummon enough resolution to bluff thingsthrough when the moment of discoveryshould come.

But, as the seconds slipped by and thelights were not turned on, she began toregain her courage. Perhaps Moran wassitting in the dark of the other room,smoking and thinking, and perhaps shecould complete her task without beingcaught, if she moved swiftly and silently.She bent again over the shining knob, at

the same time watching in the direction ofthe door, which was still closed as shehad left it. It was difficult to work the lockin the dark, and, as she became engrossedwith her purpose, she ceased temporarilyto listen acutely. She had just succeeded ineffecting the combination, when somethingtouched her side.

"Don't move!" a voice hissed behind her."I'll shoot if you do!"

She wanted to cry out, "Please don'tshoot!" but her tongue clove to the roof ofher mouth, which had suddenly gone dry.She had fallen forward against the door ofthe safe, and was curiously conscious howcold it felt. She was on the point offainting, when in a rush of relief it dawnedupon her that she knew the voice; it was

not Moran's.

"Gordon!" she cried joyously, finding theuse of her tongue as quickly as she hadlost it, and scrambling to her feet. "It's me—Dorothy!"

With an exclamation as joyous as her ownand equally surprised, he seized her by theshoulders, peering through the darknessinto her face.

"Dorothy! What the...?" A lightning flashrevealed them clearly to each other. "Itold you not to try this."

"But what are you doing in town?" Sheclutched his arms, overcome by a feargreater than that for her own safety."Gordon, Gordon, you must not stay here.

There's a warrant out for you—no, no, notfor that—for the Jensen shooting. You'llbe arrested on sight."

"What?" He stared at her, amazed, and shenodded. "So that's their game now, eh?They've stooped even to that. By God!"He struck a match.

"Be careful," she warned him instantly."The light—put it out. They'll see it fromthe street. But, oh, Gordon, why did youcome?"

He thrilled at the anxiety in her voice.

"To find out what Moran is hiding here;and you're after the same thing, of course."

"Yes."

Impulsively, he squeezed her fingers, untilshe could have cried out in pain but for thesweetness of it; there are some agonieswhich do not hurt. Her throat swelled withjoy, her breast heaved, and her eyelidsfluttered. She was grateful for thedarkness, which hid these outward signsof love from him. She blushed; she couldfeel the warm tide pulsing in her temples;and she laughed brokenly from sheerhappiness.

"You shouldn't have taken such a risk,Dorothy. I told you not to."

"You're taking that risk, Gordon, andmore."

"That's different. It's so dark a night, Ithought I'd chance it."

"There's not much risk for me," shedeclared. "I can reach home in fiveminutes. Isn't it odd, though, that we bothshould have thought of doing it at exactlythe same time. But come, Gordon, we musthurry!"

Now that the safe was open, to remove itscontents took only a moment, and theytossed all the papers they found into acorner. Then, when Wade had swung thesafe around on its casters, they had a snugshelter behind it, where by shaded candle-light they ran rapidly through their loot.Most of the documents related to landpurchases and development, but at thebottom of the pile Wade came upon abundle of papers and blue-prints, heldtogether by a rubber band, which he

stripped off.

"Oh, if we should find nothing, after all,"Dorothy whispered, bending with himover the blue-prints. "What are they,Gordon?"

"Maps of my own range, Dorothy!" Histone was tense with excitement, as heleaned nearer to the light. "Well, what doyou know about that? By Heaven"—Hefairly glared at the sheet before his eyes.—"It's all there!"

"What's all there? What is it?"

"Gold!" He looked at her in the flickeringlight, like a man gone mad.

"Gold? On your range? Oh, Gordon!"

"Yes; on my range. It's inconceivable,almost; but it seems to be true. See! Lookhere!" Their heads were almost touching,so that her soft hair caressed his face."This is a map of the upper valley, and thedescription says these red crosses indicatethe location of gold. One is near the headof Piah Creek, not half a mile from mybuildings."

"Oh, Gordon, I am so glad!" Dorothyexclaimed. "How wonderful it all is.You'll be rich, won't you?" She was nottoo excited to remember that his wealthwould probably be shared by anotherwoman, but she was too generous to beany the less glad on that account.

"That remains to be seen," he replied. "Itmay not prove to amount to much, you

know. At any rate, Moran won't get any ofit. That's worth a whole lot."

She nodded vehemently.

"I thought it must be something like that,Gordon. They would never have done thethings they have without some powerfulreason."

"Yes, you were right, Dorothy. You'reusually right." He caught her hand andsqueezed it again, and in this moment oftheir triumph together she could not helpreturning the pressure. "You're a jewel, abrick, a trump—all those things and thensome. The sweet...."

"Now, we haven't time for that sort ofthing, Mr. Man. We...."

"Must get away while we can, yes," hefinished for her. "But just the same I...."

Her cold fingers on his lips stopped him.

"Listen!"

She put out the candle and they croucheddown beside the safe. Some one wascoming up the stairs, not stealthily thistime but boldly, as one who had a rightthere, whistling softly. Wade could feelthe girl's shoulder tremble against hisside, as he slipped his revolver out of itsholster.

"Don't, Gordon! You—you mustn't shoot,no matter what happens." Her teeth werechattering, for she was far more frightenednow than she had been for herself alone.

"That's Moran. He mustn't see you here.Remember that warrant. Hide behind thesafe. Please!"

"Never!" he muttered grimly. "He'd find usanyhow."

"Yes, yes. Please!" She was almosthysterical in her excitement. "I can bluffhim till you can get away. He won't hurtme. If he does you can show yourself. Doit for me, for your friends. Please!Remember, he mustn't know that you'velearned his secret."

It was Moran, for they heard him now inconversation with some passer-by in thehallway. Dorothy was grateful for therespite, for it gave them time to throw theloose papers back into the safe and close

it. Wade then pushed the safe to itsoriginal position, the casters making littlenoise as they rolled. Then he crouchedbehind it.

"I don't like this stunt!" he protested; butyielded to her beseeching "Please." Shewas right, too, he knew. It would be farbetter if Moran could be kept in ignoranceof his visit there.

The office now bore little sign of theirinvasion of it, and, drawing a deep breath,Dorothy schooled herself to calmness asshe awaited Moran, who was walkingdown the hall toward the entrance to theroom. A plan had flashed into her mind bymeans of which she might save both Wadeand herself, if he and her heart would onlybe quiet. The unruly heart was beating so

violently that it shook her thin dress, andthat her voice must tremble, she knew.

Moran was almost at the threshold, whenDorothy opened the door for him.

"Good evening, Mr. Moran. Did I startleyou?"

"Well, not exactly," he said, striking amatch, after an instant's pause. "What areyou doing here?"

Passing her, he lighted the large oil lamp,and swept the room with a quick, keenglance. Finding nothing apparently wrong,he turned again to his visitor with apuzzled expression in his face.

"Well?"

"I wanted to see you and I thought you'd behere. The door was unlocked so I justwalked in. I've been here only a minute ortwo." Fortified by another deep breath,drawn while his back was turned, Dorothyfound her voice steadier than sheexpected.

The agent looked at her keenly.

"That's strange," he commented. "I don'tknow what the door was doing unlocked. Ialways lock it when I leave."

"You must have forgotten to do so to-night."

"I surely must have, if you found it open."

Half convinced that she was telling thetruth, Moran could see but one reason for

her evident fright: she was afraid of him.The suggestion of that strengthened theimpulse which her beauty stirred in him. Ifshe thought so, why not?

"Say, you're a good-looking kid, all right,"he leered. "What did you want to see mefor?"

A slight sound from behind the safe, orperhaps she imagined it, caused Dorothy'sheart to flutter wildly. She had notanticipated this attitude in Moran, and sheinstantly realized that it brought a freshdanger into the situation. She knew thatWade would not remain in concealment ifthe agent insulted her. She must avoid thechance of that, if possible; must get himout of the office so that Gordon mightescape.

"This is no place to talk that way," shesaid bravely. "It isn't a good place for meto be anyway. If people knew I was here,there would be a terrible scandal. I'vesomething important to tell you. Won't youcome for a walk?"

"In this rain? Not much," he chuckled."Come here!" She shook her head andtried to smile. "Well, if you won't, I'llhave to go to you." She shrank back fromhim, as he approached her, with an evilsmile. "Say, little one," he went on, "thisis a damned funny game of yours, cominghere at night. What's the idea, eh?"

"There isn't any, really." She snatched herhands away from him. "I've already triedto explain that I have important news foryou; but I won't tell you what it is here."

"Why not? We're dry and cozy here. Goahead."

"No."

"Oh, come on!" He had driven her to thewall, and now he slipped an arm about herwaist and pulled her toward him. "Say,kiss me once, won't you?"

"Hands up, you low-lived hound!"

With an oath, Moran whirled around tofind himself staring into the muzzle ofWade's revolver. The ranchman movedhis weapon significantly.

"Up!"

As the agent's hands went above his head,Dorothy leaned against the wall for

support. She had not made a sound, butshe was the color of chalk, and her heartseemed to be trying to jump out of hermouth. She was no whiter than Wade,whose fury had driven every vestige ofcolor from his face and fired his eyes witha murderous light.

"Shall I kill him?" he asked Dorothy, andat the frightful tone of his voice she foundthe power to shake her head, although hermouth was too dry for speech.

"Take his gun," said Wade sharply and thegirl stepped forward.

She reeled toward Moran, who, to do himjustice, showed little fear, and pulled hisrevolver from his hip pocket. She held itout to Wade, who broke it with his free

hand by pressing the butt against the top ofthe safe, and spilled the cartridges on thefloor.

"Now you can leave us, Dorothy," he saidquietly.

"No. I'll stay, Gordon," she answered.

"Moran," Wade continued evenly, withoutpaying any more attention to her, "the onlyreason why I shall not kill you is becauseMiss Purnell does not want yourworthless life upon her conscience. A manlike you ought to die. You're not fit tolive."

"Can I put my hands down?"

"No; keep 'em where they are!" Wadegestured again with the gun. "I wish I had

a string on each of your thumbs so I couldhoist them higher. I've just been throughthis safe of yours." The agent started. "I'vegot those maps of my range in my pocket."

"Much good they'll do you."

"They'll do me more good alive than theywill you dead, and you're going to die. Sohelp me God, you are! We'll cometogether again some day."

"I hope so," Moran declared venomously,and even Dorothy was struck by thecourage he showed.

"And then there won't be anybody to beheld responsible but me." Wade grinned ina slow, horrible fashion. "It'll rest light onme, I promise you. And another thing. I'm

going to leave you trussed up here in thisoffice, like I left your friend the Sheriff afew days ago, and along about morningsomebody'll find you and turn you loose.When you get loose, you want to forgetthat you saw Miss Purnell here to-night.I've meant to have her and her motherleave town for a bit until this mess blowsover, but things aren't fixed right for thatjust now. Instead, I'm going to leave her inthe personal care—the personal care, youunderstand me, of every decent man inCrawling Water. If anything happens toher, you'll toast over a slow fire beforeyou die. Do you get that?"

"She's a good kid," said Moran, with agrin. Nor did he flinch when the weaponin Wade's hand seemed actually to stiffen

under the tension of his grasp.

"I guess it's a good thing you stayed,Dorothy," the latter remarked grimly."This fellow must be tied up. I wonderwhat we can find to do it with?"

"My cloak?" Dorothy suggested. "It's anold one."

He shook his head.

"It's hard to tear that rain-proof stuff, andbesides you'd get wet going home. There'sno sense in that. Isn't there somethingelse?"

She blushed a little and turned away for amoment, during which she slipped off herunderskirt. Then, as Moran watched hercynically, she tore it into strips. When she

had thus made several stout bands, Wadespoke again.

"You take the first throw or two abouthim," he directed, "and when you havehim partly tied you can take my gun andI'll finish the job. Start with his feet, that'sright. Now draw it as tight as you can. Putyour arms down back of you! Tie themnow, Dorothy. That's fine! Here, you takethe gun. You know how to use it, if hestruggles."

Wade tightened up the linen bands, andkicked forward a straight-backed chair,into which he forced Moran and lashedhim fast there, to all of which the agentmade no great protest, knowing that to doso would be useless. He grunted andswore a bit under his breath, but that was

all. When he was well trussed up, theranchman made a gag out of what was leftof the linen and his own handkerchief andstrapped it into his prisoner's mouth withhis belt.

When the job was done, and it was a goodone, he grinned again in that slow, terribleway. A grin that bore no semblance tohuman mirth, but was a grimace ofcombined anger and hatred. Once before,during the fight at the ranch, Bill Santryhad seen this expression on his employer'sface, but not to the degree that Dorothynow saw it. It frightened her.

"Oh, Gordon, don't, please!" She closedher eyes to shut out the sight. "Come, wemust hurry away."

"Good night," Wade said ironically, witha last look at Moran.

He let Dorothy draw him away then, andby the time they reached the street he washis old boyish self again. Aping Moran, heslipped his arm around her waist, but shedid not shrink from his embrace,unexpected though it was.

"Say, kid," he laughed mockingly. "Kissme once, won't you?"

CHAPTER XIII

INTO THE DEPTHS

"Good Lord, Race! What's happened?"

Senator Rexhill, on the next morning,surprised that Moran did not show up atthe hotel, had gone in search of him, andwas dumbfounded when he entered theoffice.

Moran, in his desperate efforts to freehimself, had upset the chair into which hewas tied, and being unable to right itagain, had passed most of the night in aposition of extreme discomfort. Toward

morning, his confinement had becomepositive agony, and he had inwardly ravedat Wade, the gag in his mouth makingaudible expression impossible, until hewas black in the face.

"My God, Race!" the Senator exclaimed,when, having cut the lashings andwithdrawn the gag, he saw his agent in astate bordering on collapse, "what hashappened to you?" He helped the man tohis feet and held him up.

"My throat—dry—whiskey!" Morangasped, and groaned as he clutched at thedesk, from which he slid into a chair,where he sat rubbing his legs, whichached with a thousand pains.

Rexhill found a bottle of whiskey and a

glass on a shelf in the closet. He pouredout a generous drink of the liquor andhanded it to Moran, but the agent could nothold it in his swollen fingers. The Senatorpicked up the glass, which had not brokenin its fall and, refilling it, held it toMoran's lips. It was a stiff drink, and bythe time it was repeated, the agent wasrevived somewhat.

"Now, tell me," urged Rexhill.

Prepared though he was for an outburst offury, he was amazed at the torrent ofblasphemous oaths which Moran uttered.He caught Wade's name, but the rest wasmere incoherence, so wildly mouthed andso foul that he began to wonder if torturehad unbalanced the man's mind. Theexpression of Moran's eyes, which had

become mere slits in his inflamed andpuffy face, showed that for the time hewas quite beyond himself. What with hisblued skin and distended veins, his puffedlips and slurred speech, he seemed on thebrink of an apoplectic seizure. Rexhillwatched him anxiously.

"Come, come, man. Brace up," he burstout, at length. "You'll kill yourself, if yougo on that way. Be a man."

The words seemed to have their effect, forthe agent made a supreme effort at theself-control which was seldom lacking inhim. He appeared to seize the reins ofself-government and to force himself intoa state of unnatural quiet, as one tames afrantic horse.

"The safe!" he muttered hoarsely,scrambling to his feet.

His stiffened legs still refused to function,however, and Rexhill, hastening to thesafe, threw open the door. One glance atthe disordered interior told him the wholestory. Moran watched feverishly as hedragged the crumpled papers out on thefloor and pawed through them.

"Gone?"

"Gone!"

They looked at each other, a thin tide ofcrimson brightening the congestion ofMoran's visage, while Rexhill's face wentghastly white. With shaking fingers, theagent poured himself a third drink and

tossed it down his throat.

"It was Wade who tied you up?"

Moran nodded.

"Him and that—girl—the Purnell girl."Stirred more by the other's expression ofcontempt than by the full half pint ofwhiskey he had imbibed, he crashed hisfist down on the desk. "Mind what you saynow, because, by God, I'm in no mood totake anything from you. He got the drop onme, you understand. Let it go at that."

"It's gone right enough—all gone." Rexhillgroaned. "Why, he only needs to publishthose plots to make this a personal fightbetween us and every property owner inthe valley. They'll tar and feather us, if

they don't kill us outright. It'll be gold withthem—gold. Nothing else will count fromnow on."

"I'll get back at him yet!" growled Moran.

"You'll...." The Senator threateninglyraised his gorilla-like arms, but let themdrop helplessly again. "How did they getinto the safe? Did you leave it open?"

"Do you think I'm a fool?" Moran fixed hisbaleful eyes upon his employer, as heleaned heavily, but significantly, acrossthe flat desk. "Say, let's look ahead to to-morrow, not back to last night. Do youhear? I'll do the remembering of last night;you forget it!"

Rexhill tried to subdue him with his own

masterful gaze, but somehow the powerwas lacking. Moran was in a dangerousframe of mind, and past the dominance ofhis employer. He had but one thought, thatof vengeance upon the man who hadmisused him, to which everything else hadfor the time being to play second.

"You talk like I let them truss me up forfun," he went on. "I did it because I had to,because I was looking into the muzzle of asix-shooter in the hands of a desperateman; that was why. Do you get me? And Idon't need to be reminded of it. No, byHeaven! My throat's as dry yet as a fish-bone, and every muscle in me aches likehell! I'll remember it all right, and he'llpay. Don't you have any worries aboutthat."

Rexhill was sufficiently a captain of mento have had experience of such moods inthe past, and he knew the futility ofarguing. He carefully chose a cigar fromhis case, seated himself, and began tosmoke.

Moran, apparently soothed by thisconcession to his temper, and a bitashamed of himself, watched him for somemoments in silence. When at last he spoke,his tone was more conciliatory.

"Have you heard from Washington?" heasked.

"I got a telegram this morning, saying thatthe matter is under advisement."

"Under advisement!" Moran snorted, in

disgust. "That means that they'll get thecavalry here in time to fire a volley overour graves—ashes to ashes and dust todust. What are you going to do about it?"

Rexhill blew a huge mouthful of fragrantsmoke into the air.

"Frankly, Race, I don't think you're in aproper mood to talk."

"You're right." Something in Moran'svoice suggested the explosion of a fire-arm, and the Senator looked at himcuriously. "I'm through talking. We've bothof us talked too damn much, and that's afact."

"I'll be obliged to you," the Senatorremarked, "if you'll remember that you

draw a salary from me and that you oweme a certain amount of respect."

Moran laughed raucously.

"Respect! I don't owe you a damn thing,Senator; and what you owe me you won'tbe able to pay if you sit here much longerwaiting for something to turn up. You'll beruined, that's what you'll be—ruined!" Hebrought his big hand down on the tablewith a thump.

"By your own carelessness. Now, lookhere, Race, I've made allowances for you,because...."

"You don't need to soft soap me, Senator;save that for your office seekers." Theagent was fast working himself into

another passion. "I've not ruined you, andyou know it. A safe's a safe, isn't it?Instead of ruining you, I'm trying to saveyou. If you go broke, you'll do it yourselfwith your pap and sentiment. But if I am topull your chestnuts out of the fire for you,you've got to give me a free hand. I've gotto fight fire with fire."

Rexhill wiped his glasses nervously, fordespite his assumption of calm, his wholefuture swung upon the outcome of hisCrawling Water venture. If he appearedcalm, it was not because he felt so, butbecause the schooling of a lifetime hadtaught him that the man who keeps coolusually wins.

"There's nothing to do but go on as we areheaded now," he declared. "Wade's

discovery of our purpose is mostunfortunate"—his voice shook a trifle—"but it can't be helped. In the legalsense, he has added to the list of hiscrimes, and we have more against himthan we ever had. He now has threecharges to face—murder, assault, androbbery. It rests with us whether he shallbe punished by the courts for any of thethree."

The Senator spoke emphatically in theeffort to convince himself that hisstatements were practically true, but heavoided Moran's eyes as he did so. Hisshow of optimism had little substancebehind it, because now that his motiveswere likely to be bared to the public, hewas too good a lawyer not to realize how

little standing he would have before ajury, in that section at least; of course,Wade must realize this equally well andfeel fortified in his own position. Rexhill'schief hope had been that the support of thecavalry from Fort Mackenzie wouldenable him to control the situation; buthere, too, he was threatened by theunexpected hesitation of the authorities atWashington.

Moran, however, was franklycontemptuous of the prospect of help fromthat source. He had never believed greatlyin it, although at the time it was firstmentioned his enthusiasm for any plan ofaction had inspired him with somemeasure of the Senator's confidence. Nowthat his lust of revenge made him

intolerant of all opposition, he wasthoroughly exasperated by the telegramreceived from Washington, and had nofaith in aid from such a quarter.

"What if your cavalry doesn't come?" hedemanded.

"Then we must rely upon the Sheriff hereto maintain the law that he is sworn tosupport."

"Bah! He's weakening now. He's notforgetting that he's to spend the rest of hisdays in this town, after we've gone backEast, or perhaps to hell. Who's to lookafter him, then, if he's got himself in badwith the folks here? Senator"—Moranclumped painfully over to the safe andleaned upon it as he faced his employer

—"it isn't cavalry that'll save you, or thatold turkey buzzard of a sheriff either. I'mthe man to do it, if anybody is, and theonly way out is to lay for this man Wadeand kidnap him." Rexhill started violently."Kidnap him, and take him into themountains, and keep him there with a gunat his head, until he signs a quit-claim. I'velocated the very spot to hide him in—Coyote Springs. It's practicallyinaccessible, a natural hiding-place."

Rexhill turned a shade or two paler as henervously brushed some cigar ashes fromhis vest and sleeve. He had already gonefarther along the road of crime than he feltto be safe, but the way back seemed evenmore dangerous than the road ahead. Thequestion was no longer one of ethics, but

purely of expediency.

"We haven't time to wait on cavalry andcourts," Moran went on. "I'm willing totake the risk, if you are. If we don't take it,you know what the result will be. We maymake our get-away to the East, or we maystop here for good—under ground. Youhave little choice either way. If you get outof this country, you'll be down and out.Your name'll be a byword and you'll beflat broke, a joke and an object ofcontempt the nation over. And it's not onlyyourself you've got to think of; you've gotto consider your wife and daughter, andhow they'll stand poverty and disgrace.Against all that you've got a chance, afighting chance. Are you game enough totake it?"

All that Moran said was true enough, forRexhill knew that if he failed to securecontrol of Crawling Water Valley, hisback would be broken, both politicallyand financially. He would not only bestripped of his wealth, but of his creditand the power which stood him in lieu ofprivate honor. He would be disgracedbeyond redemption in the eyes of hisassociates, and in the bosom of his familyhe would find no solace for public sneers.Failure meant the loss forever of hisdaughter's respect, which might yet besaved to him through the glamour ofsuccess and the reflection of that tolerancewhich the world is always ready to extendtoward the successful.

"You are right," he admitted, "in saying

that I have my wife and daughter toconsider, and that reminds me. I haven'ttold you that Helen overheard ourconversation about Wade, in my room, theother day." He rapidly explained herindignation and threat of exposure. "I don'tmean to say that your suggestion hasn'tsomething to recommend it," he summedup, "but if Wade were to disappear, andshe felt that he had been injured, Iprobably could not restrain her."

The agent leaned across the desk,leeringly.

"Tell her the truth, that I found Wade herein this room with Dorothy Purnell, atnight; that they came here for anassignation, because it was the one placein Crawling Water...."

Rexhill got to his feet with an exclamationof disgust.

"Well, say, then, that they came here torifle the place, but that when I caught themthey were spooning. Say anything you like,but make her believe that it was a lovers'meeting. See if she'll care then to savehim."

The Senator dropped heavily back into hischair without voicing the protest that hadbeen upon his tongue's end. He was quickto see that, contemptible though thesuggestion was, it yet offered him a meanswhereby to save himself his daughter'srespect and affection. The whole danger inthat regard lay in her devotion to Wade,which was responsible for her interest inhim. If she could be brought to feel that

Wade was unworthy, that he had indeedwronged her, her own pride could betrusted to do the rest.

"If I thought that Wade were the man tomake her happy," Rexhill puffed heavily,in restraint of his excitement.

"Happy? Him?" Moran's eyes gleamed.

"Or if there was a shred of truth—but tomake up such a story out of wholecloth...."

"What's the matter with you, Senator?Why, I thought you were a master of men,a general on the field of battle!" The agentleaned forward again until his hot,whiskey-laden breath fanned the otherman's face.

"I'm a father, Race, before I'm anythingelse in God's world."

"But it's true, Senator. True as I'mspeaking. Ask any one in Crawling Water.Everybody knows that Wade and thisPurnell girl are mad in love with eachother."

"Is that true, Race?"

Rexhill looked searchingly into theinflamed slits which marked the locationof the agent's eyes.

"As God is my witness. It's the truth now,whatever he may have thought of Helenbefore. He's been making a fool of her,Senator. I've tried to make her see it, butshe won't. You'll not only be protecting

yourself, but you'll do her a service." Hepaused as Rexhill consulted his watch.

"Helen will be over here in a few minutes.I promised to take a walk with her thismorning."

"Are you game?"

"I'll do it, Race." Rexhill spoke solemnly."We might as well fry for one thing asanother." Grimacing, he shook the handwhich the other offered him. "When willyou start?"

"Now," Moran answered promptly. "I'lltake three or four men with me, and we'llhang around Wade's ranch until we gethim. He'll probably be nosing around therange trying to locate the gold, and we

shouldn't have much trouble. When we'vegot him safe...." His teeth ground audiblyupon each other as he paused abruptly,and the sound seemed to cause the Senatoruneasiness.

"By the way, since I've turned near-assassin, you might as well tell me whoshot Jensen." Rexhill spoke with a curiouseffort. "If Wade gets you, instead of yougetting Wade, it may be necessary for meto know all the facts."

Moran answered from the window,whither he had stepped to get his hat,which lay on the broad sill.

"It was Tug Bailey, Senator. Here comesHelen now. You needn't tell her that I wastied up all night." He laid Wade's quirt on

the desk. "He left that behind him."

Rexhill grunted.

"Yes, I will tell her," he declared sulkily,"and about the Jensen affair, if I've got tobe a rascal, you'll be the goat. Give Baileysome money and get him out of townbefore he tanks up and tells all he knows."

Helen came in, looking very sweet andfresh in a linen suit, and was at firstinclined to be sympathetic when she heardof Moran's plight, without knowing thesource of it. Before she did know, theodor of liquor on his breath repelled her.He finally departed, not at the bidding ofher cool nod, but urged by his lust ofrevenge, which, even more than thewhiskey, had fired his blood.

"Intoxicated, isn't he? How utterlydisgusting!"

Her father looked at her admiringly,keenly regretting that he must dispel herlove dream. But he took some comfortfrom the fact that Wade was apparently inlove with another woman. The thought ofthis had been enough to make him seizeupon the chance of keeping all heraffection for himself.

"He's had a drink or two," he admitted,"but he needed them. He had a hard night.Poor fellow, he was nearly dead when Iarrived. Wade handled him very roughly."

Helen looked up in amazement.

"Did Gordon do it? What was he doing

here?" The Senator hesitated, and whileshe waited for his answer she was struckby a sense of humor in what hadhappened. She laughed softly. "Good forhim!"

"We think that he came here to—to seewhat he could find, partly," Rexhillexplained. "That probably was not hisonly reason. He wasn't alone."

"Oh!" Her tone expressed disappointmentthat his triumph had not been a single-handed one. "Did they tie him with these?"she asked, picking up one of the crumpledstrips of linen, which lay on the floor.Suddenly her face showed surprise. "Why—this is part of a woman's skirt?"

Her father glanced at the strip of linen

over his glasses.

"Yes," he nodded. "I believe it is."

"Somebody was here with Race?" Hervoice was a blend of attemptedconfidence and distressing doubt.

"My dear, I have painful news for you...."

"With Gordon?" The question was almosta sob. "Who, father? Dorothy Purnell?"

Helen dropped into a chair, and going toher, the Senator placed his hands on hershoulders. She looked shrunken, yearsolder, with the bloom of youth blighted asfrost strikes a flower, but even in the firstand worst moments of her grief there wasdignity in it. In a measure Race Moran hadprepared her for the blow; he, and what

she herself had seen of the partisanshipbetween Dorothy and Gordon.

"You must be brave, my dear," her fathersoothed, "because it is necessary that youshould know. Race came upon them herelast night, in each other's embrace, Ibelieve, and with the girl's help, Wade gotthe upper hand."

"Are you sure it was Gordon?" Her coldfingers held to his warm ones as in herchildhood days, when she had run to himfor protection.

"His quirt is there on the desk."

"But why should they have come here,father—here of all places? Doesn't thatseem very improbable to you? That is

what I can't understand. Why didn't he goto her house?"

"For fear of arrest, I suppose. Theirreason for coming here, you have halfexpressed, Helen, because it offered themthe safest refuge, at that time of night, inCrawling Water. The office has not beenused at night since we rented it, andbesides Moran has been doubly busy withme at the hotel. But I don't say that wastheir sole reason for coming here. Thesafe had been opened, and doubtless theirchief motive was robbery."

She sprang to her feet and stood facinghim with flaming cheeks, grieved still butaroused to passionate indignation.

"Father, do you stand there and tell me that

Gordon Wade has not only been untrue tome, but that he came here at night to stealfrom you; broke in here like a commonthief?" Her breast heaved violently, and inher eyes shone a veritable fury of scorn.

The Senator met her outburst gravely asbecame a man in his position. He spokewith judicial gravity, which could leaveno doubt of his own convictions, whileconveying a sense of dignified restraint,tempered with regret.

"He not only did so, my dear, but hesucceeded in escaping with documents ofthe greatest value to us, which, ifprematurely published, may work usincalculable harm and subject our motivesto the most grievous misconception."

She lifted her head with so fine a gestureof pride that the Senator was thrilled byhis own paternity. Before him, in hischild, he seemed to see the best ofhimself, purified and exalted.

"Then, if that is true, you may do with himwhat you will. I am through."

He knew her too well to doubt that herrenunciation of Wade had been torn fromthe very roots of her nature, but for allthat, when she had spoken, she was notabove her moment of deep grief.

"My little girl, I know—I know!" Puttinghis arms around her, he held her while shewept on his shoulder. "But isn't it better tofind out these things now, in time, beforethey have had a chance to really wreck

your happiness?"

"Yes, of course." She dried her eyes andmanaged to smile a little. "I—I'll write toMaxwell to-day and tell him that I'll marryhim. That will please mother."

It pleased the Senator, too, for it meantthat no matter what happened to him, thewomen of his family would be providedfor. He knew that young Frayne was toomuch in love to be turned from hispurpose by any misfortune that mightoccur to Helen's father.

CHAPTER XIV

A DASTARD'S BLOW

At about the time when Rexhill wasfreeing Moran from his bonds, Wade andSantry, with rifles slung across their backswere tramping the banks of Piah Creek. Inthe rocky canyon, which they finallyreached, the placid little stream narrowedinto a roaring torrent, which rushedbetween the steep banks and the huge,water-worn bowlders, with furyuncontrolled.

Neither of the cattlemen greatly feared thecoming of a second posse, at least

immediately, but for the sake of prudence,they went armed and kept a careful watch.Wade mounted guard while Santry, who inhis younger days had prospected inCalifornia, squatted over a sandy, rock-rimmed pool and deftly "washed out" apan of gravel. One glance at the fine,yellow residue in the bottom of the pandecided him. With a triumphant yell thatechoed and reechoed through the gorge, hesprang to his feet.

"Whoop-e-e-e! I've struck it!" he shoutedexcitedly, as Wade ran up to him. "Lookthere!" The old man held out a smallhandful of the yellow dust.

Wade drew a long breath.

"Gold! It's true, then!"

"You betcher, and it's the richest pay-dirt Iever met up with. No wonder Moran hasbeen willin' to do murder to get a-holt ofthis land. You're a rich man, boy; amillionaire, I reckon."

"You mean that we are rich, Bill." Theyounger man spoke slowly andemphatically. "Whatever comes out ofhere"—he waved his hand toward thecreek—"is one-half yours. I decided onthat long ago. Never mind asking mewhy." He clapped Santry on the back. "It'sbecause we're partners in fact, if not inname. Because you've stuck with methrough all the lean years. That's reasonenough."

The old plainsman carefully emptied thedust back into the pan before he said

anything.

"Have you gone clean crazy?" he finallydemanded. "Givin' away a fortune like itwas the makin's of a cigareet? If you have,I ain't. This stuff's yourn. I'm not sayin' thatI won't take a ounce or two, maybe, of thishere dust, for old times' sake, if you offerit to me, but that's all." His wrinkled facetwisted into a grin. "You'll be needin' itall one o' these days to pay for yourhoneymoonin', if I read the signs right.Ain't that so, son?" He laughed softly asWade flushed. "Shake, boy! Put 'er there! Iwish you all the luck that's comin' to anywhite man, by the great horned toad, I do!"

During the whole of the morning theyexamined the creek bed and they foundsigns of the yellow metal almost

everywhere. At one point, Wade broke aknob of rock from the face of the cliff, theunder surface of which was seamed andstreaked with golden veins. Santry couldscarcely restrain himself; usually taciturn,he was for once as light-hearted andjoyous as a boy. But on the way back tothe ranch-house he became serious.

"Say, ain't the bulk of that lode on thatforty-acre tract that you took up as atimber claim?" he asked.

"Yes," Wade answered. "That is, I thinkso. We can run over the lines thisafternoon and make sure."

"I reckon we'd better make sure, and if itis, you'll have to lay low until you get yourdeed. Your homestead rights might be

hard to claim now that there's mineral inthe ground. Moran'll most likely keep hismouth shut for reasons of his own, and hemay not know about your not havin'proved up yet, but some other jasper mightget wise."

"I don't think any one around here wouldcontest my right to the land, Bill," Wadereplied thoughtfully. "Still, as you say,we'd better be careful. The gold willkeep. We haven't heard the last of Moranand his crowd yet, not by a jugful." Hechuckled grimly. "I wonder if anybody'scut him loose yet."

"I reckon they have, boy. He'll keepmonkeyin' around this territory until hemeets up with some feller like me, with abad temper and a quick gun hand, who'll

make him good the same way we usetermake good Injuns. Hullo, steady!"

Although they were now in sight of thehouse and the men hanging about it for thenoon-day meal, Santry had not relaxed hiscaution and his eyes had picked out twomoving dots in the distance, whichpresently developed into galloping horses.He smiled instantly.

"Can't be nobody lookin' for trouble," heobserved, and presently his eyes twinkled."Take a good look, boy. I reckon youknow one of 'em, anyhow."

The horses came on rapidly, until upon theforemost of them Wade could see thefluttering skirt of a woman, while the otherhe recognized as belonging to Lem

Trowbridge even before he could clearlymake out the rider.

"Tell the cook we'll have company todinner," Wade called to Santry as heuntied a horse from the hitching rack nearthe barn and rode off to meet thenewcomers.

With fine prescience, Trowbridge, whenhe saw him ride toward them, drew hishorse down to a walk, and so wasdiscreetly in the rear when Dorothy andWade met.

"Mighty glad to see you," he greeted her,"but that goes without saying."

"Thanks," she responded, hoping that hewould attribute the heightened color of her

cheeks to the exertion of the ride. "Wethought we'd ride out to see how you weregetting along."

Despite her blush, that had come at therecollection of his kiss the night before,she still looked him straight in the eyes,but with a sweet humility, an attitude ofsurrender, which he understood and whichtouched him. There was nothing boldabout her look, but an engagingwomanliness, which would have appealedto any decent man, even while it stirredhis pulse. She wore a wide felt hat, frombeneath the brim of which her hair floated,shaken out of its moorings by the jolting ofher gallop. A flannel blouse, which wasmost becoming, and a divided skirtcompleted a sensible costume, which

seemed to Wade more attractive than anyhe had ever seen in the East. She rodewith the straight stirrups of the cattlecountry, and sat her mount with the graceof a born horsewoman.

"What's happened to Moran?" he asked,waving his hat to Trowbridge, as the latterrode toward them.

"He's out and around again. I saw him thismorning. He was an awful sight. You mustkeep your eyes open, Gordon, really youmust. He'll be more dangerous than evernow."

"Oh, I guess we've clipped his claws for awhile," he said lightly, unwilling that sheshould be anxious for his safety, sweetthough he found her sympathy to be.

"Hello, Lem!"

"Hello, yourself!" They shook hands, thefirm handclasp of strong men, and then allthree rode on together to the house.

After dinner, the plainness of which meantnothing to such appetites as their out-doorliving had aroused, they sat on the porch,the men over their cigarettes and Dorothyquite content in the contemplation of thesweetness which her heart had found.

"How are things going on your place,Lem?" asked Wade.

"Badly, Gordon. That's one reason I rodeover to see you. Have you heard about thefight on my range? You haven't?"

"I didn't have time last night to tell him,"

Dorothy interposed.

"A number of my boys got into a shootingaffray with some herders," Trowbridgeexplained. "Two of the boys were hurt andone of the herders, I understand, wasbadly shot."

"Too bad," Wade commented. "Confoundit, Lem, what are these fellows thinkingof? They must know that our patiencewon't last always, and when it breakswe're ten to their one."

"Well,"—Trowbridge deftly flecked hiscigarette stub over the porch railing,—"I'm through now, Gordon. I've givenmy men orders to stand for no morenonsense. I've told them to shoot at thedrop of the hat, and I'll stand behind 'em,

law or no law. The next time there'strouble, and it's likely to come any hour,I'm going to lead my outfit into a fightthat'll be some fight, believe me. And I'mnot going to quit until every sheep man inthe county is headed East on the run."

"We'll be with you," Wade said heartily."Tip us the word and we'll be right afteryou."

Trowbridge nodded.

"I'll take you up on that, Gordon. Not thatwe need help, you understand, but becauseit'll be best for us to present a united frontin this business. United, we stand;divided, we fall; that's the word, eh?"

Dorothy leaned forward, with an anxious

look.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I hope neither oneof you will get shot."

Trowbridge made her a bow from hischair.

"We'll try not to," he said mockingly, andshe was obliged to join in the generallaugh.

"If you feel that you ought to do it, ofcourse you will—fight, I mean," she said,helplessly. "But I think it's dreadful, allthe same."

"What has Thomas done about me?" Wadeasked. "I understand that he's holding quitea bunch of warrants up his sleeve?"

"I don't think he's done anything, and Idon't believe he's anxious to," Trowbridgeanswered. "He's shown some courage, thatfellow, in the past, but I always thought hehad a yellow streak in him somewhere. Idon't think you need fear him much."

"Well, I'm glad to know that, not that I'vebeen very uneasy, but we've had to keep apretty close look-out here, and it'sdoubled us up uncomfortably. I want to goout to my timber claim this afternoon, andbut for what you've said, I know Billwould insist on going along. Now I canleave him here to attend to his work."

Dorothy was opposed to the idea and shesaid so, but her opinion was overriddenby the two men. Trowbridge declared thatthere was absolutely nothing to fear from

Sheriff Thomas, at least immediately.

"I'm positive of that," he summed up. "Ifthere was any new move on foot, I'd haveheard of it."

"That may be," Dorothy argued, "but youknow Senator Rexhill is behind him tourge him on."

"That's another man we ought to run out ofthis neighborhood," Trowbridge declared."The only trouble is that the old fox haslaid so low that we haven't anythingdefinite on him. We can suspect all welike; but when it comes right down tofacts, he has us guessing. We can't prove athing against him, and he's too big game toflush without powder. Well, we'd betterbe off."

"Stay a while," Wade urged. "It's earlyyet. I didn't mean to hurry you when Ispoke of going out to the claim. I've gotplenty of time."

"I haven't told him about the gold,"Dorothy whispered, as he helped her intoher saddle. "I thought you might want tokeep it quiet for the present."

"Sure, we'll tell him," he said, pressingher hand. "We're all on the same side inthis business."

He explained his good fortune toTrowbridge, who was delighted andenthusiastic over the prospect of the veinimpinging upon his own range.

"Well, that is some luck, eh?" Trowbridge

skillfully managed his horse, which washigh-spirited enough to still be sportive inspite of the long ride of the morning."Every cloud's got a silver lining, as thepoet says. And another thing, it showsRexhill's real motive, don't forget that. Oh,we'll get 'em by and by. Sure thing, wewill. Well, so long."

"So long, Lem! Call on us when you wantus."

"Good-by!" Dorothy waved to him as thehorses sped away in the direction ofCrawling Water.

Wade watched them out of sight, and thenentered the house to tell Santry that hewould not be needed on the afternoon tripto the timber claim. The old man growled

a little at the idea of Wade going alone,but he finally gave in.

"I'll take my gun and keep my eye peeled,"his employer promised. "If I can't stand offtrouble until I get home, or you can get tome, I'll lose my bet. You've got your workto do, Bill. If you're going to nurse me allthe time, I'll have to get another foreman torun the crew."

He rode away, then, toward the foothills,confident of his ability to look afterhimself in case of trouble. There wasnothing in the peaceful aspect of the rangeto suggest an enemy, but he kept his rifleready and his ears and eyes open. Once hepaused abruptly when a rabbit jumped outof a clump of quaking-aspens, a hundredyards ahead, only to chuckle at his own

overcaution.

The sun, which was still high, was shiningas only a Wyoming sun can shine, from outof a blue-vaulted canopy, flecked withfleecy clouds. Swinging from the tops ofthe sagebrush, or an occasionalcottonwood, yellow-breastedmeadowlarks were singing sweetly. Atintervals a flock of curlews circled abovethe rider, uttering their sharp, plaintivecries; then they would drop to the groundand run rapidly to and fro on their frail,stilt-like legs, their long ungainly billsdarting from side to side in search of food.

Over the plains, from which Wade nowturned, hundreds of red and white cattle,their hides as sleek as velvet, weregrazing, singly and in scattered groups, as

far as the eye could see. Toward itsmouth, the valley was spotted with manyfenced alfalfa fields, and traversed byirrigation ditches; while to the right, in thedirection in which Wade now rode, rosethe timber belt. A fresh, soft breeze,fragrant with the odor of clean, dampearth, rustled the leaves of thecottonwoods, some of which were ofenormous size, as the horseman pushed hisway farther into the shadow of themountains.

After a careful scrutiny, which satisfiedhim that the vicinity harbored no enemies,he dismounted, but still actuated bycaution, kept the bridle reins looped overhis wrist, as he searched for furtherevidence of gold. Unlike Santry, the

ranchman was not trained in the ways ofprospecting, and he began to regret that hehad not allowed the foreman toaccompany him. He followed what hethought were promising signs deeper intothe silence of the tall timber, and finallydropped on his knees to make sure ofsome outcroppings of quartz near the baseof a huge bowlder. He was so crouchedwhen a sudden movement of his horsewarned him of danger; but he had not timeto arise before a crushing blow on thehead, delivered from behind, shook him tothe very marrow of his spine. With a lowgroan, he toppled over onto his face,senseless.

"Have you got him?" Moran peeredaround the side of the bowlder, and

smiled exultantly when he saw Wade'sstill figure. "Throw him across yoursaddle," he commanded, "and follow me."

CHAPTER XV

THE FIRST CLEW

"Let's see!" Trowbridge reined in hishorse and meditated, when he and Dorothyhad covered several miles of their rideback to Crawling Water. "Jensen was shotaround here somewhere, wasn't he?"

"I think it was over there." She pointedwith her quirt in the direction of a distantclump of jack-pines. "Why?"

"Suppose we ride over and take a look atthe spot." He smiled at her little shudderof repugnance. "We haven't any Sherlock

Holmes in this country, and maybe weneed one. I'll have a try at it. Come on!"

In response to the pressure of his knees,the trained cow-pony whirled toward thejack-pines, and Dorothy followed,laughing at the idea that so ingenuous aman as Lem Trowbridge might possess theanalytical gift of the trained detective.

"You!" she said mockingly, when she hadcaught up with him. "You're as transparentas glass; not that it isn't nice to be thatway, but still you are. Besides, the rainwe've had must have washed all tracksaway."

"No doubt, but we'll have a look anyhow.It won't do any harm. Seriously, though,the ways of criminals have always

interested me. I'd rather read a gooddetective story than any other sort ofyarn."

"I shouldn't think that you had any gift thatway."

"That's got nothing to do with it," helaughed. "It's always like that. Haven't younoticed how nearly every man thinks he'smissed his calling; that if he'd only gone infor something else he'd have been arattling genius at it? Just to show you! I'vegot a hand over at the ranch, a fellownamed Barry, who can tie down a steer inpretty close to the record. He's a borncowman, if I ever saw one, but do yousuppose he thinks that's his line?"

"Doesn't he?" she asked politely. One of

the secrets of her popularity lay in herwillingness to feed a story along with deftlittle interjections of interest.

"He does not. Poetry! Shakespeare! That'shis 'forty'! At night he gets out a book andreads Hamlet to the rest of the boys.Thinks that if he'd ever hit Broadway witha show, he'd set the town on fire."

When Dorothy laughed heartily, as shenow did, the sound of it was worth goingmiles to hear. There are all shades oftemperament and character in laughter,which is the one thing of which we areleast self-conscious; hers revealed notonly a sense of humor, rare in her sex, buta blithe, happy nature, which made alliesat once of those upon whose ears hermerriment fell. Trowbridge's eyes

sparkled with his appreciation of it.

"Well, maybe he would," she said, finally.

"Maybe I'll make good along withSherlock Holmes." He winked at her as heslipped from his horse's back, on the edgeof a rocky knoll, fronting the jack-pines."This is the place, I reckon." His quickeyes had caught a dark stain on a flat rock,which the rain had failed to cleanseentirely of the dead herders' blood.

When Dorothy saw it, too, her mirthsubsided. To her mind, the thought ofdeath was most horrible, and especiallyso in the case of a murderous death, suchas had befallen the sheep men. Not onlywas the thing horrible in itself, but stillmore so in its suggestion of the dangers

which threatened her friends.

"Do hurry!" she begged. "There can't beanything here."

"Just a minute or two." Struck by the noteof appeal in her voice, so unlike its lilt ofthe moment before, he added: "Ride on ifyou want to."

"No," she shuddered. "I'll wait, but pleasebe quick."

It was well for her companion that she didwait, or at least that she was with him for,when he had inspected the immediatevicinity of the shooting, he steppedbackward from the top of the knoll into alittle, brush-filled hollow, in which lay arattlesnake. Deeply interested in his

search, he did not hear the warning rattle,and Dorothy might not have noticed iteither had not her pony raised its head,with a start and a snort. Glancing over hershoulder, she saw the snake and called outsharply.

"Look out, behind you, Lem!"

There are men, calling themselvesconjurors, who perform prodigies ofagility with coins, playing-cards, andother articles of legerdemain, but they arenot so quick as was Trowbridge inspringing sidewise from the menacingsnake. In still quicker movement, theheavy Colt at his side leaped from itsholster. The next second the rattle hadceased forever, for the snake's head hadbeen neatly cut from its body.

"Close call! Thanks!" Trowbridge slid hisweapon back into its resting place andsmiled up at her.

So close, indeed, had the call been that,coming upon the dreadful associations ofthe spot, Dorothy was unnerved. Her skinturned a sickly white and her lips weretrembling, but not more so than were theflanks of the horses, which seemed to bein an agony of fear. When the girl sawTrowbridge pick up a withered stick andcoolly explore the recesses of a smallhole near which the snake had beencoiled, she rebelled.

"I'm not going to stay here anotherminute," she declared hotly.

"Just a second. There may be another

one.... Oh, all right, go on, then," he calledout, as she whirled her pony and startedoff. "I'll catch you. Ride slow!"

He looked after her with a smile ofamusement, before renewing his effortswith the stick, holding his bridle reinswith one hand so that his horse could notfollow hers. To his disappointment thereseemed to be nothing in the hole, but hisprodding suddenly developed an amazingfact. He was on the point of dropping thestick and mounting his horse, when henoticed a small piece of metal in theleaves and grass at the mouth of the hole.It was an empty cartridge shell.

"By Glory!" he exclaimed, as he examinedit. "A clew, or I'm a sinner!"

Swinging into his saddle, he raced afterDorothy, shouting to her as he rode. In herpique, she would not answer his hail, orturn in her saddle; but he was too exultantto care. He was concerned only withovertaking her that he might tell her whathe had found.

"For the love of Mike!" he said, when by aliberal use of his spurs he caught up withher. "What do you think this is, a circus?"

"You can keep up, can't you?" she retortedbanteringly.

"Sure, I can keep up, all right." Hereached out and caught her bridle rein,pulling her pony down to a walk in spiteof her protests. "I want to show yousomething. You can't see it riding like a

jockey. Look here!" He handed her theshell. "You see, if I had come when youwanted me to, I wouldn't have found it.That's what's called the detective instinct,I reckon," he added, with a grin. "GuessI'm some little Sherlock, after all."

"Whose is it?" She turned the shell over inher palm a trifle gingerly.

"Look!" He took it from her and pointedout where it had been dented by the firing-pin. "I reckon you wouldn't know, notbeing up in fire-arms. The hammer thatstruck this shell didn't hit true; not so faroff as to miss fire, you understand, but itain't in line exactly. That tells me a lot."

"What does it tell you?" She looked up athim quickly.

"Well," he spoke slowly, "there ain't butone gun in Crawling Water that has thatpeculiarity, that I know of, and that onebelongs, or did belong, to Tug Bailey."

She caught at his arm impulsively so thatboth horses were brought to a standstill.

"Then he shot Jensen, Lem?"

Her voice was tremulous with eagerness,for although she had never doubted Wadeor Santry; had never thought for a momentthat either man could have committed thecrime, or have planned it, she wantedthem cleared of the doubt in the eyes of theworld. Her disappointment was acutewhen she saw that Trowbridge did notdeem the shell to be convincing proof ofBailey's guilt.

"Don't go too fast now, Dorothy," hecautioned. "This shell proves that Bailey'sgun was fired, but it doesn't prove thatBailey's finger pulled the trigger, or thatthe gun was aimed at Jensen. Bailey mighthave loaned the rifle to somebody, or hemight have fired at a snake, like I did afew minutes ago."

"Oh, he might have done anything, ofcourse. But the shell is some evidence,isn't it? It casts the doubt on Tug Bailey,doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does that, all right. It casts itfurther than him." The cattleman spokepositively. "It's a clew, that's what it is.We've got a clew and we've got a motive,and we didn't have either of themyesterday."

"How do you suppose that shell got whereyou found it?" she asked, her voice full ofhope.

"Bailey must have levered it out of hisrifle, after the shooting, and it fell into thathole. You see,"—he could not resistmaking the triumphant point once more,—"if I hadn't stopped to look for anotherrattler, I never would have found it. Justthat chance—just a little chance like that—throws the biggest criminals. Funny,ain't it?" But she was too preoccupiedwith the importance of the discovery todwell on his gifts as a sleuth.

"What can we do about it, Lem?" She gaveher pony her head and they began to moveslowly. "What ought we to do?"

"I'll find this fellow, Bailey, and wring thetruth out of him," he answered grimly; andher eyes sparkled. "If I'm not greatlymistaken, though, he was only the tool."

"Meaning that Moran...."

"And Rexhill," Trowbridge snapped."They are the men higher up, and the gamewe're really gunning for. They hiredBailey to shoot Jensen so that the crimemight be fastened on to Gordon. I believethat as fully as I'm alive this minute; thepoint is to prove it."

"Then we've no time to waste," she said,touching her pony with the quirt. "Wemustn't loiter here. Suppose Bailey hasbeen sent away?"

The thought of this caused them to urgetheir tired horses along at speed. Manytimes during the ride which followedTrowbridge looked admiringly at hiscompanion as she rode on, untiringly, sideby side with him. A single man himself, hehad come to feel very tenderly toward her,but he had no hope of winning her. Shehad never been more than good friendswith him, and he realized her feeling forWade, but this knowledge did not makehim less keen in his admiration of her.

"Good luck to you, Lem," she said, givinghim her hand, as they paused at the head ofCrawling Water's main street. "Let meknow what you do as soon as you can. I'llbe anxious."

He nodded.

"I know about where to find him, if he's intown. Oh, we're slowly getting it on them,Dorothy. We'll be ready to 'call' thempretty soon. Good-by!"

Tug Bailey, however, was not in town, asthe cattleman learned at Monte Joe'sdance-hall, piled high with tables andchairs and reeking with the stench, leftover from the previous night, of whiskeyfumes and stale tobacco smoke. Monte Joeprofessed not to know where the puncherhad gone, but as Trowbridge pressed himfor information the voice of a woman, asshrill as the squawk of a parrot, floateddown from the floor above.

"Wait a minute."

Trowbridge waited and the woman came

down to him. He knew her by ill-repute,as did every man in the town, for she wasPansy Madder, one of the dance-hallhabitués, good-looking enough by night tothe inflamed fancy, but repulsive by day,with her sodden skin and hard eyes.

"You want to know where Tug is?" shedemanded.

"Yes, where is he?"

"He's headed for Sheridan, I reckon. If heain't headed there, he'll strike the railroadat some other point; him and that—NellieLewis, that he's skipped with." Herlusterless eyes were fired by the onlything that could fire them: her bitterjealousy.

"You're sure?" Trowbridge persisted, alittle doubtfully.

"Sure? Of course, I'm sure. Say,"—sheclutched at his arm as he turned away,—"if he's wanted for anything, bring himback here, will you? Promise me that! Letme"—her pale lips were twisted by anugly smile—"get my hands on him!"

From the dance-hall, Trowbridge hastenedto the jail to swear out a warrant forBailey's arrest and to demand that SheriffThomas telegraph to Sheridan and to thetwo points above and below, Ranchesterand Clearmont, to head off the fugitivethere. Not knowing how far the Sheriffmight be under the dominance of theRexhill faction, the cattleman was not surethat he could count upon assistance from

the official. He meant, if he saw signs ofindecision, to do the telegraphing himselfand to sign at the bottom of the messagethe name of every ranch owner in thedistrict. That should be enough to awakenthe law along the railroad without helpfrom Thomas, and Trowbridge knew thatsuch action would be backed up by hisassociates.

He had no trouble on this score, however,for Sheriff Thomas was away on the trailof a horse-thief, and the deputy in chargeof the jail was of sturdier character thanhis chief.

"Will I help you, Lem?" he exclaimed."Say, will a cat drink milk? You bet I'llhelp you. Between you and me, I've beenso damned ashamed of what's been doing

in this here office lately that I'm aching fora chance to square myself. I'll send themwires off immediate."

"I reckon you're due to be the next Sheriffin this county, Steve," Trowbridgeresponded gratefully. "There's going to bea change here before long."

"That so? Well, I ain't sayin' that I'drefuse, but I ain't doin' this as no favor,either, you understand. I'm doin' it becauseit's the law, the good old-fashioned,honest to Gawd, s'help me die, law!"

"That's the kind we want here—that, or nokind. So long, Steve!"

With a nod of relief, Trowbridge left thejail, well-satisfied that he had done a

good turn for Wade, and pleased withhimself for having lived so well up to thestandards set by the detectives of popularfiction. Since Bailey had not had time toreach the railroad, his arrest was nowalmost a certainty, and once he was backin Crawling Water, a bucket of hot tar anda bundle of feathers, with a promise ofimmunity for himself, would doubtless besufficient to extract a confession from himwhich would implicate Rexhill andMoran.

Feeling that he had earned the refreshmentof a drink, the cattleman was about toenter the hotel when, to his consternation,he saw tearing madly down the streettoward him Bill Santry, on a horse thathad evidently been ridden to the very last

spurt of endurance. He ran forward atonce, for the appearance of the old man inCrawling Water, with a warrant formurder hanging over his head, could onlymean that some tragedy had happened atthe ranch.

"Hello, Lem!" Santry greeted him. "You'rejust the man I'm lookin' for."

"What's the trouble?" Trowbridgedemanded.

"The boy!" The old plainsman slid fromhis horse, which could hardly keep itsfeet, but was scarcely more spent in bodythan its rider was in nerve. His face wastwitching in a way that might have beenludicrous but for its significance. "They'veambushed him, I reckon. I come straight in

after you, knowin' that you'd have a coolerhead for this here thing than—than I have."

"My God!" The exclamation shot fromTrowbridge like the crack of a gun. "Howdid it happen?"

Santry explained the details, in so far ashe knew them, in a few breathlesssentences. The old man was clearlyalmost beside himself with grief and rage,and past the capacity to act intelligentlyupon his own initiative. He had not beensatisfied, he said, to remain behind at theranch and let Wade go to the timber tractalone, and so after a period of indecisionhe had followed him. Near the edge of thetimber he had come upon Wade's riderlesshorse, trailing broken bridle reins. He hadfollowed the animal's tracks back to the

point of the assault, but there was no signof Wade, which fact indicated that he hadbeen carried away by those who hadovercome him.

"I could see by the tracks that there was anumber of 'em; as many as five or six," theold man summed up. "I followed their signas far as I could, but I lost it at the creek.Then I went back to the house and sentsome of the boys out to scout aroundbefore I come down here after you."

"Where do you suppose they could havetaken him?" Trowbridge asked. "They'dnever dare bring him to town."

"Gawd knows, Lem! There's more pocketsand drifts up in them hills than there isjack-rabbits. 'Tain't likely the boys'll find

any new sign, leastways not in time; notbefore that —— of a Moran—it was himdid it, damn him! I know it was. Lem, forGawd's sake, what are we goin' to do?"

"The first thing to do, Bill, is to get youout of this town, before Thomas shows upand jumps you."

"I don't keer for myself. I'll shoot the...."

"Luckily, he's away just now,"Trowbridge went on, ignoring theinterruption. "Come with me!" He led theway into the hotel. "Frank," he said to thered-headed proprietor, "is Moran in townto-day?"

"Nope." The Irishman regarded Santrywith interest. "He went out this morning

with four or five men."

"Rexhill's here, ain't he?" Trowbridgeasked then. "Tell him there's twogentlemen here to see him. Needn'tmention any names. He doesn't know me."

When Santry, with the instinct of hisbreed, hitched his revolver to a moreconvenient position on his hip,Trowbridge reached out and took it awayfrom him. He dared not trust the old manin his present mood. He intended toquestion the Senator, to probe him,perhaps to threaten him; but the time hadnot come to shoot him.

"I'll keep this for you, Bill," he saidsoothingly, and dropped the weapon intohis coat pocket. "I'm going to take you up

with me, for the sake of the effect of thatface of yours, looking the way it does rightnow. But I'll do the talking, mind! It won'ttake long. We're going to act some, too."

Their visit had no visible effect uponRexhill, however, who was too muchmaster of himself to be caught off hisguard in a game which had reached thepoint of constant surprise. His manner wasnot conciliatory, for the meeting wasfrankly hostile, but he did not appear to beperturbed by it. He had not supposed thatthe extremes he had sanctioned could becarried through without difficulty, and hewas prepared to meet any attack that mightbe offered by the enemy.

"Senator Rexhill," Trowbridge introducedhimself, "you've never met me. I'm from

the Piah Creek country. My name isTrowbridge."

"Yes," the Senator nodded. "I've heard ofyou. I know your friend there by sight." Helingered slightly over the word "friend" ashe glanced toward Santry, "There's awarrant out for him, I believe."

"Yes. There's a warrant out for one ofyour — fr i e nds , too, Tug Bailey,"Trowbridge retorted dryly, hoping thatsomething would eventuate from hisrepartee; but nothing did. If the newssurprised Rexhill, as it must have, he didnot show it. "I've just sworn it out," therancher continued, "but that's not why I'mhere. I'm here to tell you that GordonWade, whom you know, has beenkidnaped."

Santry stifled an exclamation of rage inanswer to a quick look from his friend.

"Kidnaped from his own range in broaddaylight," the latter went on. "I representhis friends, who mean to find him rightaway, and it has occurred to me that youmay be able to assist us in our search."

"Just why has that idea occurred to you?"Rexhill asked calmly, as though out ofmere curiosity. "I'd like to know."

A bit baffled by this attitude ofcomposure, Trowbridge hesitated, for itwas not at all what he had expected tocombat. If the Senator had flown into apassion, the cattleman would haveresponded with equal heat; now he wasless sure of himself and his ground. It was

barely possible, after all, that Tug Baileyhad shot Jensen out of personal spite; or,at the worst, had been the tool of Moranalone. One could hardly associate thethought of murder with the veryprosperous looking gentleman, who socalmly faced them and twirled hiseyeglasses between his fingers.

"Why should that idea have occurred toyou?" the Senator asked again. "So far as Iam informed, Wade is also liable to arrestfor complicity in the Jensen murder; inaddition to which he has effected a jaildelivery and burglarized my office. Itseems to me, if he has been kidnaped asyou say, that I am the last person to haveany interest in his welfare, or hiswhereabouts. Why do you come to me?"

This was too much for Santry's self-restraint.

"What's the use of talkin' to him?" hedemanded. "If he ain't done it himself,don't we know that Moran done it for him?To hell with talkin'!" He shook a gnarledfist at Rexhill, who paid no attentionwhatever to him, but deliberately lookedin another direction.

"That is why we are here," saidTrowbridge, when he had quieted Santryonce more. "Because we have goodreason to believe that, if these acts do notproceed from you, they do proceed fromyour agent, and you're responsible forwhat he does, if I know anything aboutlaw. This man Moran has carried thingswith a high hand in this community, but

now he's come to the end of his rope, andhe's going to be punished. That means thatyou'll get yours, too, if he's acted underyour orders." The cattleman was gettinginto his stride now that the first momentsof his embarrassment were passed. Hisvoice rang with authority, which theSenator was quick to recognize, althoughhe gave no evidence that he wasimpressed. "Has Moran been acting foryou, that's what we want to know?"

"My dear fellow,"—Rexhill laughedrumblingly,—"if you'll only stop for aninstant to think, you'll see how absurd thisis."

"A frank answer to a frank question,"Trowbridge persisted. "Has he beenacting for you? Do you, at this moment,

know what has become of Wade, or wherehe is?"

"That's the stuff!" growled Santry, whosetemples were throbbing under the effort heput forth to hold himself within bounds.

"I do not!" the Senator said, bluntly. "AndI'll say freely that I would not tell you if Idid."

Santry's hands opened and shutconvulsively. He was in the act ofspringing upon Rexhill when Trowbridgeseized him.

"You're a liar!" he roared, struggling inhis friend's grasp. "Let me at him. By thegreat horned toad, I'll make him tell!"

"Put that man out of this room!" Rexhill

had arisen in all of his ponderous majesty,roused to wrath at last. His pudgy fingershook as he pointed to the door, and his fatface was congested. "I'm not here to beinsulted by a jail-bird. Put him out!"

Trowbridge's eyes gleamed exultantly,although he still kept a tight hold onSantry, for this was the sort of thing he hadexpected to meet. He had not thought thatRexhill would confess complicity in thekidnaping this early in the game; but hehad looked for an outburst of anger whichwould give him the chance he wanted tofree his own mind of the hate that was init. He had wanted the chance to makeRexhill feel that his hour of atonement wasclose at hand, and getting nearer everyminute.

"Easy, now!" he admonished. "We'regoing, both of us, but we won't be put out.You've said just what I looked for you tosay. You've denied knowledge of thisthing. I think with Santry here that you're aliar, a God-forsaken liar." He drew closerto the Senator, who seemed about to burstwith passion, and held him with a gaze hisfury could not daunt. "May Heaven helpyou, Senator, when we're ready to proveall this against you. If you're in CrawlingWater then, we'll ride you to hell on arail."

"Now," Trowbridge said to Santry, whenthey were downstairs again, "you get outof town hot-foot. Ride to my place. Takethis!" He scribbled a few lines on the backof an envelope. "Give it to my foreman.

Tell him to meet me with the boys wherethe trail divides. We'll find Wade, if wehave to trade our beds for lanterns and killevery horse in the valley."

The two men shook hands, and Santry'seyes were fired with a new hope. The oldman was grateful for one thing, at least:the time for action had arrived. He hadspent his youth on the plains in the dayswhen every man was a law unto himself,and the years had not lessened his spirit.

"I'll be right after you, Bill," Trowbridgeconcluded. "I'm going first to break thenews to Miss Purnell. She'd hear itanyway and be anxious. She'd better get itstraight from me."

Lem Trowbridge had seen only one

woman faint, but the recollection wasindelibly impressed upon his mind. It hadhappened in his boyhood, at the ranchwhere he still lived, when a messengerhad arrived with word of the death of theelder Trowbridge, whose horse hadstepped into a prairie-dog hole and fallenwith his rider. The picture of his mother'scollapse he could never forget, or his ownhorrible thought that she, too, had passedaway, leaving him parentless. For monthsafterwards he had awakened at night,crying out that she was dead.

The whole scene recurred to him when hetold Dorothy of Wade's disappearance,and saw her face flush and then pale, ashis mother's had done. The girl did notactually faint, for she was young and

wonderfully strong, but she came so nearto it that he was obliged to support herwith his arm to keep her on her feet. Thatwas cruel, too, for he loved her. Butpresently she recovered, and swept fromhis mind all thought of himself by herpiteous appeal to him to go instantly insearch of Wade.

"We'll find him, Dorothy, don't youworry," he declared, with an appearanceof confidence he was far from feeling. "Icame around to tell you myself because Iwanted you to know that we are right onthe job."

"But how can you find him in all thosemountains, Lem? You don't even knowwhich side of the range they've hidden himon."

He reminded her that he had been born inCrawling Water Valley, and that he knewevery draw and canyon in the mountains;but in his heart he realized that to searchall these places would take half a lifetime.He could only hope that chance, or goodfortune, might lead them promptly to thespot they sought.

"Do you think that Senator Rexhill knowswhere Gordon is?" she asked. "Is he inthis, too?"

"I don't know for sure," he answered. "Ibelieve Moran is acting under Rexhill'sorders, but I don't know how much Rexhillknows of the details. If I knew that, itwould be fairly easy. I'd...." His stronghands gripped the back of a chair until hisknuckles showed white under their tan.

"I'd choke it out of him!"

"Oh, if there was only something I coulddo!" Dorothy wailed helplessly. "Awoman never can do anything in a crisisbut wait!" Her distress was so pitiable towitness that Trowbridge averted his gaze.

"We'll do all that can be done, Dorothy,"he assured her. "Trust me for that. Besides—" A thought had just flashed into hishead which might relieve her sense ofhelplessness. "Besides, we're going toneed you here in town to keep us informedof what goes on."

"If I learn anything, how can I get word toyou?" she asked, her face brighteningsomewhat. "You'll be up in the hills."

"I'll try to keep a man at the big pine allthe time. If you find out anything sendword to him."

"Oh, yes, I will, I will. That'll besomething anyhow." Her eyes sparklingwith tears, she gave him both her hands."Good-by, Lem!"

"Good-by, Dorothy," he said solemnly,wringing her hands. "I know just how it is.We'll find him for you!"

CHAPTER XVI

TRAPPED

When Wade first opened his eyes, after hehad been stricken senseless, he was firstconscious of his throbbing head, and onseeking the reason of the pain, wasamazed to find his fingers stained with theblood which matted his hair. With anexclamation he struggled to his feet, stilltoo dazed to think clearly, but sufficientlyaroused to be startled by the predicamentin which he found himself.

He was at the bottom of a rock-walledfissure, about six feet wide by twenty feet

in length. There was no way to climb outof this natural prison, for its granite sides,fifteen feet in height, were without crack,projection, or other foothold; indeed, inthe light of the afternoon sun, one façadeshone smooth as glass. If he should be leftthere without sustenance, he told himself,he might as well be entombed; then, to hisdelight, he caught the sound of splashingwater. At least, he would not perish ofthirst, for at one end of the rocky chambera tiny stream fell down the face of thecliff, to disappear afterward through anarrow cleft. A draught of the cool waterrefreshed him somewhat, and when he hadbathed his head as well as he could, he satdown on the warm sand to think over thesituation.

Now that his brain was clearing he feltsure that his capture was the work ofMoran, doubtless planned as a revenge forthe events of their last meeting, althoughwhat shape this revenge was to take thecattleman could not guess. He feared thathe would either be shot or left to starve inthis cul-de-sac in the hills. The thought ofall that he and his friends had sufferedthrough Moran lashed the ranchmantemporarily to fury; but that he sooncontrolled as well as he could, for hefound its only result was to increase thepain in his head, without aiding to solvethe problem of escape. The prospect ofgetting out of his prison seemed remote,for one glance at its precipitate walls hadshown him that not even a mountain goatcould scale them. Help, if it came at all,

must come through Santry, who could becounted on to arouse the countryside. Thethought of the state the old man must be inworried Wade; and he was too familiarwith the vast number of small canyons andhidden pockets in the mountains to believethat his friends would soon find him.Before help could reach him, undoubtedlyMoran would show his hand, in which forthe present were all the trumps.

It was characteristic of the cattleman that,with the full realization of his danger,should come a great calm. He had toolively an imagination to be called a man ofiron nerve, for that quality of courage isnot so often a virtue as a lack ofsensitiveness. He who is courageousbecause he knows no fear is not so brave

by half as he who gauges the extent of hisperil and rises superior to it. Wade'scourage was of the latter sort, anascendancy of the mind over the flesh.Whenever danger threatened him, hisnerves responded to his need with theprecision of the taut strings of a perfectlytuned fiddle under a master hand. He hadbeen more nervous, many a time, over thethought of some one of his men riding adangerous horse or turning a stampede,than he was now that his own life seemedthreatened.

Shrugging his broad shoulders, he rolledand smoked a cigarette. The slightexhilaration of the smoke, acting on hisweakened condition, together with theslight dizziness still remaining from the

blow on his head, was far from conducingto clear thinking, but he forced himself tocareful thought. He was less concernedabout himself than he was about Santryand Dorothy; particularly Dorothy, for hehad now come to appreciate how closelyshe had come into his life. Her sympathyhad been very sweet to him, but he toldhimself that he would be sorry to have herworry about him now, when there was solittle chance of their seeing each otheragain. He had no great hope of rescue. Heexpected to die, either by violence or bythe slower process of starvation, but ineither case he meant to meet his fate like aman.

Of Helen Rexhill, he thought now with asense of distaste. It was altogether

unlikely that she had been privy to herfather's depredations, but certainly shecountenanced them by her presence inCrawling Water, and she had shown up sopoorly in contrast with Dorothy Purnellthat Wade could not recall his formertenderness for his early sweetheart. Evenif great good fortune should enable him toescape from his prison, the interests of theRexhill family were too far removed fromhis own to be ever again bridged by the tieof love, or even of good-feeling. He couldnot blame the daughter for the misdeeds ofher parent, but the old sentiment couldnever be revived. It was not for Helen thatthe instinct of self-preservation stirredwithin him, nor was it in her eyes that hewould look for the light of joy over hisrescue, if rescue should come.

He smoked several cigarettes, until thewaning of his supply of tobacco warnedhim to economize against future cravings.Realizing that even if his friends werewithin a stone's throw of him they wouldnot be likely to find him unless he gavesome sign of his presence, he got to hisfeet and, making a trumpet out of hishands, shouted loudly. He repeated this adozen times, or more, and was about tosink back upon the sand when he heardfootsteps approaching on the groundoverhead. He had little idea that a friendwas responding to his call, but beingunarmed he could do no more than crouchagainst the wall of the cliff while hescanned the opening above him.

Presently there appeared in the opening

the head of a Texan, Goat Neale, whomWade recognized as a member of Moran'screw and a man of some note as agunfighter.

"How," drawled the Texan, by way ofgreeting. "Feelin' pretty good?" When theranchman did not reply, his inquisitorseemed amused. "A funny thing like thishere always makes me laff," he remarked."It sure does me a heap of good to see youall corraled like a fly in a bottle. Mebbeyou'd take satisfaction in knowin' that itwas me brung you down out yonder in thetimber. I was sure mighty glad to take awallop at you, after the way you all doneus up that night at the ranch."

"So I'm indebted to you for this, eh?"Wade spoke casually, as though the matter

were a trifling thing. He was wondering ifhe could bribe Neale to set him free.Unfortunately he had no cash about him,and he concluded that the Texan would notthink promises worth while under thecircumstances.

"Sure. I reckon you'd like to see the boss?Well, he's comin' right on over. Just nowhe's eatin' a mess o' bacon and beans andcawfee, over to the camp. My Gawd,that's good cawfee, too. Like to havesome, eh?" But Wade refused to playTantalus to the lure of this temptation andkept silent. "Here he comes now."

"Is he all right?" Wade heard Moran ask,as Neale backed away from the rim of thehole.

"Yep," the Texan answered.

The ranchman instinctively braced himselfto meet whatever might befall. It was quitepossible, he knew, that Moran had sparedhim in the timber-belt to torture him here;he did not know whether to expect a bulletor a tongue lashing, but he was resolved tomeet his fate courageously and, as far aswas humanly possible, stoically. To hissurprise, the agent's tone did not reveal agreat amount of venom.

"Hello, Wade!" he greeted, as he lookeddown on his prisoner. "Find your quarterspretty comfortable, eh? It's been a bit of ashock to you, no doubt, but then shocksseem to be in order in Crawling WaterValley just now."

"Moran, I've lived in this country a goodmany years." Wade spoke with a suavitywhich would have indicated deadly perilto the other had the two been on anythinglike equal terms. "I've seen a good manyblackguards come and go in that time, butthe worst of them was redeemed by moreof the spark of manhood than there seemsto be in you."

"Is that so?" Moran's face darkened inswift anger, but he restrained himself."Well, we'll pass up the pleasantries untilafter our business is done. You and I'vegot a few old scores to settle and youwon't find me backward when the timescomes, my boy. It isn't time yet, althoughmaybe the time isn't so very far away.Now, see here." He leaned over the edge

of the cliff to display a folded paper and afountain-pen. "I have here a quit-claimdeed to your ranch, fully made out andlegally witnessed, needing only yoursignature to make it valid. Will you signit?"

Wade started in spite of himself. This ideawas so preposterous that it had neveroccurred to him as the real motive for hiscapture. He could scarcely believe that sogood a lawyer as Senator Rexhill could beblind to the fact that such a paper, securedunder duress, would have no validityunder the law. He looked up at the agent inamazement.

"I know what you're thinking, of course,"Moran went on, with an evil smile. "We'reno fools. I've got here, besides the deed, a

check made out to you for ten thousanddollars." He held it up. "You'll rememberthat we made you that offer once before.You turned it down then, but maybe you'llchange your mind now. After you indorsethe check I'll deposit it to your credit inthe local bank."

The cattleman's face fell as he caught thedrift of this complication. That tenthousand dollars represented only a smallpart of the value of his property was true,but many another man had sold propertyfor less than it was worth. If a perfectlygood check for ten thousand dollars,bearing his indorsement, were depositedto the credit of his banking account, thefact would go far to offset any charge ofduress that he might later bring. To

suppose that he had undervalued hisholdings would be no more unreasonablethan to suppose that a man of SenatorRexhill's prominence would stoop tophysical coercion of an adversary. Thequestion would merely be one of personalprobity, with the presumption on theSenator's side.

"Once we get a title to the land, a handleto fight with, we sha'n't care what you tryto do," Moran explained further. "We canafford to laugh at you." That seemed toWade to be true. "If you accept my offernow, I will set you free as soon as thischeck is in the bank, and the settlement ofour personal scores can go over to anothertime. I assure you that I am just as anxiousto get at you as you are to get at me, but

I've always made it a rule never to mixpleasure and business. You'll have a fairstart to get away. On the other hand, if yourefuse, you'll be left here without food.Once each day I'll visit you; at other timesyou'll be left alone, except when Goat maycare to entertain himself by baiting you.You'll be perfectly safe here, guard or noguard, believe me."

Moran chuckled ominously, his thoughtsdivided between professional pride,excited by the thought of successfullycompleting the work he had come toCrawling Water to do, and exultation atthe prospect that his sufferings whilegagged the previous night might be atonedfor a thousand times if Wade should refuseto sign the quit-claim.

"In plain speech," said Wade, pale butcalm, "you propose to starve me to death."

"Exactly," was the cheerful assurance. "IfI were you, I'd think a bit beforeanswering."

Because the cattleman was in the fullestflush of physical vigor, the lust of life wasstrong in him. Never doubting that Moranmeant what he said, Wade was on thepoint of compliance, thinking to assumethe burden later on, of a struggle withRexhill to regain his ranch. His manhoodrebelled at the idea of coercion, but, dead,he could certainly not defend himself; itseemed to him better that he should live tocarry on the fight. He would most likelyhave yielded but for the taunt ofcowardice which had already been noised

about Crawling Water. True, the chargehad sprung from those who liked himleast, but it had stung him. He was nocoward, and he would not feed such areport now by yielding to Moran.Whatever the outcome of a later fightmight be, the fact that he had knuckledunder to the agent could never be liveddown. Such success as he had won hadbeen achieved by playing a man's part inman's world.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Moran," he said,finally. "Give me a hand out of this hole,or come down here yourself. Throw asideyour gun, but keep your knife. I'll allowyou that advantage. Meet me face to face!Damn you, be a man! Anything that youcan gain by my signature, you can gain by

my death. Get the best of me, if you can, ina man's fight. Pah!" He spatcontemptuously. "You're a coward,Moran, a white-livered coward! You don'tdare fight with me on anything like equalterms. I'll get out of here somehow, andwhen I do—by Heaven, I'll corner you,and I'll make you fight."

"Get out? How?" Moran laughed the ideato scorn. "Your friends can look for youfrom now till snowfall. They'll never findeven your bones. Rot there, if you choose.Why should I take a chance on you whenI've got you where I want you? You oughtto die. You know too much."

"Yes," Wade retorted grimly. "I know toomuch. I know enough to hang you, youmurderer. Who killed Oscar Jensen?

Answer that! You did it, or you had itdone, and then you tried to put it on Santryand me, and I'm not the only one whoknows it. This country's too small to holdyou, Moran. Your fate is settled already,whatever may happen to me."

"Still, I seem to be holding four acesnow," Moran grinned back at him. "Andthe cards are stacked."

Left alone, Wade rolled himself acigarette from his scant hoard of tobacco.Already he was hungry, for deep shadowsin his prison marked the approach of night,and he had the appetite of a healthy man.The knowledge that he was to be deniedfood made him feel the hungrier, until heresolutely put the thought of eating out ofhis mind. The water, trickling down the

face of the rock, was a God-send, though,and he drank frequently from the littlestream.

By habit a heavy smoker, he viewed withdismay the inroads which he had alreadymade on his store of tobacco for thatdeprivation he felt would be the most realof any that he could suffer. He tried to takeshorter puffs upon his cigarette, andbetween them shielded the fire with hishand, so that the air-draughts in the fissuremight not cheat him of any of the smoke.He figured that he had scarcely enoughtobacco left for a dozen cigarettes, whichwas less than his usual daily allowance.

On searching his pockets, in the hope offinding a second sack of Durham, hechanced upon his clasp-knife, and viewed

the find with joy. The thought of using it asa weapon did not impress him, for hiscaptors would keep out of reach of such atoy, but he concluded that he mightpossibly use it to carve some sort offoothold in the rock. The idea of cuttingthe granite was out of the question, butthere might be strata of softer stone whichhe could dig into. It was a forlorn hope, ina forlorn cause, and it proved futile. At hisfirst effort the knife's single blade snappedoff short, and he threw the useless handleaway.

Darkness fell some time before the coolnight air penetrated the fissure; when itdid so the cold seemed likely to be addedto his other physical discomforts. In thehigher altitudes the nights were distinctly

chilly even in mid-summer, and he had ononly a light outing shirt, above his waist.As the hour grew late, the cold increasedin severity until Wade was forced to walkup and down his narrow prison in theeffort to keep warm. He had just turned toretrace his steps, on one such occasion,when his ears caught the soft pat-pat of afootfall on the ground above. He instantlybecame motionless and tensely alert,wondering which of his enemies was sostealthily returning, and for what reason.

He thought it not unlikely that Moran hadaltered his purpose and come back toshoot him while he slept. Brave though hewas, the idea of being shot down in such amanner made his flesh crawl. Stooping, hepicked up a fragment of rock; although he

realized the futility of the weapon, it wasall he had. Certainly, whoever approachedwas moving with the utmost stealth, whichargued an attack of some kind. Drawingback the hand that held the stone, thecattleman shrank into a corner of thefissure and waited. Against the starlit sky,he had an excellent view of the openingabove him, and possibly by a lucky throwthe stone would serve against oneassailant, at least.

The pat-pat-pat drew nearer and stopped,at last, on the extreme edge of the hole. Alow, long-drawn sniff showed that thiswas no human enemy. If the sound hadbeen louder, Wade would have guessedthat it was made by a bear; but as it washe guessed the prowler to be a mountain-

lion. He had little fear of such a beast;most of them were notorious cowardsunless cornered, and when presently apair of glowing eyes peered down into thefissure, he hurled the stone at them withall his might. His aim was evidently true,for with a snarl of pain the animal drewback.

But just as amongst the most pacific humanraces there are some brave spirits, soamongst the American lions there are afew which possess all the courage of theirjungle brothers. Actuated by overweeningcuriosity, or else by a thirst for blood, thebig cat returned again and again to theedge of the hole. After his first throwWade was unable to hit the beast with astone, although his efforts had the

temporary effect of frightening it.Gradually, however, it grew bolder, andwas restrained from springing upon himonly, as it seemed, by some sixth sensewhich warned it of the impossibility ofgetting out of the fissure after once gettingin. Baffled and furious, the lion sniffedand prowled about the rim of the hole untilthe ranchman began to think it wouldsurely leap upon him.

He picked up his broken pocket-knife andwaited for this to happen. The shatteredblade would be of little use, but it mightprove better than his bare hands if he hadto defend himself against the brute's teethand claws.

CHAPTER XVII

A WAR OF WITS

"Kidnaped? Gordon Wade?"

At Dorothy's announcement, Mrs. Purnellsank, with a gasp, into her rocking-chair,astonished beyond expression. Shelistened, with anxiety scarce less than herdaughter's, to the girl's account of theevent as she had it from Trowbridge. Hermouth opened and shut aimlessly as shepicked at her gingham apron. If Wade hadbeen her own son, she could hardly haveloved him more. He had been as tender toher as a son, and the news of his

disappearance and probable injury was afrightful shock.

Weakly she attempted to relieve her ownanxiety by disputing the fact of his danger.

"Oh, I guess nothing's happened to him—nothing like that, anyway. He may havehad a fall from his horse. Or maybe itbroke away from him and ran off."

"Bill Santry found their trail," Dorothysaid, with a gesture so tragic that it wrungher mother's heart strings. "He followed itas far as he could, then lost it." In anyother case she would have tried to keepthe bad news from her mother, because ofher nerves, but just now the girl was toodistraught to think of any one but the manshe loved. "Oh, if I could only do

something myself," she burst out. "It'sstaying here, helpless, that is killing me. Iwish I'd gone with Lem up into themountains. I would have if he hadn't said Imight better stay in town. But how can Ihelp? There's nothing to do here."

"The idea!" Mrs. Purnell exclaimed."They'll be out all night. How could youhave gone with them? I don't believeGordon has been kidnaped at all. It's afalse alarm, I tell you. Who could havedone such a thing?"

"Who?" The question broke Dorothy'spatience. "Who's done everything that'sabominable and contemptible lately herein Crawling Water? That Moran did it, ofcourse, with Senator Rexhill behind him.Oh!"

"Nonsense!" said her mother, indignantly.

"Lem Trowbridge thinks so. Nearlyeverybody does."

"Then he hasn't as good sense as I thoughthe had." Mrs. Purnell arose and movedtoward the kitchen. "You come on andhelp me make some waffles for supper.Perhaps that will take such foolishness outof your head. The idea of a Senator of theUnited States going about kidnapingpeople."

Dorothy obeyed her mother's wish, but notvery ably. Her face was flushed and hereyes hot; ordinarily she was a splendidhousekeeper and a dutiful daughter, butthere are limits to human endurance. Shemixed the batter so clumsily and with such

prodigal waste that her mother had to stopher, and she was about to put salt into thesugar bowl when Mrs. Purnell snatched itout of her hands. "Go into the dining-roomand sit down, Dorothy," she exclaimed."You're beside yourself." It is frequentlythe way with people, who are getting on inyears and are sick, to charge their ownshortcomings on any one who may benear. Mrs. Purnell was greatly worried.

"What's the matter now?" she demanded,when Dorothy left her supper untasted onher plate.

"I was thinking."

"Well, can't you tell a body what you'rethinking about? What are you sitting therethat way for?"

"I was wondering," said Dorothy indespair, "if Helen Rexhill knows whereGordon is."

Mrs. Purnell snorted in disdain.

"Land's sakes, child, what put that intoyour head? Drink your tea. It'll do yougood."

"Why shouldn't she know, if her fatherdoes?" The girl pushed her tea-cup fartheraway from her. "She wouldn't have comeall the way out here with him—hewouldn't have brought her with him—ifthey weren't working together. She mustknow. But I don't see why...."

"Dorothy Purnell, I declare to goodness, Ibelieve you're going crazy." Mrs. Purnell

dropped her fork. "All this about Gordonis bad enough without my being worriedso...."

"I'd even give him up to her, if she'd tellme that." Dorothy's voice was unsteady,and she seemed to be talking to herselfrather than to her mother. "I know shethinks I've come between her and Gordon,but I haven't meant to. He's just seemed tolike me better; that's all. But I'd doanything to save him from Moran."

"I should say that you might better waituntil he asks you, before you talk of givinghim up to somebody." Mrs. Purnell spokewith the primness that was to be expected,but her daughter made no reply. She hadnever mentioned the night in Moran'soffice, and her mother knew nothing of

Wade's kiss. But to the girl it had meantmore than any declaration in words. Shehad kept her lips inviolate until thatmoment, and when his kiss had fallen uponthem it had fallen upon virgin soil, fromout of which had bloomed a white flowerof passion. Before then she had lookedupon Wade as a warm friend, but sincethat night he had appeared to her inanother guise; that of a lover, who hascome into his own. She had met him then,a girl, and had left him a woman, and shefelt that what he had established as a factin the one rare moment of his kiss,belonged to him and her. It seemed sowholly theirs that she had not been able tobring herself to discuss it with her mother.She had won it fairly, and she treasured it.The thought of giving him up to Helen

Rexhill, of promising her never to seeWade again, was overwhelming, and wasto be considered only as a last resource,but there was no suffering that she wouldnot undertake for his sake.

Mrs. Purnell was as keenly alive as everto the hope that the young ranch ownermight some day incline toward her littlegirl, but she was sensitive also to theimpression which the Rexhills had madeupon her. Her life with Mr. Purnell hadnot brought her many luxuries, andperhaps she over-valued their importance.She thought Miss Rexhill a most imposingyoung woman and she believed in theimpeccability of the well-to-do. Her heartwas still warmed by the memory of thecourtesy with which she had been treated

by the Senator's daughter, and was notwithout the gratification of feeling that ithad been a tribute to her own worth. Shehad scolded Dorothy afterward for herfrank speech to Miss Rexhill at the hotel,and she felt that further slurs on her wereuncalled for.

"I'm sure that Miss Rexhill treated us as alady should," she said tartly. "She actedmore like one than you did, if I do have tosay it. She was as kind and sweet as couldbe. She's got a tender heart. I could seethat when she up and gave me that blotter,just because I remarked that it remindedme of your childhood."

"Oh, that old blotter!" Dorothy exclaimedpetulantly. "What did it amount to? Youtalk as though it were something worth

having." She was so seldom in a pet thather mother now strove to make allowancefor her.

"I'm not saying that it's of any value,Dorothy, except to me; but it was kind ofher to seem to understand why I wantedit."

"It wasn't kind of her. She just did it to getrid of us, because we bored her. Oh,mother, you're daffy about the Rexhills,why not admit it and be done with it? Youthink they're perfect, but I tell you they'renot—they're not! They've been behind allour troubles here. They've...." Her voicebroke under the stress of her emotion andshe rose to her feet.

"Dorothy, if you have no self-respect, at

least have some...."

"I won't have that blotter in the house."The strain was proving more than thegirl's nerves could stand. "I won't hearabout it any longer. I'm going to—to tear itup!"

"Dorothy!"

For all the good that Mrs. Purnell's tone ofauthority did, it might as well have fallenupon the wind. She hastily followed herdaughter, who had rushed from the room,and overtook her just in time to preventher from destroying the little picture. Herown strength could not have sufficed todeter the girl in her purpose, if the latterhad not realized in her heart the shamefulway in which she was treating her mother.

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, child?Look in that glass at your face! No wonderyou don't think you look like the sweetchild in the picture. You don't look likeher now, nor act like her. That was why Iwanted the blotter, to remind me of theway you used to look."

"I'm sorry, mother."

Blushing deeply as she recovered her self-control, Dorothy stole a glance at herreflection in the looking-glass of thebureau, before which she stood, and shylycontrasted her angry expression ofcountenance with the sweet one of thechild on the blotter. Suddenly she started,and leaned toward the mirror, staring atsomething she saw there. The bloodseemed driven from the surface of her

skin; her lips were parted; her eyesdilated. She drew a swift breath ofamazed exultation, and turned to hermother, who had viewed the suddentransformation with surprise.

"I'll be back soon, mother. I can't tell youwhat it is." Dorothy's voice rang with thesuggestion of victory. "But I've discoveredsomething, wonderful!"

Before Mrs. Purnell could adjust herselfto this new mood, the girl was down thestairs and running toward the little barn.Slipping the bridle on her pony, she swungto its back without thought of a saddle, andturned the willing creature into the street.As she passed the house, she waved herhand to her mother, at the window, andvanished like a specter into the night.

"Oh, hurry, Gypsy, hurry!" she breathedinto the pony's twitching ear.

Her way was not far, for she was goingfirst to the hotel, but that other way, intothe mountains after Gordon, would be along journey, and no time could be wastednow. She was going to see Helen Rexhill,not as a suppliant bearing the olivebranch, but as a champion to wage battlein behalf of the missing ranchman. She nolonger thought of giving him up, and theknowledge that she might now keep thelove which she had won for her very ownmade her reel on the pony's back frompure joy. She was his as he was hers, butthe Rexhills were his enemies: she knewtha t positively now, and she meant todefeat them at their own game. If they

would tell her where Gordon was, theymight go free for all she cared; if theywould not, she would give them over tothe vengeance of Crawling Water, and shewould not worry about what might happento them. Meanwhile she thanked her luckystars that Trowbridge had promised tokeep a man at the big pine.

She tied her pony at the hitching-rack infront of the hotel and entered the office.Like most of the men in the town, theproprietor was her ardent admirer, but hehad never seen her before in such radiantmood. He took his cigar from between hislips, and doffed his Stetson hat, which hewore indoors and out, with elaborategrace.

"Yes, Miss, Miss Rexhill's in, up in the

parlor, I think. Would you like me to stepup and let her know you're here?"

"No, thank you, I'll go right up myself,"said Dorothy; her smile doubly charmingbecause of its suggestion of triumph.

Miss Rexhill, entirely unaware of whatwas brewing for her, was embroideringby the flickering light of one of the big oillamps, with her back to the doorway, andso did not immediately note Dorothy'spresence in the room. Her face flushedwith annoyance and she arose, when sherecognized her visitor.

"You will please pardon me, but I do notcare to receive you," she said primly.

This beginning, natural enough from

Helen's standpoint, after what her fatherhad told her in Moran's office, convincedDorothy that she had read the writing onthe blotter correctly. She held her ground,aggressively, between Miss Rexhill andthe door.

"You must hear what I have to say to you,"she declared quietly. "I have not comehere to make a social call."

"Isn't it enough for me to tell you that I donot wish to talk to you?" Helen lifted herbrows and shrugged her shoulders."Surely, it should be enough. Will youplease stand aside so that I may go to myroom?"

"No, I won't! You can't go until you'veheard what I've got to say." Stung by the

other woman's contemptuous tone, andrealizing that the situation put her at asocial disadvantage, Dorothy forced anaggressive tone into her voice, ugly to theear.

"Very well!" Miss Rexhill shrugged hershoulders disdainfully, and resumed herseat. "We must not engage in a vulgar row.Since I must listen to you, I must, but atleast I need not talk to you, and I won't."

"You know that Gordon Wade hasdisappeared?" Helen made no response tothis, and Dorothy bit her lip in anger. "Iknow that you know it," she continued. "Iknow that you know where he is. Perhaps,however, you don't know that his life is indanger. If you will tell me where he is, Ican save him. Will you tell me?" The low

throaty note of suffering in her voicebrought a stiletto-like flash into the eyes ofthe other woman, but no response.

"Miss Rexhill," Dorothy went on, after ashort pause. "You and Mr. Wade werefriends once, if you are not now. Perhapsyou don't realize just how serious thesituation is here in this town, where nearlyeverybody likes him, and what wouldhappen to you and your father, if I toldwhat I know about you. I don't believe hewould want it to happen, even after theway you've treated him. If you will onlytell me...."

Helen turned abruptly in her chair, herface white with anger.

"I said that I would not talk to you," she

burst out, "but your impertinence is so—so insufferable—so absolutelyinsufferable, that I must speak. You sayyou will tell people what you know aboutme. What do you know about me?" Shearose to face Dorothy, with blazing eyes.

"I am sure that you know where Gordonis."

"You are sure of nothing of the kind. I donot know where Mr. Wade is, and whyshould I tell you if I did? Suppose I wereto tell what I know about you? I don'tbelieve the whole of it is known inCrawling Water yet. You—you must beinsane."

"About me?" Dorothy's surprise wasgenuine. "There is nothing you could tell

any one about me."

Miss Rexhill laughed scornfully, a low,withering laugh that brought a flush to thegirl's cheeks, even though her consciencetold her that she had nothing to beashamed of. Dorothy stared at the otherwoman with wide-open, puzzled eyes,diverted for the moment from her ownpurpose.

"At least, you need not expect me to helpyou," Helen said acidulously. "I have myown feelings. I respected Mr. Wade at onetime and valued his friendship. You havetaken from me my respect for him, and youhave taken from him his self-respect.Quite likely you had no respect foryourself, and so you had nothing to lose.But if you'll stop to consider, you may see

how impertinent you are to appeal to meso brazenly."

"What are you talking about?" Dorothy'seyes, too, were blazing now, but more inchampionship of Wade than of herself.She still did not fully understand the driftof what Miss Rexhill had said.

"Really, you are almost amusing." Helenlooked at her through half-closed lids."You are quite freakish. I suppose youmust be a moral degenerate, or somethingof the sort." She waited for the insult tosink in, but Dorothy was fairly dazed andbewildered. "Do you want me to callthings by their true names?"

"Yes," answered Dorothy, "I do. Tell mewhat you are talking about."

"I don't mind, I'm sure. Plain speaking hasnever bothered me. It's the deed that'shorrible, not the name. You were found inMr. Moran's office with Mr. Wade, late atnight, misbehaving yourself. Do you dareto come now to me and...."

"That is not true!" The denial came fromDorothy with an intensity that would havecarried conviction to any person lessinfuriated than the woman who faced her."Oh!" Dorothy raised her hands to herthroat as though struggling for breath. "Inever dreamed you meant that. It's adeliberate lie!"

In the grip of their emotions, neither of thegirls had noticed the entrance of SenatorRexhill. Helen saw him first anddramatically pointed to him.

"There is my father. Ask him!"

"I do not need to ask him what I've done."Dorothy felt as though she wouldsuffocate. "No one would believe thatstory of Gordon, whatever they might thinkof me."

"Ask me? Ask me what?" the Senatornervously demanded. He had in his pocketa telegram just received from Washington,stating that the cavalry would be sent fromFort Mackenzie only at the request of theGovernor of Wyoming. The Governor wasnot at all likely to make such a request,and Rexhill was more worried than he hadbeen before, in years. He could only hopethat Tug Bailey would escape capture."Who is this?" He put on his glasses, anddeliberately looked Dorothy over. "Oh,

it's the young woman whom Race found inhis office."

"She has come here to plead for GordonWade—to demand that I tell her where heis now. I don't know, of course; none of usknow; but I wouldn't tell her if I did."Helen spoke triumphantly.

"You had better leave us," Rexhill saidbrusquely to Dorothy. "You are notwanted here. Go home!"

While they were talking, Dorothy hadlooked from one to the other with thecontempt which a good woman naturallyfeels when she is impugned. Now shecrossed the room and confronted theSenator.

"Did you tell your daughter that I wascaught in your office with Gordon Wade?"she demanded; and before her steady gazeRexhill winced.

"You don't deny it, do you?" he blustered.

"I don't deny being there with him, and Iwon't deny anything else to such a man asyou. I'm too proud to. For your own sake,however, you would have done better notto have tried to blacken me." She turnedswiftly to his daughter. "Perhaps you don'tknow all that I supposed you did. Wewere in Moran's office—Mr. Wade andmyself—because we felt sure that yourfather had some criminal purpose here inCrawling Water. We were right. We foundpapers showing the location of gold onMr. Wade's ranch, which showed your

father's reasons for trying to seize theland."

Helen laughed scornfully.

"Do you expect me to believe that?"

"No, of course not," her father growled."Come on up to our rooms. Let her preachhere until she is put out." He was on hisway to the door when the vibrantcommand in Dorothy's voice halted him.

"Wait. You'd better listen to me, for it'sthe last chance you'll have. I have youabsolutely at my mercy. I've caught you!You are trapped!" There was no doubtingthat the girl believed what she said, andthe Senator's affairs were in a sufficientlyprecarious state to bid him pause.

"Nonsense!" He made his own tone asunconcerned as he could, but there was alook of haunting dread in his eyes.

"Senator Rexhill,"—Dorothy's voice waslow, but there was a quality in it whichthrilled her hearers,—"when my motherand I visited your daughter a few daysago, she gave my mother a blotter. Therewas a picture on it that reminded mymother of me as a child; that was why shewanted it. It has been on my mother'sbureau ever since. I never noticedanything curious about it until thisevening." She looked, with a quiet smileat Helen. "Probably you forgot that youhad just blotted a letter with it."

Helen started and went pale, but not sopale as her father, who went so chalk-

white that the wrinkles in his skin lookedlike make-up, against its pallor.

"I was holding that blotter before thelooking-glass this evening," Dorothycontinued, in the same low tone, "and Isaw that the ink had transferred to theblotter a part of what you had written. Iread it. It was this: 'Father knew Santryhad not killed Jensen....'"

The Senator moistened his lips with histongue and strove to chuckle, but the effortwas a failure. Helen, however, appearedmuch relieved.

"I remember now," she said, "and I amwell repaid for my moment of sentiment. Iwas writing to my mother and was tellingher of a scene that had just taken place

between Mr. Wade and my father. I didnot write what you read; rather, it was notall that I wrote. I said—'Gordon thoughtthat father knew Santry had not killedJensen.'"

"Have you posted that letter?" her fatherasked, repressing as well as he could hisshow of eagerness.

"No. I thought better about sending it. Ihave it upstairs."

"If you hadn't it, of course you could writeit again, in any shape you chose," Dorothyobserved crisply, though she recognized,plainly enough, that the explanation was atleast plausible.

"There is nothing in that," Rexhill

declared, when he had taken a deep breathof relief. "Your championship of Wade isrunning away with you. What other—er!—grave charges have you to bring againstme?"

"I have one that is much more grave," sheretorted, so promptly that he could notconceal a fresh start of uneasiness. "Thismorning, Mr. Trowbridge and I were outfor a ride. We rode over to the placewhere Jensen was shot, and Mr.Trowbridge found there a cartridge shellwhich fits only one gun in CrawlingWater. That gun belongs to a man namedTug Bailey."

By now Rexhill was thoroughly aroused,for although he was too good a jurist notto see the flaws in so incomplete a fabric

of evidence against him, he wasimpressed with the influence such a storywould exert on public opinion. Ifpossible, this girl's tongue must bestopped.

"Pooh!" He made a fine show ofindifference. "Why bring such tales to me?You'd make a very poor lawyer, youngwoman, if you think that such rumors willserve to impeach a man of my standing."

"There is a warrant out for Bailey,"Dorothy went on quietly. "If he is caught,and I choose to make public what I knowand can guess, I am sure that you willnever reach a court. You underestimate thepeople here. I would not have to provewhat I have told you. I need only toproclaim it, and—I don't know what they'd

do to you. It makes me a bit sick to thinkabout it."

The thought made the Senator sick, too, forof late he had seen that things were goingvery badly for him. He was prepared totemporize, but there was no need for himto contemplate surrender, or flight, so longas Bailey remained at large. If the manwere captured, and there was likelihoodof a confession being wrung from him,then most decidedly discretion would bethe better part of valor.

"Oh, of course," he confessed, "I amwilling to admit that in such a communityas this you might make trouble, unjustly,for me and my daughter. I am anxious toavoid that, because my interests arevaluable here and I have my daughter's

safety to consider."

"Don't think of me," Helen interposedquickly. Above all fear for herself wouldbe the shame of being beaten by Dorothyand of having her triumph go to the makingof Wade's happiness. The thought of thatappeared far worse to her mind than anyphysical suffering. "Do what you think isright. We are not cowards."

"But I must think of you, my dear. I amresponsible to your mother." He turned toDorothy again. "How much do you want?"

"How much? Oh!" She flushed hotlybeneath the insult, but she chose to ignoreit. "There is only one price that willpurchase my silence. Tell me where Mr.Wade is?"

"Bless my soul, I don't know." TheSenator affected a display of injuredinnocence, which sat oddly upon hisharried countenance. "I am willing to dowhat I can to save trouble, but I can't dothe impossible."

For a moment, in a wretched slough ofhelplessness, Dorothy found herconviction wavering. Could it really bepossible that he was speaking the truth;that he did not know? But with thedreadful thought came also the realizationthat she must not let him fathom her mind.She told herself that she must keep hercountenance, and she did so.

"There is not a man in Crawling Waterwho does not believe that Race Moran isresponsible for Mr. Wade's

disappearance," she declared. "That isanother thing that you should consider, forit is one more link in the chain of evidence—impressions, you may call them, butthey will be accepted as evidence byWade's friends."

Rexhill was considering it, and swiftly, inthe light of the visit he had had fromTrowbridge. The cattleman had left himwith a distinct feeling that every wordspoken had been meant. "If we can proveit against you, we'll ride you to hell on arail." The language was melodramatic, butit seemed very suggestive as the Senatorcalled it to mind. He regretted that he hadsupported Moran in his lust for revenge.The lawless spirit of the West seemed tohave poisoned his own blood, but

somehow the feeling of indifference as tosuffering personal violence had been leftout, and he realized that the West was noplace for him.

"Even so," he said pompously, "even ifwhat you say of Moran should prove true,it does not follow that I know it, or am aparty to it. Race Moran is his ownmaster."

"He is your employee—your agent—andyou are responsible for what he does inyour behalf," Dorothy retorteddesperately. "Why do you bandy wordswith me like this? You may be able to doit with me, but don't think that you can doit with Mr. Trowbridge, and the others, ifI tell them what I know. I tell you, youcan't. You feel safe before me alone, but

you are in much greater danger than youthink. You don't seem to realize that I amholding your lives in my hand."

Helen's cheeks blanched at this.

"I do realize it." There was a slight quaverin the Senator's voice, although he tried tospeak with easy grace. "I assure you, I doand I shall be very grateful to you"—hisanxiety was crowding out his discretion—"if you will help me to save mydaughter...."

"I say just what I said before," Heleninterposed, courageous to the last. Thereis, many times, in the woman a finer fiberof courage than runs in the man.

Dorothy regarded the Senator scornfully,

her feminine intuition assuring her that hewas weakening. She no longer doubtedthat he knew; she was certain of it andhappy to feel that she had only to presshim harder to wring the truth from him.

"Grateful? For helping you? I am nottrying to help you. You deserve anypunishment that could be inflicted uponyou, I would say that, even if you had notinsulted me and lied about me. You are anevil man. I am offering you your safety, sofar as I can grant, only for the sake of Mr.Wade. If it were not for him, I should nothave come here at all."

Her sense of approaching triumph hadcarried her a little too far. It arousedHelen to bitter resentment, and when shebegan to speak Dorothy was sorry that she

had not kept silent.

"Father, don't do it!" Miss Rexhill burstout. "It is insufferable that this womanshould threaten us so. I would rather runany risk, I don't care what, than give in toher. I won't tolerate such a thing."

"You may be urging him to his death,"Dorothy warned her. "I will not stop atanything now. If I tell the cattlemen what Iknow they will go wild. I mean what I say,believe me!"

"I know you will not stop at anything. Ihave seen that," Helen admitted. "Awoman who can do what you've alreadydone...."

"Helen!" The Senator was carrying with

him a sense of gratitude toward Dorothy,and in the light of her spirit he was a littleashamed of the part he had played againsther. "Let's try to forget what has past. Atleast, this young woman is offering us achance."

"Listen!" Dorothy cried out suddenly.

Outside, in the street, a gallopinghorseman was shouting to some one as herode. The girl ran to the window andraised the shade to look out. The lustyvoice of the horseman bore well into theroom. "They've caught Bailey at Sheridan.He'll be here to-morrow."

"Senator Rexhill," said Dorothy, turningaway from the window, "you'd better takethe chance I've offered you, while you can.

Do it for the sake of the old friendshipbetween you and Gordon Wade, if for noother reason. No matter how bitter he mayfeel toward you, he would not want you inCrawling Water when Tug Baileyconfesses. It would be too awful." Sheshuddered at the thought. "Tell me wherehe is and get out of town at once."

"Bailey hasn't confessed yet," Helen cut ingamely.

"No; but he will," Dorothy declaredpositively. "They'll put a rope around hisneck, and he'll confess. Such men alwaysdo. Try to remember the position you arein. You'd be sorry if your father werelynched. Go with him, while you can. Iknow these people better than you do."

The Senator swallowed hard and moppedhis damp forehead with his handkerchief.There was nothing to do but follow thegirl's advice, and that quickly, he knew.After all, in the face of death, financialruin seemed a mere bagatelle.

"So far as I have been informed, Wade isconfined at Coyote Springs, somewhere inthe mountains," he said bluntly. "That's allI know of the matter. I hope you will findhim all right there. He ought to be veryproud of you."

Dorothy caught her hands to her breast in alittle gesture of exultation, and theexpression on her face was a wonderfulthing to see.

"You'll go?"

"In the morning," Senator Rexhillanswered.

Eager as Dorothy was to reach the bigpine with her message, she could notleave without giving Helen such a glanceof triumph as made her wince.

Then, hurrying to her pony, she roderapidly out of town into the black nightwhich cloaked the trail leading to the pine.She knew that her mother would miss herand be anxious, but the minutes were tooprecious now to be wasted even on hermother. She did not know what perilGordon might be in, and her first duty wasto him. She was almost wild with anxietylest the courier should not be at his post,but he was there when she dashed up tothe pine.

"Take me to Mr. Trowbridge. Quick!" shepanted.

"He's somewhere between Bald Knob andHatchet Hill," the man explained,knocking the ashes from his pipe. "It'ssome dark, too, miss, for ridin' in thiscountry. Can't you wait until morning?"

"I can't wait one second. I have found outwhere Mr. Wade is, and I mean to be withyou all when you find him."

"You have, eh?" The man, who was one ofTrowbridge's punchers, swung into hissaddle. "That bein' so, we'd get there ifthis here night was liquid coal."

CHAPTER XVIII

A RESCUE AND AVIGILANCE COMMITTEE

At the end of an hour, or so, the lionwithdrew and Wade thought he had seenthe last of it. He began to pace up anddown the fissure once more, for now thathis thin shirt was damp with perspiration,set flowing by the nervous strain he hadbeen under, he began to get chilly again.He had just begun to warm up, when heheard the animal returning. He crouchedback against the cavern wall, but the lionhad evidently lost the zest for such

impossible prey. It walked about andsniffed at the edges of the fissure for someminutes; then it sneaked off into the timberwith a cat-like whimper.

The exhausted ranchman kept his feet aslong as he could, but when the first rays ofthe morning sun cast purple shadows intothe depths of the hole, he could no longerkeep awake. With his hands, he drifted theloose sand about him, as travelers dowhen exposed to a snow-blizzard, andslept until Goat Neale aroused him, inbroad daylight. The Texan performed thisservice by deftly dropping a small stoneupon the sleeping man's face.

"I just stepped over to inquire what you-all'd like for breakfast this mornin'," hesaid with a grin. "Not that it matters much,

'cause the dumb-waiter down to whereyou be ain't waitin' to-day, but it'smanners, kinder, to ask."

Wade looked up at him grimly, but saidnothing. Just awake as he was, his healthystomach clamored for food, but since nonewould be given him, he knew that he mightas well try to be patient.

"Mebbe you'd like to step over to ourhotel an' take your meals, eh?" The Texanwent on, after a short pause. "I've got a potof coffee bilin' an' a mess o' bacon fryin'.No?" He grinned sardonically. "How'dyou like me to give you some o' this herecabareet stuff, while you're waitin'? I ain'tno great shucks as a entertainer, but I'll dowhat I can. Mebbe, you'd like to knowhow I happened to catch you that clump on

the head yesterday. Huh?

"I was up in the low branches of a thickpine, where you was moseyin' along. Youwas that busy watchin' the ground, younever thought to raise them eyes o' yourn. Ijust reached down and lammed you goodwith a piece of stick, an' here you be, safean' sound as a beetle in a log. Here you'llstay, too, likely, on-less you get somesense, and I don't know when that theredumbwaiter'll get to runnin'. It's a shame,too, if you ask me, 'cause a man needs histhree or four squares a day in this hereclimate."

"How much do you want to give me ahand out of here, Neale?" the cattlemandemanded abruptly, tired of listening tothe fellow's monotonous drawl; and after

all the chance was worth taking.

The eyes of the Texan glittered.

"Got the money on you?"

"You'd get the money all right."

"Sure, son, I know that—if you had it! I'djust hold my gun on you, an' you'd toss theroll up here, without puttin' me to thetrouble o' givin' you no hand." Hechuckled in appreciation of his ownhumor. "But I know you ain't got it on you—we frisked you down yonder in thetimber—an' I don't deal in no promises.This here is a cash game. If I thoughttha...."

He whirled about suddenly, lookingbehind him and seemed to listen for an

instant; then his hand dropped to the gun athis hip. He never drew the weapon,however, for with a horrible facialgrimace, as his body contorted under theimpact of a bullet, he threw his arms intothe air and reeled over the edge of thehole. A second afterward the report of arifle came to Wade's ears.

"Hello!" the rancher shouted, springingfrom under the Texan's falling body. Theinstant it struck the sand, Wade snatchedNeale's revolver from its holster andwaited for him to try to rise; but he did notmove. A bloody froth stained his lips,while a heavier stain on his shirt, justunder the heart, told where the bullet hadstruck. The man was dead.

"Hello! Hello!" Wade shouted repeatedly,

and discharged the revolver into the sand.He realized that, although a friend musthave fired the rifle, there was nothing toshow where he was. "Hello!"

"Hello!" The hail was answered by thenewcomer, who, thus guided, approachedthe spot until his voice was near at hand."Hello!"

"Hello! Come on!" The prisoner threw hishat up out of the hole. "Here I am!"

The next moment Bill Santry, with tearsstreaming down his weather-beatencheeks, was bending over the edge of thefissure with down-stretched hands.Beneath his self-control the old man wassoft-hearted as a woman, and in hisdelight he now made no attempt to restrain

himself.

"Thank Gawd for this minute!" heexclaimed. "Give me your hands, boy. Ican just reach 'em if I stretch a little an'you jump." Wade did so and was drawnup out of the hole. "Thank Gawd! ThankGawd!" the old fellow kept exclaiming,patting his employer on the back. "Didn'thurt you much, did they?"

Before Wade could answer, a patter ofhoofs caused him to turn, as Dorothyslipped from Gypsy's bare back and rantoward him. She stumbled when she hadalmost reached him, and he caught her inhis arms.

"Are you all right? Oh, your head! It's hurt—see, the blood?" She clung to him and

searched his face with her eyes, while hetried to soothe her.

"It's nothing, just a bad bruise, but how—?" He checked the question upon hislips. "We mustn't stay here. Moran mayhave...."

"There ain't nobody here. I wish to Gawdhe was here. I'd...." Santry's face wastwisted with rage. "'Course," he added, "Iknew it was him, so'd Lem Trowbridge.But we come right smack through theircamp, and there was nobody there. Thishere skunk that I plugged, he must be theonly one. I got him, I reckon."

"Yes," Wade answered simply, as hewatched three men from the Trowbridgeranch ride up to them. "Where's Lem?"

Dorothy explained that she had set out tofind him in company with the man she hadmet at the big pine; but on the way theyhad met Santry and the three cowboys.One of the men had then ridden on to BaldKnob after Trowbridge, while the rest hadcome straight to Coyote Springs. She triedto speak quietly, but she could not keepthe song of happiness out of her voice, orthe love out of her eyes.

"Then you did this, too?" Wade wrung herhands and looked at her proudly. "But how—I don't understand?"

"I'll tell you, when we're in the saddle,"she said shyly. "There's so much to tell."

"Santry!" The ranch owner threw his armfondly across the shoulders of his

foreman. "You, too, and Lem. I've got allmy friends to thank. Say, dig a grave forthis fellow, Neale. There was a lionaround here last night, and I'd hate to havehim get Neale, bad as he was. Then—"His voice became crisp withdetermination. "Hunt up Trowbridge andask him to pass the word for everybody tomeet at the ranch, as soon as possible.There's going to be open war here in thevalley from now on." He turned again toDorothy. "Dorothy, I'm going to take youright on home with me."

"Oh, but...." The gleam in his eyes madeher pause. She was too glad to have foundhim safe, besides, to wish to cross him inwhatever might be his purpose.

"No buts about it. I'll send for your

mother, too, of course. Town won't be anyplace for either of you until this businessis settled. George!" he called to one of thethree cowmen, who rode over to him. "Isuppose it'll be all right for you to takeorders from me?"

"I reckon so."

"I want you to ride into Crawling Water.Get a buckboard there and bring Mrs.Purnell out to my place. Tell her that herdaughter is there, and she'll come. Comenow, little girl." He caught Dorothy in hisarms and lifted her on to Gypsy's back."All right, boys, and much obliged." Hewaved the little cavalcade on its way, andswung into the saddle on the extra horse,which Santry had provided.

On the way down through the timber,Dorothy modestly told him of the part shehad played, with the help of LemTrowbridge. He listened with amazementto the story of her generalship, and wasrelieved to hear that the Rexhills wereprobably already out of Crawling Water,for that left him a free hand to act againstMoran. This time the agent must suffer thepenalty of his misdeeds, but greater eventhan his pleasure at that thought, wasWade's gratitude to Dorothy for all shehad done for him. He was filled with awonderful tenderness for her, which madehim see in the play of her facialexpression; the shy lowering of her lashes;the color which ebbed and flowed in hercheeks; the free use which she made of herred lips, a greater fascination than she had

ever before exerted over him. There, inthe fissure, he had expected never to be ather side again, and now that he was so,and knew what she had come to mean tohim, the old friendship between themseemed no longer possible; certainly notfrom his side. He felt, in its place, all theconfusion of a lover, anxious to speak andyet struck dumb with clumsiness and thefear, never absent no matter what thedegree of encouragement, that his suitmight not find favor with the lady whenput into words.

"You're a wonderful girl," he burst out, atlast, with a heartiness that, in bringing aflush to her cheeks, made the old phraseseem new to her ears.

"I'm not at all," she denied shyly. "I just

had to do it, that was all. People alwaysdo what they have to do."

"They do not. Lots of them can't, but you—you're always capable; that's what makesyou so wonderful, Dorothy!" He pulled hishorse closer to hers, meaning to put hisarm around her, but he dared not attemptit, when her dress brushed his sleeve.

"Yes?" She was trembling now far morethan when she had faced the Rexhills."What is it?"

His arm dropped to his side, and hesuddenly became acutely conscious of hisappearance, what with his blood-mattedhair; his blood-stained and soiled face; hisgenerally woe-begone and desperate state.At least, before he risked his future on

such a question, he ought to make himselfas presentable as he could.

"Nothing."

"But—" She looked at him curiously."You were going to say something,weren't you?"

"Yes; but I'm not going to do it until I canget to a hair-brush, and a wash-basin, anda clean shirt," he answered lugubriously."What I've got on my mind is a church-going sentiment and I want to be inchurch-going clothes." The expression ofhis countenance contributed more than hiswords to the humor he strove for, and shelaughed at him, merrily with her mouth,very tenderly with her eyes.

"There's the house." She pointed ahead."Even though I'm riding bareback, I canbeat you to it. Come on!"

Once Wade was within reach of food, hishunger became insistent, and he could notwait for the cook to prepare a meal offried chicken. He foraged in the larderbeforehand, and then did full justice to themeal put before him. By the time this wasover, Mrs. Purnell arrived, and he had nochance to get into his "church-goingclothes," as he called them. He had to tellthe old lady all that had befallen him.

"I never would have thought it of that MissRexhill," Mrs. Purnell declared.

"It wasn't Miss Rexhill, it was her fatherand Race Moran," Dorothy interposed.

"Or the Senator either, speaking merelyfrom the looks of him," her motherretorted. "And think of the position heholds, a Senator of the United States!"

"That's no hall-mark of virtue these days,"Wade laughed.

"Well, it should be. If we're to havepeople like him running the Nation, there'sno telling where we'll end."

"It just goes to show how an honest man,for I think Rexhill was an honest manwhen I first knew him, can go wrong byassociating with the wrong people," saidWade. He could not forget his earlierfriendship for the Rexhills, and to him theword friendship meant much. "He not onlygot in with a bad crowd, but he got going

at a pace that wrung money out of himevery time he moved. Then, in the lastelection, he was hit hard, and I suppose hefelt that he had to recoup, even if he had tosacrifice his friends to do it. We mustn'tjudge a man like that too hard. We livedifferently out here, and maybe we don'tunderstand those temptations. I'm mightyglad they've gone away. I can get rightdown to work now, without any qualms ofconscience."

"But think of you, Dorothy, out all night inthose mountains!" Mrs. Purnell exclaimed.

"Mother—" Dorothy smiled tenderly."You always think backward to yesterday,instead of forward to to-morrow."

By then, the first of the neighboring

ranchers were drifting in, in response toWade's summons. When all were present,and Trowbridge had wrung Wade's handin a hearty pressure of congratulation, theywere asked into the living-room, whereSantry stood in a corner, munching slowlyon a mouthful of tobacco and smilinggrimly to himself.

"Gentlemen," began Wade, facing the littlegroup of stern-faced men, "you all knowwhy we are here. To a greater or lesserextent, we've all suffered from RaceMoran's depredations, although until latelynone of us knew his motive. Now,however, we know that there is gold herein the valley—on our land—which Moranis trying to get possession of. He hasproved that he is willing to resort to any

villainy to get what he wants, and whilehe and his men are at large our lives andmost of our ranches are in danger.

"We have tried the law, but it has nothelped us. Such little law as we have hereis entirely in the hands of the enemy. Wemust now assume the direction of our ownaffairs. Many of you have already servedin a vigilance committee, and you allknow the purpose of such an organization.My idea is to form one now to takepossession of Crawling Water and runMoran and his hired bullies out of thecounty. Between us, we can muster abouta hundred men; more than enough to turnthe trick, and the quicker we get to workthe sooner we'll be able to go about ourbusiness affairs without fear of being shot

in the back. My plan is this: Let usassemble our force quietly, ride intoCrawling Water, capture Moran and hisfollowers, and escort them out of thecounty. There must be no lynching orunnecessary bloodshed; but if they resist,as some of them will, we must use suchforce as is needed to overcome them."

He stopped speaking, and for someminutes silence prevailed. Then BillSantry shifted the quid in his cheek, spatunerringly through the open window, andbegan to talk. His loose-jointed figure hadsuddenly become tense and forceful; hislean face was determined and very grim.

"Being as I've suffered some from thisskunk, and have lived here some while, soto say, mebbe I can horn in?" he began.

"Go ahead!" said Wade heartily.

"Gordon here has stated the gist o' thisbusiness a whole lot better'n I could, butI'd like to make a few additional remarks.We've all been neighbors for some years,and in the natural course of things we'vebeen pretty good friends. Until this feller,Moran, got to monkeyin' around here,there wasn't no trouble to talk about, andwe was all able to carry on our work calmand peaceful like. But since this skunkcamped among us, we ain't hardly knowedwhat a decent sleep is like; he's grabbedour range, butchered our stock, shot up ourmen, lied, and carried on high, in general.We've given the law a chance to do thesquare thing by us. All we asked was afair shake, and we turned the other cheek,

as the Bible says, hopin' that we couldwin through without too much fightin', butwe've been handed the muddy end of thestick every time. It's come to a showdown,gents. We either got to let Moran do as hedamn pleases 'round here, or show himthat he's tackled a buzz-saw. Most of uswas weaned some earlier than the daybefore yisterday. We gradooated from thetenderfoot class some time back, and it'sup to us to prove it."

He paused and looked around himearnestly for a moment; then, as hisaudience remained silent, he went on:

"I'm older'n you men, an' I've lived a heapin my time. For nearly forty years I'vebeen knockin' 'round this Western countrywithout no nurse or guardeen to look after

me. I've mixed with all kinds, and I'vebeen in some scrapes; there's notches onmy gun handles to prove that I ain't beenno quitter. I've rode with the vigilantesmore'n once, and the vigilantes has rodeafter me—more'n once; in my young days Iwa'n't exactly what you'd call a nickel-plated saint. But I never killed a man,'cept in a fair fight, an' I don't believe inviolence unless it's necessary. It'snecessary right now, fellers! Moran's gonetoo far! Things have drawed to a pointwhere we've got to fight or quit. In myexperience, I ain't never seen but onejudge that couldn't be bought; money an'influence don't count a whoop with him.It's Judge Colt, gents! You all know him;an' with him on our side we can round upMoran an' his crew of gun-fighters, an'

ship 'em out of the country for keeps.Now's the time! The quicker we get busy,the quicker the air in these hills will be fitfor a white man to breathe."

"It's a go with me," Lem Trowbridgedeclared grimly. "That's what I'm here for.How about the rest of you?"

When the other stock men assented, Wadesmiled, for he knew their type. Honest,hard-working, peace-loving men thoughthey were, when aroused they possessedthe courage and tenacity of bull-dogs.They were aroused now, and they wouldcarry on to the end, with a step as firm andrelentless as the march of Time. Woe towhoever attempted to thwart them in theirpurpose!

Wade's neighbor to the north, Dave Kelly,spoke up in his slow, nasal drawl. "Yousay there's to be no lynchin'," he remarked."How about Tug Bailey, when he getshere from Sheridan? According to whatLem says, Bailey shot Jensen."

"Sure, he did," Trowbridge put in. "We'lljust slip a noose over his head and makehim confess. That'll publicly clear Gordonand Bill. Then we'll give him a good coatof tar and feathers and run him out oftown."

"That's right," said Santry. "Jensen wasonly a Swede and a sheepherder. Thishere committee's to protect men."

Kelly chuckled. "Have it your own way,"he said. "I'm not particular. As it is,

there'll be plenty doing."

For an hour or more the cattlemen wentover the plan of their campaign, whichworked out into simplicity itself. Early thenext evening they would marshal theirforce outside of Crawling Water, eachman armed and mounted. After dark theywould ride up the main street, where theywould halt at each crossing, while a squaddetailed for the purpose searched eachsaloon and other gathering place formembers of Moran's gang. After theprisoners were rounded up they would beassembled in a compact body andmarched to the railroad where they wouldbe set free, under threat of instant death ifthey ever returned to Crawling Water.

Although counting on superior numbers

and the morale of his men, Wade, who hadbeen chosen to command the little army,knew that there would be considerablehard fighting. Moran's people wouldprobably be scattered and otherwiseunprepared for the attack, but many ofthem would resist to the death. If Moranshould attempt an organized resistance, thecattlemen meant to storm the town. Oncethe first shot was fired, the fight would beto a finish, for any other outcome thanvictory would spell ruin for the cattleinterests in that section.

The prospect was more than serious.Moran had established himself inCrawling Water and practically ruled it,surrounded as he was by some sixtyadherents, the off-scouring of a dozen

lawless communities. The decent citizensheld aloof from him, but on the other handthe lower element viewed his reign withfavor. The gamblers, particularly MonteJoe, who proclaimed himself Moran'slieutenant, had welcomed him, as had thesaloonkeepers, to all of whom thepresence of his men meant gainful trade.The better class, in the town itself, was inthe minority and unable to restrain theunbridled license which flourishedeverywhere.

No matter how stiff Moran's resistanceproved, however, Wade felt very sure ofthe final result. He knew the men in hisparty and he knew that they meantbusiness. He was relieved to believe thatDorothy and her mother would be safe at

the ranch until after the trouble was over,and that Helen and Senator Rexhill hadleft Crawling Water. The two factionswere now arrayed against each otheralmost like opposing armies, and thecattleman shuddered to think what his stateof mind would have been had Dorothy andMrs. Purnell remained in Crawling Water.

"You'll be entirely safe here," he toldthem, when he was ready to leave forCrawling Water on the following evening."I shall leave Barker to look after yourwants, but you won't really need him.There isn't a sheepherder, or any of theMoran gang, between here and CrawlingWater. The fighting will all be in town,thank goodness."

At the word "fighting" Dorothy caught her

breath sharply, too proud to urge himagainst his duty and yet afraid for him. Hehad not been able to muster courageenough to speak to her of what was in hisheart, foolish though that was in him, andhe sat there in the saddle for a moment,looking tenderly down on her as she stoodsmoothing out his horse's forelock.

"Do be careful of yourself, Gordon," Mrs.Purnell called to him from the porch, buthe did not hear her.

"I haven't had a chance yet to get into mychurch-going clothes, have I?" he saidwhimsically to Dorothy, who flushedprettily and looked away.

"I don't see what clothes have to do withtalking to me," she said half coyly and half

mischievously.

"Neither do I," he agreed. She had steppedaside and his horse's head was free. "Iguess they haven't a thing to do with it, butI haven't been seeing things exactlystraight lately. I reckon I've been halflocoed."

Touching his horse with the spurs, heloped away to join Santry, who waswaiting for him on ahead.

CHAPTER XIX

BAFFLED, BUT STILLDANGEROUS

When Trowbridge left Dorothy Purnell,promising to find his friend for her sake,he had assumed a confidence that he wasfar from feeling. No man knew the countrythereabout any better than he did, and herealized that there was, at best, only ameager chance of trailing the miscreantwho had succeeded in trapping his victimsomewhere in the mountains. A weakerman would have paused in dismay at thehopelessness of the task he had

undertaken, but Lem Trowbridge wasneither weak nor capable of feelingdismay, or of acknowledginghopelessness. Time enough for all thatafter he should have failed. In themeantime it was up to him to followMoran. He had learned from Santry of theplace where Wade was stricken down, buthow far from there, or in what direction hehad been taken, was a matter of conjectureonly, and the only way to learn was totrail the party that had undoubtedly carriedthe helpless man away perhaps to hisdeath, but possibly, and more probably, tohold him captive.

Desperate as he knew Moran to be, he didnot believe that the immediate murder ofGordon Wade was planned. That would

be poor strategy and Moran was tooshrewd to strike in that fashion.

It seemed clear enough that parley of somesort was intended but knowing both Wadeand Moran as he did, Trowbridge realizedthat in order to be of any assistance, hemust be on the spot without delay. He hadplanned rapidly and he now acted rapidly.

One of his men was stationed at the bigpine, as he had told Dorothy, but all theothers in his employ rode with him asswiftly as the best horses on his ranchcould carry them, to the spot Santry hadtold him of. There they found unmistakabletraces of half a dozen or more horses,besides the footprints of Wade's mount,and a brief examination was enough toshow which way the party had gone.

Undoubtedly they had taken Wade withthem, so the pursuing party followed.

It was one thing to follow, however, andanother thing to overtake. Moran wasbetter versed in the intricacies of bigcities than in those of the wilderness, buthe was shrewd enough to realize thatWade's friends would start an instantsearch, as soon as they should miss theranchman, and it was no part of his plansto be taken by surprise.

Therefore, as soon as he had had hisvictim thrown into the prison from whichescape seemed impossible, Moranselected a camp site nearby, from whichhe had a view of the surrounding countryfor miles around in every direction, andscanning the horizon carefully after his

vain attempt to intimidate Wade, he sawTrowbridge's party approaching, whilethey were still half a dozen miles away.

His first thought was to stay where he wasand give battle. In this he would have hada good chance of victory, for, by openingfire on Trowbridge and his followers asthey came up, he could undoubtedly havepicked off three or four of them beforethey reached him, and so secured odds inhis own favor, if it should come to animmediate encounter.

Second thought, however, showed him thefolly of such a course. There was toomuch remaining for him to do, and thetemporary advantage he might gain wouldnot compensate him for the havoc it wouldmake in his ultimate designs. He therefore

called Goat Neale aside and said:"There's a party of Wade's friends comingup from the East, looking for him, and I'vegot to lead them away. You stay here, butkeep in hiding and take care that nobodylearns where Wade is. He'll live for a fewdays without grub and I'll come back andtend to his case after I've got this partygoing round in circles.

"You stay, and the rest of us will all rideoff to the north, and they'll think we haveWade with us, so they'll follow us, butwe'll lose them somewhere on the way.Sabe?"

Neale demurred at first to the plan, butconsented willingly enough when Moranpromised him extra pay; so he stayed, andwe already know the result. Moran,

however, followed out his planssuccessfully enough, and before night hereached Crawling Water in safety, whileTrowbridge, getting word through one ofhis scouts of Wade's rescue, abandonedthe pursuit. He had been prepared to shootMoran down at sight, but he was readyenough to leave that work to the man whohad a better claim to the privilege than hehad.

Accordingly Moran had ridden into town,exhausted by the exertions of his trip, andhad slept for twelve hours before thinkingof anything else. When he learned onawakening of all that had happened duringhis absence, he was furious with rage. TugBailey had been arrested and was on hisway to Crawling Water in custody.

Senator Rexhill and Helen had taken anEastward-bound train without leaving anyword for him, and to crown it all, hepresently learned that Neale had been shotand Wade had been found, and that thewhole countryside was aflame withindignation.

It was characteristic of the man that evenin this emergency he had no thought offollowing his cowardly accomplice inflight. It might be hopeless to stay andfight, but he was a fighting man, and hereally exulted in the thought of theinevitable struggle that was coming.

Sitting alone in his office studying thesituation, he felt the need of liquor evenmore strongly than usual, though the habithad grown on him of late, and accordingly

he drank again and again, increasing hisrage thereby, but getting little helptowards a solution of his difficulties.

He was enraged most of all at Wade'sescape from Coyote Springs and was stillpuzzled to think how this had happened,for Senator Rexhill in leaving had kept hisown counsel on that point, and Moran didnot dream of his having betrayed thesecret.

Not only had the ranchman been able toturn another trick in the game by escaping,but he had also evaded Moran's intendedvengeance, for the latter had had nothought of letting his prisoner go alive. Hehad meant first to secure Wade's signature,and then to make away with him socleverly as to escape conviction for the

act.

He realized now, when it was too late,that he had acted too deliberately in thatmatter, and he was sorry for it. Heconsidered the departure of the Rexhills acowardly defection. He was furious tothink that Helen had refused to listen tohim while she stayed, or to say good-by tohim before leaving. The sting of thesevarious reflections led him to take furtherpull at a silver flask which he kept in hispocket, and which bore the inscription,"To Race Moran from his friends of theMurray Hill Club."

"So," he muttered, chewing his mustache,"that's what I get for sticking to Rexhill."Leaning back in his swivel chair, he puthis feet up on the desk and hooked his

fingers in the arm-holes of his vest. "Well,I ain't ready to run yet, not by a jugful."

In his decision to remain, however, hewas actuated by a desire to close withWade, and not by any enthusiasm for thecause of the hired rascals who were soloudly singing his praise. They were notcowards, nor was he, but he had had toomuch experience with such people to bedeluded into believing that, when theshowdown came, they would think ofanything but their own precious skins. Hehad heard rumors of the activity of thecattlemen but he discounted such rumorsbecause of many false alarms in the past.H e would not be frightened off; hedetermined to remain until there was anactual clash of arms, in the hope that

events would so work out as to allow hima chance to get back, and severely, atWade.

He got to his feet and rolled about theroom, like a boozy sailor, puffing outvolumes of smoke and muttering beneathhis breath. When he had worked off someof his agitation, the big fellow seatedhimself again, shrugged his massiveshoulders, and lapsed into an alcoholicreverie. He was applying his inflamedbrain to the problem of vengeance, whenhurried footsteps on the stairs arousedhim. Going to the door, he flung it openand peered out into the dimly lightedhallway.

"Hello, Jed!" he exclaimed, upon findingthat the newcomer was one of his

"heelers." "What d'you want? Hic!" Hestraightened up with a ludicrousassumption of gravity.

"The night riders! They've...." The manwas breathless and visibly panic-stricken.

"Riders? Hic! What riders?" Morangrowled. "Out with it, you jelly-fish!"

"The ranchers—the cattlemen—they'veentered the town: they're on the warpath.Already a lot of our fellows have beenshot up."

"The hell they have! How long ago?Where?"

"Other end of town. Must be two hundredor more. I hustled down here to put youwise to the play."

"Thanks!" said Moran laconically."You're headed in the right direction, keepgoing!"

But the man lingered, while Moran, aslightly as a cat, despite his great bulk andthe liquor he carried, sprang to the nearestwindow. Far up the street, he coulddistinguish a huddled mass, pierced byflashes of fire, which he took to behorsemen; as he watched, he heardscattered shots and a faint sound ofyelling. The one hasty glance told him allthat he needed to know; he had not thoughtthis move would come so soon, but luckseemed to be against him all around.Something of a fatalist, in the finalanalysis, he no longer wasted time inanger or regrets. He was not particularly

alarmed, and would not have been socould he have known the truth, that theyelling he had heard marked the passing ofTug Bailey, who had confessed but hadmade his confession too late to please thecrowd, which had him in its power.Nevertheless, Moran realized that therewas no time now to form his men intoanything like organized resistance. Theenemy had caught him napping, and the jigwas up. He had seen the vigilantes workbefore, and he knew that if he intended tosave his own skin he must act quickly.When he turned from the window, shortthough the interval had been, he hadformed a plan of escape.

"They've brought every man they couldrake up," Jed added. "I reckon they've

combed every ranch in the county to startthis thing."

Moran looked up quickly, struck by thesignificance of the remark. If it were true,and it probably was, then Wade's ranchalso would be deserted. He half openedhis mouth, as though to confide in hiscompanion, when he evidently concludedto keep his own counsel.

"All right," he said simply. "I guess there'sstill plenty of time. I've got a good horseat the lower end of the street. Take care ofyourself. So long!"

The man clattered down the stairs, andMoran turned to his desk, from which hetook some papers and a roll of money,which he stuffed into his pockets. In the

hallway he paused for a moment toexamine a wicked looking revolver,which he took from his hip pocket; for,contrary to the custom of the country, hedid not wear his gun openly in a holster.Convinced that the weapon was in goodworking order, he walked calmly down tothe street, sobered completely by thissudden call on his reserve powers.

His horse, a large, rawboned gray, waswhere he had left it, and shaking his fist inthe direction of the vigilantes, he mountedand rode off. He meant to make a widedetour and then work back again to theDouble Arrow range. If the ranch werereally deserted, he meant to fire thebuildings, before attempting his escape.Such a revenge would be a trifle

compared to that which he had planned,but it would be better than nothing, whileone more offense would not lengthen histerm in jail any, if he were caughtafterward. He felt in his pocket for thewhiskey flask, and swore when he found itmissing. He wanted the liquor, but hewanted the flask more, for itsassociations; he drew rein and thought ofreturning to search for it, but realizing thefolly of this, he pressed on again.

The round-about way he took wasnecessarily a long one and the rideentirely sobered him, except for acrawling sensation in his brain, as thoughants were swarming there, which alwaysharassed him after a debauch. At suchtimes he was more dangerous than when

under the first influence of whiskey. It wasclose upon noon, and the silverysagebrush was shimmering beneath thedirect rays of the sun, when he rode hislathered horse out of a cottonwood groveto gaze, from the edge of a deep draw, atWade's ranch buildings. That verymorning a gaunt, gray timber-wolf hadpeered forth at almost the same point; anddespite Moran's bulk, there was a hint of aweird likeness between man and beast inthe furtive suspicious survey they made ofthe premises. The wolf had finally turnedback toward the mountains, but Moranadvanced. Although he was reasonablycertain that the place was deserted, adegree of caution, acquired overnight, ledhim first to assure himself of the fact. Hetied his horse to a fence post and stealthily

approached the house to enter by the backdoor.

Dorothy was alone in the building, for hermother had gone with the overly confidentBarker to pick blackberries, and theChinese cook was temporarily absent. Thegirl was making a bed, when the doorswung open, and she turned with a brightgreeting, thinking that her mother hadreturned. When she saw Moran leering ather, the color fled from her cheeks, in apanic of fright which left her unable tospeak or move. She was looking verypretty and dainty in a cool, fresh gown,which fitted her neatly, and her sleeveswere rolled up over her shapely forearms,for the task of housekeeping which she hadassumed. In her innocent way, she would

have stirred the sentiment in any man, andto the inflamed brute before her sheseemed all the more delectable becausehelpless. Here was a revenge beyondMoran's wildest dreams. To her heappeared the incarnation of evil,disheveled, mud-splashed and sweaty, ashis puffed and blood-shot eyes feasted onher attractiveness.

"Good morning!" He came into the roomand closed the door. "I didn't expect tofind you, but since you're here, I'll stoplong enough to return your visit of theother night. That's courteous, ain't it?"

Dorothy gulped down the lump in herthroat, but made no reply. Realizing theimportance of a show of bravery, she wasfighting to conquer her panic.

"You're sure a good-looking kid," he wenton, trying to approach her; but she put thewidth of the bed between him and herself."Each time I see you, you're better lookingthan you were the last time. Say, that lasttime, we were talking some about a kiss,weren't we, when we were interrupted?"

"Mr. Wade may come in at any moment,"Dorothy lied desperately, having foundher tongue at last. "You'd better not let himfind you here."

"I shouldn't mind," Moran saidnonchalantly. "Fact is, on my way out ofthe country, I thought I'd pay a farewellcall on my good friend, Wade. I'm realsorry he ain't here—and then again I'm not.I'll—I'll leave my visiting card for him,anyhow." He chuckled, a nasty, throaty,

mirthless chuckle that sent chills up anddown the girl's spine. "Say, what's thematter with giving me that kiss now?There's nobody around to interrupt us thistime."

Dorothy shuddered, for already she haddivined what was in his mind. The avidgleam in his eyes had warned her that hewould not restrain himself for long, andsummoning all her strength and courage,she prepared to meet the fearful crisis shemust face.

"Will you please go?"

"No!" Moran chuckled again, and steppedtoward her. "Will you come to me now, orshall I go after you?"

"You brute! You coward!" she cried,when she found herself, after a desperatestruggle, held firmly in his grasp.

She screamed, then, at the top of her lungpower until his hand fell firmly across hermouth, and she could only struggle withthe mad strength of desperation. Hermuscles could offer him no effectiveresistance, although for a moment thesudden fury of her attack drove him back,big though he was; but it was only for amoment. It gave her a chance to screamonce more; then, closing in upon her, heseized her again in his ape-like embrace.She fought like a cornered wild-cat, butslowly and surely he was bending her tohis will. Her nails were leaving rawmarks upon him, until the blood ran down

his face, and presently catching betweenher teeth one of the fingers of the handwhich gagged her, she bit it so fiercelythat he cried out in pain.

"Curse you, you little she-devil," hegrunted savagely. "I'll make you pay twicefor that!"

"Gordon! Oh, come to me! Quick! Quick!"

Quivering all over, she sank on her kneesbefore the brute who confronted her, afigure of distress that must have appealedto the heart of any man above the level ofa beast. But in the heat of passion andrage, Moran had lost kinship with even thebeasts themselves. Lust burned in his eyesand twisted his features horribly as heseized her again, exhausted by the brave

struggle she had made, and all but helplessin his grasp.

"Gordon! Mother! Barker! Save me! Oh,my God!"

CHAPTER XX

THE STORM BURSTS

The vigilantes had entered CrawlingWater at about ten o'clock, when thesaloons and gambling joints were in fullswing. Ribald songs and oaths from theplayers, drinkers, and hangers-on floatedinto the street, with now and then the barkof a six-shooter telling of drunken sport orbravado. Few people were abroad; goodcitizens had retired to their homes, and theother half was amusing itself.

So it was, at first, that few noticed thetroop of horsemen which swung in at one

end of the town, to ride slowly andsilently down the main street. Each of thehundred men in the troop carried a riflebalanced across his saddle pommel; eachwas dressed in the garb of the range-rider;and the face of each, glimpsed by the lightfrom some window or doorway, wasgrimly stern. The sight was one calculatedto make Fear clutch like an ice-cold handat the hearts of those with guiltyconsciences; a spectacle which inducedsuch respectable men as saw it to armthemselves and fall in behind theadvancing line. These knew without beingtold what this noiseless band of stern-eyedriders portended, and ever since thecoming of Moran into Crawling WaterValley, they had been waiting for just thisclimax.

Before the first of the dives, the troophalted as Wade raised his right arm highin the air. Twenty of the men dismountedto enter the glittering doorway, while theremainder of the vigilantes waited on theirhorses. A few seconds after the twentyhad disappeared, the music of the pianowithin abruptly ceased. The shrill screamof a frightened woman preceded a coupleof pistol shots and the sounds of a scuffle;then, profound silence. Presently thetwenty reappeared guarding a handful ofprisoners, who were disarmed and hustledacross the street to an empty barn, wherethey were placed under a guard of citizenvolunteers.

So they proceeded, stopping now and thento gather in more prisoners, who were in

turn escorted to the temporary jail, whilethe column continued its relentless march.The system in their attack seemed toparalyze the activities of the Moranfaction and its sycophants; there wassomething almost awe-inspiring in thesimple majesty of the thing. By now thewhole town was aware of what wastaking place; men were scurrying hitherand thither, like rats on a sinking ship.Occasionally one, when cornered and indesperation, put up a fight; but for the mostpart, the "bad men" were being capturedwithout bloodshed. Few bad men are so"bad" that they would not rather live, evenin captivity, than come to their full rewardin the kingdom of Satan. Frightened anddisorganized, the enemy seemed incapableof any concentrated resistance. As Santry

succinctly put it: "They've sure lost theirgoat."

Not until the troop reached Monte Joe'splace, which was the most imposing ofthem all, was real opposition encountered.Here a number of the choicer spirits fromthe Moran crowd had assembled andbarricaded the building, spurred on by theknowledge that a rope with a runningnoose on one end of it would probably betheir reward if captured alive. Monte Joe,a vicious, brutal ruffian, was himself incommand and spoke through the slats of ablind, when the vigilantes stopped beforethe darkened building.

"What d'you want?" he hoarselydemanded.

"You, and those with you," Wade curtlyanswered.

The gambler peered down into the street,his little blood-shot eyes blinking like apig's. "What for?" he growled.

"We'll show you soon enough," came in arising answer from the crowd. "Open up!"

Monte Joe withdrew from the window,feeling that he was doomed to death, butresolved to sell his life dearly. "Go tohell!" he shouted.

Wade gave a few tersely worded orders.Half a dozen of his men ran to a nearbyblacksmith shop for sledge hammers, withwhich to beat in the door of the gamblinghouse, while the rest poured a hail of

bullets into the windows of the structure.Under the onslaught of the heavy hammers,swung by powerful arms, the door sooncrashed inward, and the besiegers pouredthrough the opening. The fight whichensued was short and fierce. Outnumberedthough the defenders were, they put up adesperate battle, but they were quicklybeaten down and disarmed.

Shoved, dragged, carried, some of themcruelly wounded and a few dead but allwho lived swearing horribly, theprisoners were hustled to the street. Lastof all came Monte Joe, securely held bytwo brawny cow-punchers. At sight of hismottled, blood-besmeared visage, thecrowd went wild.

"Hang him! Lynch the dirty brute! Get a

rope!" The cry was taken up by fiftyvoices.

Hastily running the gambler beneath aconvenient tree, they proceeded to adjust anoose about his neck. In another instantMonte Joe's soul would have departed tothe Great Beyond but for a series ofinterruptions. Wade created the first ofthese by forcing his big, black horsethrough the throng.

"Listen, men!" he roared. "You must stopthis! This man—all of them—must have afair trial."

"Trial be damned!" shouted a beardedrancher. "We've had enough law in thisvalley. Now we're after justice."

Cheering him the crowd roaredapprobation of the sentiment, for even thelaw-abiding seemed suddenly to havegone mad with blood-lust. Wade, his faceflushed with anger, was about to reply tothem when Santry forced his way to thefront. Ever since Wade had released theold man from jail, he had been impressedwith the thought that, no matter what hisown views, gratitude demanded that heshould instantly back up his employer.

"Justice!" snapped the old man, pushinghis way into the circle that had formedaround the prisoner, a pistol in each hand."Who's talkin' o' justice? Ain't me an'Wade been handed more dirt by this buncho' crooks than all the rest o' youcombined? Joe's a pizenous varmint, but

he's goin' to get something he never gave—a square deal. You hear me? Any manthat thinks different can settle the p'intwith me!"

He glared at the mob, his sparse, grizzledmustache seeming actually to bristle. Bythe dim light of a lantern held near him hisaspect was terrifying. A gash on hisforehead had streaked one side of his facewith blood, while his eyes, beneath theirshaggy thatch of brows, appeared to blazelike live coals. Involuntarily, those nearesthim shrank back a pace but only for amoment for such a mob was not to bedaunted by threats. A low murmur ofdisapproval was rapidly swelling into agrowl of anger, when Sheriff Thomasappeared.

"Gentlemen!" he shouted, springing upon aconvenient box. "The law must berespected, and as its representative in thiscommunity...."

"Beat it, you old turkey buzzard!" cried anirate puncher, wildly brandishing a braceof Colts before the officer. "To hell withthe law and you, too. You ain'trep'sentative of nothin' in this community!"

"Men!" Wade began again.

"String the Sheriff up, too," somebodyyelled.

"By right of this star...." Thomas tappedthe badge on his vest. "I am...."

"Pull on the rope!" cried the beardedrancher, and his order would have been

executed but for Wade's detaining hand.

"I'm Sheriff here." Thomas was still tryingt o make himself heard, never noticingthree men, who were rolling in behind hima barrel, which they had taken from anearby store. "I demand that the law berespected, and that I be permitted to—to...." He stopped to sneeze and sputter,for having knocked in the top of the barrel,which contained flour, the three men hademptied its contents over the officer'shead.

His appearance as he tried to shakehimself free of the sticky stuff, whichcoated him from head to foot, was soludicrous that a roar of laughter went upfrom the mob. It was the salvation ofMonte Joe, for Wade, laughing himself,

took advantage of the general merriment tourge his plea again in the gambler's behalf.This time the mob listened to him.

"All right, Wade," a man cried. "Do asyou like with the cuss. This is mostly yourfuneral, anyhow."

"Yes, let the —— go," called out a dozenvoices.

By this time the close formation of thevigilantes was broken. From time to time,men had left the ranks in pursuit ofskulkers, and finding the way backblocked by the crowd, had taken their owninitiative thereafter. Wade and Santrycould not be everywhere at once, and so ithappened that Lem Trowbridge was theonly one of the leaders to be present when

Tug Bailey was taken out of the jail.Trowbridge had not Wade's quiet air ofauthority, and besides, he had allowed hisown blood to be fired by the "clean up."He might have attempted to save themurderer had time offered, but when theconfession was wrung from him, the mob,cheated of one lynching, opened fire uponhim as by a common impulse. In thebatting of an eyelash, Bailey fell in acrumpled heap, his body riddled bybullets.

Meanwhile, Wade and Santry weresearching for the chief cause of all theirtrouble, Race Moran. They were notsurprised to find his office vacant, but asthe night wore on and the saffron hues ofdawn appeared in the sky, and still he was

not found, they became anxious. Half ofthe gratification of their efforts would begone, unless the agent was made to pay thepenalty of his crimes. Wade inquired ofthe men he met, and they too had seennothing of the wily agent. The searchcarried them to the further end of the townwithout result, when Wade turned toSantry.

"Hunt up Lem and see if he knowsanything," he said. "I'll meet you in frontof the hotel. I'm going to ride out and seeif I can dig up any news on the edge oftown. Moran may have made a get-away."

With a nod, Santry whirled his horse anddashed away, and Wade rode forwardtoward an approaching resident, evidentlyof faint heart, who meant, so it seemed, to

be in for the "cakes" even though he hadmissed the "roast." A littlecontemptuously, the ranchman put hisquestion.

"Yes, I seen him; leastwise, I think so,"the man answered. "He went past myhouse when the shootin' first started. Howare the boys makin' out?"

"Which way did he go?" the cattlemandemanded, ignoring the other's question.The resident pointed in the direction takenby Moran. "Are you sure?"

"If it was him, I am, and I think it was."

Wade rode slowly forward in theindicated direction, puzzled somewhat, forit led away from Sheridan, which should

have been the agent's logical objectivepoint. But a few moments' considerationof the situation made him think that theroute was probably chosen for strategicreasons. Very likely Moran had found hisescape at the other end of the townblocked, and he meant to work to somedistant point along the railroad. Wadedrew rein, with the idea of bringing hisfriends also to the pursuit, but from whathis informant had told him Moran alreadyhad a long start and there was no time towaste in summoning assistance. Besides,if it were still possible to overtake thequarry, the ranchman preferred to settlehis difference with him, face to face, andalone.

He urged his horse into a lope, and a little

beyond the town dismounted to pick up thetrail of the fugitive, if it could be found.Thanks to a recent shower, the ground wasstill soft, and the cattleman soon picked upthe trail of a shod horse, leading awayfrom the road and out upon the turf. By thegrowing light, he was able to follow thisat a fairly rapid pace, and as he pressedon the reflection came to him that if theagent continued as he was now headed, hecould hope to come out eventually uponthe Burlington Railroad, a full seventymiles from Sheridan. The pursuit waslikely to be a long one, in this event, andWade was regretting that he had not leftsome word to explain his absence, whenhe suddenly became aware of the fact thathe had lost the trail.

With an exclamation of annoyance, herode back a hundred yards or so, until hepicked up the tracks again, when he foundthat they turned sharply to the right,altogether away from the railroad. Puzzledagain, he followed it for half a mile, untilconvinced that Moran had deliberatelycircled Crawling Water. But why? Whatreason could the man have which, in amoment of desperate danger to himself,would lead him to delay his escape? Whatfurther deviltry could he have on foot?There was nothing to lead him in thedirection he was now traveling, unless...!Wade's heart suddenly skipped a beat andbeads of cold sweat bedewed hisforehead, for Dorothy Purnell and hermother had come into his mind. There wasnothing ahead of Moran but the Double

Arrow ranch! If that were the agent'sobjective point, there would be nothingbetween him and the women save Barker,and the "drop" of a gun might settle that!

Never had the big black horse beenspurred as cruelly as he was then, whenWade plunged his heels into his flanks.With a snort the horse bolted and thensettled into his stride until the gentlebreeze in the rider's face became a rushinggale. But the pain which the animal hadfelt was nothing to the fear which tuggedat the ranchman's heartstrings, as hereproached himself bitterly for having leftonly one man at the ranch, although at thetime the thought of peril to the women hadnever occurred to him. With the start thatMoran had, Wade reasoned that he stood

small chance of arriving in time to do anygood. He could only count upon thewatchfulness and skill of Barker to protectthem.

Failing that, there was but one hope, thatthe rider who had gone on ahead might notbe Moran after all. But presently all doubtof the man's identity was removed fromthe ranchman's mind, for on the soggy turfahead his quick eyes caught the glitter ofsomething bright. Sweeping down fromhis saddle, he picked it up withoutstopping, and found that it was a halfemptied whiskey flask. Turning it over inhis hand, he read the inscription: "ToRace Moran from his friends of theMurray Hill Club."

CHAPTER XXI

WITH BARE HANDS ATLAST

In after years, when Wade tried to recallthat mad ride, he found it only a vagueblur upon his memory. He was consciousonly of the fact that he had traveled at aspeed which, in saner moments, he wouldhave considered suicidal. Urging the bigblack over the rougher ground of thehigher levels, he rode like a maniac,without regard for his own life andwithout mercy for the magnificent horsebeneath him. Time and again the gelding

stumbled on the rocky footing and almostfell, only to be urged to further efforts byhis rider.

Five miles out of Crawling Water, thecattleman thought of a short-cut, through alittle used timber-trail, which would savehim several miles; but it was crossed by aravine cut by a winter avalanche like theslash of a gigantic knife. To descend intothis ravine and ascend on the farther sidewould be a tortuous process, which wouldtake more time than to continue by thelonger route. But if the gelding could jumpthe narrow cleft in the trail, the distancesaved might decide the issue with Moran.On the other hand, if the leap of the horsewas short, practically certain death mustbefall both animal and rider.

Wade decided, in his reckless mood, thatthe chance was worth taking and he rodethe black to the edge of the cleft, wheretrembling with nervousness, the animalrefused the leap. Cursing furiously, Wadedrove him at it again, and again thegelding balked. But at the third try he roseto the prick of the spurs and took the jump.The horse's forelegs caught in perilousfooting and the struggling, slipping animalsnorted in terror, but the ranchman hadallowed the impulse of the leap to carryhim clear of his saddle. Quickly twistingthe bridle reins around one wrist, heseized the horse's mane with his free hand,and helped by the violent efforts theanimal made, succeeded in pulling him upto a firmer footing. For some minutesafterward he had to soothe the splendid

brute, patting him and rubbing histrembling legs; then, with a grimexpression of triumph on his face, heresumed his journey. The chance had won!

There was less likelihood now that hewould be too late, although the thought thathe might be so still made him urge thehorse to the limit of his speed. He kept hiseyes fastened on a notch in the hills, whichmarked the location of the ranch. He rodeout on the clearing which held the housejust in time to hear Dorothy's secondscream, and plunged out of his saddle,pulling his rifle from the scabbard beneathhis right leg as he did so. From the kitchenchimney a faint wisp of smoke curledupward through the still air; a roostercrowed loudly behind the barn and a colt

nickered in the corral. Everywhere wasthe atmosphere of peace, save for thatscream followed now by another chokingcry, and a barking collie, which dancedabout before the closed door of the housein the stiff-legged manner of his breed,when excited.

Wade burst into the house like a madmanand on into the back room, where Moran,his face horribly distorted by passion, wasforcing the girl slowly to the floor. But forthe protection which her supple bodyafforded him, the ranchman would haveshot him in his tracks.

"Gordon!" The overwhelming relief in herface, burned into Wade's soul like abranding-iron. "Don't shoot! Oh, thankGod!" She fell back against the wall, as

Moran released her, and began to crysoftly and brokenly.

Snarling with baffled rage and desire,Moran whirled to meet the cattleman. Hishand darted, with the swift drop of thepractised gun man, toward his hip pocket;but too late, for he was already coveredby the short-barreled rifle in Wade'shands. More menacing even than theyawning muzzle was the expression ofterrible fury in the ranchman's face. For aspace of almost a minute, broken only bythe tense breathing of the two men and astrangled sob from Dorothy, Moran's fatehung on the movement of an eyelash. ThenWade slowly relaxed the tension of histrigger finger. Shooting would be tooquick to satisfy him!

Moran breathed more freely at this sign,for he knew that he had been nearer deaththan ever before in all his adventurouslife, and the sway of his passion hadweakened his nervous control. Couragecame back to him rapidly, for with all hisfaults he was, physically at least, nocoward. He took hope from his belief thatWade would not now shoot him down.

"Well, why don't you pull that trigger?"His tone was almost as cool as though hehad asked a commonplace question.

"I've heard," said Wade slowly, "that youcall yourself a good rough-and-tumblefighter; that you've never met your match. Iwant to get my—hands—on you!"

Moran's features relaxed into a grin; it

seemed strange to him that any man couldbe such a fool. It was true that he hadnever met his match in rough fighting, andhe did not expect to meet it now.

"You're a bigger man than I am," thecattleman went on. "I'll take a chance onyou being a better one. I believe that I canbreak you with my—hands—like therotten thing you are." He paid no heed toDorothy's tearful protests. "Will you meetme in a fair fight?" Wade's face suddenlycontorted with fury. "If you won't...." Hisgrip on the rifle tightened significantly.

"No, Gordon, no! Oh, please, not that!" thegirl pleaded.

"Sure, I'll fight," Moran answered, agleam of joy in his eyes. He gloried in the

tremendous strength of a body which hadbrought him victory in half a hundredbarroom combats. He felt that no onelived, outside the prize-ring, who couldbeat him on an even footing.

"Take his gun away from him," Wade toldDorothy. "It's the second time you'vedisarmed him, but it'll be the last. He'llnever carry a gun again. Take it!" herepeated, commandingly, and when sheobeyed, added: "Toss it on the bed." Hestood his rifle in a corner near the door.

"You're a fool, Wade," Moran taunted asthey came together. "I'm going to kill youfirst and then I'll take my will of her." Butnothing he could say could add to Wade'sfury, already at its coldest, most deadlypoint.

He answered by a jab at the big man'smouth, which Moran cleverly ducked; forso heavy a man, he was wonderfully quickon his feet. He ducked and parried threeother such vicious leads, when, by aclever feint, Wade drew an opening andsucceeded in landing his right fist, hard asa bag of stones, full in the pit of hisadversary's stomach. It was an awfulblow, one that would have killed asmaller man; but Moran merely gruntedand broke ground for an instant. Then helanded a swinging left on the side ofWade's head which opened a cut over hisear and nearly floored him.

Back and forth across the little room theyfought, with little advantage either way,while Dorothy watched them breathlessly.

Like gladiators they circled each other,coming together at intervals with the shockof two enraged bulls. Both were soonbleeding from small cuts on the head andface, but neither was aware of the fact.Occasionally they collided with articlesof furniture, which were overturned andswept aside almost unnoticed; whileDorothy was forced to step quickly fromone point to another to keep clear of them.Several times Wade told her to leave theroom, but she would not go.

Finally the ranchman's superior conditionbegan to tell in his favor. At the end of tenminutes' fighting, the agent's breathingbecame labored and his movementsslower. Wade, still darting about quicklyand lightly, had no longer much difficulty

in punishing the brutal, leering face beforehim. Time after time he drove his fistsmercilessly into Moran's features untilthey lost the appearance of anything humanand began to resemble raw meat.

But suddenly, in attempting to sidestep oneof his opponent's bull-like rushes, thecattleman slipped in a puddle of bloodand half fell, and before he could regainhis footing Moran had seized him. ThenWade learned how the big man'sreputation for tremendous strength hadbeen won. Cruelly, implacably, thosegreat, ape-like arms entwined about theranchman's body until the very breath wascrushed out of it. Resorting to every trickhe knew, he strove desperately to freehimself, but all the strength in his own

muscular body was powerless to break theother's hold. With a crash that shook thehouse to its foundation, they fell to thefloor, and by a lucky twist Wade managedto fall on top.

The force of the fall had shaken Moransomewhat, and the cattleman, by callingon the whole of his strength, succeeded intearing his arms free. Plunging his fingersinto the thick, mottled throat, he squeezedsteadily until Moran's struggles grewweaker and weaker. Finally they ceasedentirely and the huge, heavy body lay still.

Wade stumbled to his feet and staggeredacross the room.

"It's all right," he said thickly, and addedat sight of Dorothy's wide, terror-stricken

eyes: "Frightened you, didn't we? Guess Ishould have shot him and made a cleanjob of it; but I couldn't, somehow."

"Oh, he's hurt you terribly!" the girl cried,bursting into fresh tears.

Wade laughed and tenderly put his armsaround her, for weak though he was andwith nerves twitching like those of arecently sobered drunkard, he was not tooweak or sick to enjoy the privilege ofsoothing her. The feel of her in his armswas wonderful happiness to him and hertears for him seemed far more preciousthan all the gold on his land. He had justlifted her up on the sill of the openwindow, thinking that the fresh air mightsteady her, when she looked over hisshoulder and saw Moran, who had

regained consciousness, in the act ofreaching for his revolver, which lay on thebed where she had tossed it.

"Oh, see what he's doing! Look out!"

Her cry of warning came just too late.There was a flash and roar, and a hotflame seemed to pass through Wade'sbody. Half turning about, he clutched atthe air, and then pitched forward to thefloor, where he lay still. Flourishing thegun, Moran got unsteadily to his feet andturned a ghastly, dappled visage to thegirl, who, stunned and helpless, wasgazing at him in wide-eyed horror. But shehad nothing more to fear from him, fornow that he believed Wade dead, theagent was too overshadowed by his crimeto think of perpetrating another and worse

one. He had already wasted too muchvaluable time. He must get away.

"I got him," he croaked, in a terriblevoice. "I got him like I said I would, damnhim!" With a blood-curdling attempt at alaugh, he staggered out of the house intothe sunshine.

For a moment Dorothy stared woodenlythrough the empty doorway; then, with achoking sob, she bent over the man at herfeet. She shook him gently and begged himto speak to her, but she could get noresponse and under her exploring fingershis heart apparently had ceased to beat.For a few seconds she stared at thewidening patch of red on his torn shirt;then her gaze shifted and focused on therifle in the corner by the door. As she

looked at the weapon her wide, fear-struck eyes narrowed and hardened with asudden resolve. Seizing the gun, shecocked it and stepped into the doorway.

Moran was walking unsteadily toward theplace where he had tied his horse. He wastacking from side to side like a drunkenman, waving his arms about and talking tohimself. Bringing the rifle to her shoulder,Dorothy steadied herself against the door-frame and took long, careful aim. As shesighted the weapon her usually pretty face,now scratched and streaked with bloodfrom her struggles with the agent, wore theexpression of one who has seen all that isdear in life slip away from her. At thesharp crack of the rifle Moran stoppedshort and a convulsive shudder racked his

big body from head to foot. After a singlestep forward he crumpled up on theground. For several moments his arms andlegs twitched spasmodically; then he laystill.

Horrified by what she had done, now thatit was accomplished Dorothy steppedbackward into the house and stood therifle in its former position near the door,when a low moan from behind made herturn hurriedly. Wade was not dead then!She hastily tore his shirt from over thewound, her lips twisted in a low cry ofpity as she did so. To her tender gaze, thehurt seemed a frightful one. Dreading lesthe should regain consciousness and findhimself alone, she decided to remain withhim, instead of going for the help she

craved; most likely she would be unableto find her mother and Barker, anyway.She stopped the flow of blood as best shecould and put a pillow under theranchman's head, kissing him afterward.Then for an interval she sat still. Shenever knew for how long.

Santry reached the house just as Mrs.Purnell and Barker returned with theirberries, and the three found the girlbathing the wounded man's face, andcrying over him.

"Boy, boy!" Santry sobbed, dropping onhis knees before the unconscious figure."Who done this to you?"

Dorothy weepingly explained, and whenshe told of her own part in shooting Moran

the old fellow patted her approvingly onthe back. "Good girl," he said hoarsely."But I wish that job had been left for me."

"Merciful Heavens!" cried Mrs. Purnell."I shall never get over this." Withtrembling hands she took the basin andtowel from her daughter and set them oneside, then she gently urged the girl to herfeet.

"You!" said Santry, so ferociously toBarker that the man winced in spite ofhimself. "Help me to lay him on the bed,so's to do it gentle-like."

Dorothy, who felt certain that Wade wasmortally hurt, struggled desperatelyagainst the feeling of faintness which wascreeping over her. She caught at a chair

for support, and her mother caught her inher arms.

"My poor dear, you're worn out. Go liedown. Oh, when I think...!"

"Don't talk to me, mother!" Dorothywaved her back, for the presence close toher of another person could only mean hercollapse. "I'm all right. I'm of noconsequence now. He needs a doctor," sheadded, turning to Santry, who stood nearthe bed bowed with grief. He, too, thoughtthat Wade would never be himself again.

"I'll go," said Barker, eager to dosomething to atone for his absence at thecritical moment, but Santry rounded uponhim in a rage.

"You—you skunk!" he snarled, andgestured fiercely toward the bed. "He leftyou here to look after things and you—youwent berry pickin'!" Barker seemed socrushed by the scorn in the old man'swords that Dorothy's sympathy wasstirred.

"It wasn't Barker's fault," she said quickly."There seemed to be no danger. Gordonsaid so himself. But one of you go,immediately, for the doctor."

"I'll go," Santry responded and hurriedfrom the room, followed by Barker,thoroughly wretched.

Dorothy went to the bedside and lookeddown into Wade's white face; then sheknelt there on the floor and said a little

prayer to the God of all men to bemerciful to hers.

"Maybe if I made you a cup of tea?" Mrs.Purnell anxiously suggested, but the girlshook her head listlessly. Tea was theelder woman's panacea for all ills.

"Don't bother me, mother, please. I—I'vejust been through a good deal. I can't talk—really, I can't."

Mrs. Purnell, subsiding at last, thereafterheld her peace, and Dorothy sat down bythe bed to be instantly ready to do anythingthat could be done. She had sat thus,almost without stirring, for nearly an hour,when Wade moved slightly and openedhis eyes.

"What is it?" She bent over him instantly,forgetting everything except that he wasawake and that he seemed to know her.

"Is it you, Dorothy?" He groped weaklyfor her fingers.

"Yes, dear," she answered, gulping backthe sob in her throat. "Is there anything youwant? What can I do for you?"

He smiled feebly and shook his head.

"It's all right, if it's you," he said faintly,after a moment. "You're all right—always!"

CHAPTER XXII

CHURCH-GOINGCLOTHES

After his few words to Dorothy thewounded man lapsed again into coma, inwhich condition he was found by thephysician, who returned with Santry fromCrawling Water. During the longintervening time the girl had not movedfrom the bedside, though the strain of herown terrible experience with Moran wasmaking itself felt in exhaustive fatigue.

"Go and rest yourself," Santry urged. "It's

my turn now."

"I'm not tired," she declared, trying tosmile into the keen eyes of the doctor, whohad heard the facts from the old plainsmanas they rode out from town.

Wade lay with his eyes closed, apparentlyin profound stupor, but gave signs ofconsciousness when Dr. Catlin gentlyshook him. Dorothy felt that he should notbe disturbed, although she kept her owncounsel, but Catlin wanted to see if hecould arouse his patient at all, for theextent of the injury caused by the bullet,which had entered the back in the vicinityof the spinal cord, could be gauged largelyby the amount of sensibility remaining.The wounded man was finally induced toanswer monosyllabically the questions put

to him, but he did so with surlyimpatience. The physician next made athorough examination, for which he wasbetter fitted than many a fashionable citypractitioner, by reason of his familiaritywith wounds of all kinds.

When he arose Santry, who had watchedhim as a cat watches a mouse, forcedhimself to speak, for his throat and mouthwere dry as a bone.

"Well, Doc, how about it?"

"Oh, he won't die this time; but he may liethere for some weeks. So far as I can tellthe bullet just grazed the spinal cord, andit's the shock of that which makes him soquiet now. A fraction of an inch closerand he would have died or been

paralyzed, a cripple, probably for life. Atis it, however, barring the possibility ofinfection, he should pull through. Thebullet passed straight through the bodywithout injury to any vital organ, and thereis no indication of severe internalhemorrhage."

Santry moistened his lips with his tongueand shook his head heavily.

"What gets me," he burst out, "is thatGawd A'mighty could 'a' let a skunk likeMoran do a thing like that! And then"—hisvoice swelled as though the words he wasabout to utter exceeded the first—"andthen let the varmint get away from me!"

Dr. Catlin nodded sympathy with thestatement and turned to Dorothy. She had

been anxiously searching his face todiscover if he were encouraging themunduly, and when she felt that he was notstretching the facts a tremendous weightwas lifted from her mind.

"You are going to stay here?" he asked.

"Yes; oh, yes!" she answered.

"That's good." He opened his medicinecase and mixed a simple antipyretic. "I'llexplain what you're to do then. After thatyou better lay down and try to sleep.Wade won't need much for some days,except good nursing."

"I'm not tired," she insisted, at which hesmiled shrewdly.

"I'm not asking you if you're tired. I'm

telling you that you are. Those nerves ofyours are jumping now. You've got ourpatient to consider first, and you can't lookafter him unless you keep well yourself.I'm going to mix something up for you in afew minutes and then you're going to rest.A nurse must obey orders."

He explained to her what she was to dofor the patient and then gave her somethingto offset the effects of her own nervousshock. Then counseling them not to worrytoo much, for there would be no fatalresult if his directions were followed, thephysician mounted his horse and rodeback to town. Such journeys were all inthe day's work to him, and poor pay theyoften brought him, except as love of hisfellow-men rewarded his spirit.

During the long days and nights thatfollowed Dorothy scarcely left Wade'sbedside, for to her mother now fell theburdens of the ranch household. Fromfeeling that she never would be equal tothe task of caring for so many people,Mrs. Purnell came to find her healthgreatly improved by her duties, which lefther no opportunity for morbidintrospection.

Santry, too, was in almost constantattendance upon the sick man, and was astender and solicitous in his ministrationsas Dorothy herself. He ate little and sleptless, relieving his feelings by oathswhispered into his mustache. He made theranch hands move about their variousduties as quietly as mice. Dorothy grew to

be genuinely fond of him, because of theircommon bond of sympathy with Wade.Frequently they sat together in thesickroom reading the newspapers, whichcame out from town each day. On one suchoccasion, when Santry had twisted hismouth awry in a determined effort to foldthe paper he was reading withoutpermitting a single crackle, she softlylaughed at him.

"You needn't be so careful. I don't think itwould disturb him."

The old fellow sagely shook his head.

"Just the same, I ain't takin' no chances,"he said.

A moment afterward he tiptoed over to

her, grinning from ear to ear, and with aclumsy finger pointed out the item he hadbeen reading. An expression of pleasedsurprise flooded her face when she readit; they laughed softly together; and,finding that he was through with the paper,she put it away in a bureau drawer,meaning to show that item some day toGordon.

Under the care of Dr. Catlin who rode outfrom Crawling Water each day, and evenmore because of Dorothy's carefulnursing, the wounded man was at lastbrought beyond the danger point andstarted on the road to health. He was veryweak and very pale, but the one dangerthat Catlin had feared and kept mostly tohimself, the danger of blood-poisoning,

was now definitely past, and the patient'sphysical condition slowly brought about athorough and complete recovery.

"Some of it you owe to yourself, Wade, asthe reward of decent living, and some of ityou owe to the Lord," Catlin told himsmilingly. "But most of it you owe to thislittle girl here." He patted Dorothy on theshoulder and would not permit her to shirkhis praise. "She's been your nurse, and Ican tell you it isn't a pleasant job for awoman, tending a wound like yours."

"Is that so?" said Dorothy, mischievously."That's as much as you know about it. It'sbeen one of the most delightful jobs I everhad."

"She's a wonderful girl," said Wade, with

a tender look at her, after they had laughedat her outburst.

"Oh, you just think that because I'm theonly girl around here," she blushinglydeclared, and the physician kept right onlaughing.

"There was another girl here once," saidWade. "Or at least she acted somewhatdifferently from anything you've donelately."

He was well enough now to receive hisfriends on brief visits, and Trowbridgewas the first to drop in. Dorothy did notmind having Lem, but she was not sure sheenjoyed having the others, for she hadfound the close association with Gordonso very sweet; but she told herself that she

must not be foolish, and she welcomed allwho came. Naturally so pretty a girl doingthe honors of the house so well, and soclosely linked with the fortunes of thehost, gave rise to the usual deductions.Many were the quiet jokes which thecattlemen passed amongst themselves overthe approaching wedding, and the festivalthey would make of the occasion.

"Well, good-by, Miss Purnell," saidTrowbridge one day, smiling and yet witha curiously pathetic droop to his mouth.

"Miss Purnell?" Dorothy exclaimed, in theact of shaking hands.

"That's what I said." He nodded wisely."Good-by, Miss Purnell." Refusing to beenvious of his friend's good fortune, he

laughed cheerily and was gone before shesaw through his little joke.

The next afternoon she was reading toGordon when the far-away look in hiseyes told her that he was not listening. Shestopped, wondering what he could bedreaming about, and missing the sound ofher voice, he looked toward her.

"You weren't even listening," she chided,smilingly.

"I was thinking that I've never had achance to get into those church-goingclothes," he said, with a return of the oldwhimsical mood. "But I look pretty clean,don't I?"

"Yes," she answered, suddenly shy.

"Hair brushed? Tie right? Boots clean?"

To each question she had nodded assent.Her heart was beating very fast and therosy color was mounting to the roots ofher hair, but she refused to lower her eyesin panic. She looked him straight in theface with a sweet, tender, cool gaze.

"Yes," she said again.

"Well, then, give me your hand." Hehitched his rocker forward so as to getcloser to her, and took both her hands inthis. "Dorothy, I've got something to tellyou. I guess you know what it is." Hereyes suddenly became a little moist as sheplayfully shook her head. "Oh, yes, youdo, dear, but I've got to say it, haven't I? Ilove you, Dorothy. It sort of chokes me to

say it because my heart's so full."

"Mine is, too," she whispered, a queercatch in her voice. "But are you sure youlove me?"

"Sure? Why, that other was only...."

Withdrawing her hands from his, she laidher fingers for an instant on his lips.

"I want to show you something," she said.

She went to the bureau, and taking out thepaper which she had hidden there, broughtit to him. It was a moment before shecould find the item again, then she pointedit out. They read it together, as she andSantry had done the first time she had seenit. The item was an announcement from theRexhills of the engagement of their

daughter Helen to Mr. Maxwell Frayne.

Dorothy watched Wade's face eagerly ashe read, and she was entirely contentwhen she saw there no trace of his formersentiment for Helen Rexhill. He expressedgenuine pleasure that Helen was not to becarried down with her father's ruin, but thegirl knew that otherwise the news had lefthim untouched. She had always thoughtthat this would be so, but she wascomforted to be assured of it.

"Why, that was only an infatuation," heexplained. "Now I'm really in love. ThankHeaven, I...." When she looked at himthere was a light in her glorious violet-shaded eyes that fairly took his breathaway.

"Hush, dear," she said softly. "You've saidenough. I understand, and I'm so...."

The rest was lost to the world as his armswent around her.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Minor changes have been made to makespelling and punctuation consistentthrough the text; otherwise, every efforthas been made to be true to the originalbook.

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