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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sawtoot

Ranch, by B. M. Bower

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Title: Sawtooth Ranch

Author: B. M. Bower

Release Date: April 2, 2009 [EBook #28482

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOO

SAWTOOTH RANCH ***



Produced by Al Haines

SAWTOOTHRANCH

BY



B. M. BOWER

METHUEN & CO. LTD.

36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.

LONDON

BY THE SAME AUTHOR



JEAN OF THE LAZY A

GOOD INDIAN

THE UPHILL CLIMB

THE GRINGOSTHE FLYING U'S LAST STAND

THE PHANTOM HERD

THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX

SKYRIDER

This Book was First Published in Grea

Britain … March 10th, 1921

First Issued in this Cheap Form … 1922



CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. LITTLE FISH

II. THE ENCHANTMENTOF LONG DISTANCE

III.

REALITY IS

WEIGHED AND

FOUND WANTING

IV.

"SHE'S A GOOD GIRL

WHEN SHE AIN'T

CRAZY"

V.A DEATH "BY

ACCIDENT"

VI.

LONE ADVISES



SILENCE

VII.THE MAN AT

WHISPER

VIII."IT TAKES NERVE

JUST TO HANG ON"

IX.THE EVIL EYE OF

THE SAWTOOTH

X.

ANOTHER

SAWTOOTH

"ACCIDENT"

XI. SWAN TALKS WITHHIS THOUGHTS

XII.THE QUIRT PARRIES

THE FIRST BLOWXIII.

LONE TAKES HIS

STAND

XIV. "FRANK'S DEAD"



XV. SWAN TRAILS A

COYOTE

XVI.THE SAWTOOTH

SHOWS ITS HANDXVII. YACK DON'T LIE

XVIII.

"I THINK AL

WOODRUFF'S GOTHER"

XIX.SWAN CALLS FOR

HELP

XX. KIDNAPPED

XXI."OH, I COULD KILL

YOU!"

XXII. "YACK, I LICK YOUGOOD IF YOU BARK"

XXIII."I COULDA LOVED

THIS LITTLE GIRL"



XXIV. ANOTHER STORY

BEGINS

SAWTOOTHRANCH

CHAPTER I

LITTLE FISH



Quirt Creek flowed sluggishly betwee

willows which sagged none too gracefull

across its deeper pools, or languishe

beside the rocky stretches that were bondry from July to October, with a narrow

channel in the centre where what wate

here was hurried along to the pool

below. For a mile or more, where the landay fairly level in a platter-like valley se

n the lower hills, the mud that rimmed th

pools was scored deep with the tracks o

he "TJ up-and-down" cattle, as the doubl

monogram of Hunter and Johnson wa

called.

A hard brand to work, a cattleman

would tell you. Yet the TJ up-and-down

herd never seemed to increase beyond

niggardly three hundred or so, though th



Quirt ranch was older than its lordl

neighbours, the Sawtooth Cattle Company

who numbered their cattle by tens o

housands and whose riders must havstrings of fifteen horses apiece to kee

hem going; older too than many a modes

ranch that had flourished awhile and ha

finished as line-camps of the Sawtootwhen the Sawtooth bought ranch an

brand for a lump sum that looked big t

he rancher, who immediately departed to

make himself a new home elsewhere

older than others which had somehow

gone to pieces when the rancher died o

went to the penitentiary under the stigmof a long sentence as a cattle thief. Ther

were many such, for the Sawtooth

powerful and stern against outlawry

olerated no pilfering from thei



housands.

The less you have, the more careful yo

are of your possessions. Hunter anJohnson owned exactly a section and

half of land, and for a mile and a hal

Quirt Creek was fenced upon either side

They hired two men, cut what hay thecould from a field which they irrigated

fed their cattle through the cold weather

watched them zealously through th

summer, and managed to ship enough beeeach fall to pay their grocery bill and thei

men's wages and have a balance sufficien

o buy what clothes they needed, an

perhaps pay a doctor if one of them fel

ll. Which frequently happened, since Bri

was becoming a prey to rheumatism tha

sometimes kept him in bed, and Fran



occasionally indulged himself in a gallo

or so of bad whisky and suffere

afterwards from a badly derange

digestion.

Their house was a two-room log cabin

built when logs were easier to get tha

umber. That the cabin contained tworooms was the result of circumstance

rather than design. Brit had hauled fro

he mountain-side logs long and logs shor

and it had seemed a shame to cut the lonones any shorter. Later, when the outside

world had crept a little closer to thei

wilderness—as, go where you will, th

outside world has a way of doing—he ha

built a lean-to shed against the cabin fro

what lumber there was left after building

cowshed against the log-barn.



In the early days, Brit had had a wif

and two children, but the wife could no

endure the loneliness of the ranch nor th

nconvenience of living in a two-room locabin. She was continually worrying ove

rattlesnakes and diphtheria an

pneumonia, and begging Brit to sell ou

and live in town. She had married hibecause he was a cowboy, and because h

was a nimble dancer and rode gallantl

with silver-shanked spurs ajingle on hi

heels and a snake-skin band around hi

hat, and because a ranch away out o

Quirt Creek had sounded exactly like

story in a book.

Adventures, picturesqueness, eve

romance, are recognised and appreciate

only at a distance. Mrs Hunter lost th



perspective of romance and adventure

and shed tears because there wa

sufficient mineral in the water to yellow

her week's washing, and for various othecauses which she had never foreseen an

o which she refused to resign herself.

Came a time when she delivered shrill-voiced, tear-blurred ultimatum t

Brit. Either he must sell out and move t

own, or she would take the children an

eave him. Of towns Brit knew nothinexcept the post-office, saloon, chea

restaurant side,—and a barber shop wher

a fellow could get a shave and hair-cu

before he went to see his girl. Brit coul

not imagine himself actually living , da

after day, in a town. Three or four day

had always been his limit. It was in



restaurant that he had first met his wife

He had stayed three days when he ha

meant to finish his business in one

because there was an awfully nice girwaiting on table in the Palace, an

because there was going to be a dance o

Saturday night, and he wanted hi

acquaintance with her to develop to thpoint where he might ask her to go wit

him, and be reasonably certain of

favourable answer.

Brit would not sell his ranch. In thi

Frank Johnson, old-time friend an

neighbour, who had taken all the land th

government would allow one man to hold

and whose lines joined Brit's, profanel

upheld him. They had planned to run cattl

ogether, had their brand alread



recorded, and had scraped togethe

enough money to buy a dozen young cows

Luckily, Brit had "proven up" on hi

homestead, so that when the irate MrHunter deserted him she did no

eopardise his right to the land.

Brit was philosophical, thinking that year or so of town life would be a cure. I

he missed the children, he was free fro

ears and nagging complaints, so that hi

content balanced his loneliness. Franproved up and came down to live wit

him, and the partnership began to wea

nto permanency. Share and share alike

hey lived and worked and wrangle

ogether like brothers.

For months Brit's wife was too angr



and spiteful to write. Then she wrot

acrimoniously, reminding Brit of his dut

o his children. Royal was old enough fo

school and needed clothes. She waslaving for them as she had never though

o slave when Brit promised to honour an

protect her, but the fact remained that h

was their father even if he did not act likone. She needed at least ten dollars.

Brit showed the letter to Frank, and th

wo talked it over solemnly while they saon inverted feed buckets beside the stable

facing the unearthly beauty of a cloud

piled Idaho sunset. They did not feel tha

hey could afford to sell a cow, and two

year-old steers were out of the question

They decided to sell an unbroken colt tha

a cow-puncher fancied. In a week Bri



wrote a brief, matter-of-fact letter t

Minnie and enclosed a much-worn ten

dollar bank-note. With the two dollars and

a half which remained of his share of thsale, Brit sent to a mail-order house for

mackinaw coat, and felt cheate

afterwards because the coat was no

"wind and waterproof" as advertised ihe catalogue.

More months passed, and Brit received

by registered mail, a notice that he wabeing sued for divorce on the ground o

non-support. He felt hurt, because, as h

pointed out to Frank, he was perfectl

willing to support Minnie and the kids i

hey came back where he could have

chance. He wrote this painstakingly to th

awyer and received no reply. Later h



earned from Minnie that she had free

herself from him, and that she was keepin

boarders and asking no odds of him.

To come at once to the end of Brit'

matrimonial affairs, he heard from th

children once in a year, perhaps, after the

were old enough to write. He did not senhem money, because he seemed never to

have any money to send, and because the

did not ask for any. Dumbly he sensed, a

heir handwriting and their spellinmproved, that his children were growin

up. But when he thought of them the

seemed remote, prattling youngsters who

Minnie was for ever worrying over an

who seemed to have been always unde

he heels of his horse, or under the wheel

of his wagon, or playing with th



pitchfork, or wandering off into the sag

while he and their distracted mothe

searched for them. For a long while—how

many years Brit could not remember—hey had been living in Los Angeles

Prospering, too, Brit understood. The gir

Lorraine—Minnie had wanted fanc

names for the kids, and Brit apologisewhenever he spoke of them, which wa

seldom—Lorraine had written tha

"Mamma has an apartment house." Tha

had sounded prosperous, even at th

beginning. And as the years passed and

heir address remained the same, Bri

became fixed in the belief that CasGrande was all that its name implied, an

perhaps more. Minnie must be getting rich

She had a picture of the place on th

stationery which Lorraine used when sh



wrote him. There were two palm trees i

front, with bay windows behind them, an

pillars. Brit used to study thes

magnificences and thank God that Minniwas doing so well. He never could hav

given her a home like that. Brit sometime

added that he had never been cut out for

married man, anyway.

Old-timers forgot that Brit had ever bee

married, and late comers never heard of it

To all intents the owners of the Quirt outfiwere old bachelors who kept pretty muc

o themselves, went to town only whe

hey needed supplies, rode old, narrow

fork saddles and grinned scornfully a

"swell-forks" and "buckin'-rolls," an

istened to all the range gossip withou

adding so much as an opinion. They neve



alked politics nor told which candidate

received their two votes. They kept th

same two men season after season,—

eathery old range hands with eyes thasaw whatever came within their field o

vision, and with the gift of silence, whic

s rare.

If you know anything at all abou

cattlemen, you will know that the Quir

was a poor man's ranch, when I tell yo

hat Hunter and Johnson milked threcows and made butter, fed a few pigs o

he skim milk and the alfalfa stalks whic

he saddle horses and the cows disdaine

o eat, kept a flock of chickens, and sol

what butter, eggs and pork they did no

need for themselves. Cattlemen seldom d

hat. More often they buy milk in small ti



cans, butter in "squares," and do withou

eggs.

Four of a kind were the men of the Tup-and-down, and even Bill Warfield—

president and general manager of th

Sawtooth Cattle Company, and of th

Federal Reclamation Company anseveral other companies, State senator an

general benefactor of the Sawtoot

country—even the great Bill Warfield

ifted his hat to the owners of the Quirwhen he met them, and spoke of them a

"the finest specimens of our old, fast

vanishing type of range men." Senato

Warfield himself represented the modern

ype of range man and was proud of hi

progressiveness. Never a scheme for th

country's development was hatched bu



you would find Senator Warfield closely

allied with it, his voice the deciding on

when policies and progress were bein

discussed.

As to the Sawtooth, forty thousand acre

comprised their holdings under patents

deeds and long-time leases from thgovernment. Another twenty thousand

acres they had access to through the grac

of the owners, and there was forest

reserve grazing besides, which thSawtooth could have if it chose to pay th

nominal rental sum. The Quirt ranch, wa

almost surrounded by Sawtooth land o

one sort or another, though there was scan

grazing in the early spring on th

sagebrush wilderness to the south. Thi

needed Quirt Creek for accessible water



and Quirt Creek, save where it ran throug

cut-bank hills, was fenced within th

section and a half of the TJ up-and-down.

So there they were, small fish makin

shift to live precariously with other smal

fish in a pool where big fish swam lazily

f one small fish now and thedisappeared with mysterious abruptness

he other small fish would perhaps scurr

here and there for a time, but few woul

eave the pool for the safe shallowbeyond.

This is a tale of the little fishes.



CHAPTER II

THE ENCHANTMENT OF LONG

DISTANCE

Lorraine Hunter always maintained tha

she was a Western girl. If she reached thepoint of furnishing details she would tel

you that she had ridden horses from th

ime that she could walk, and that he

father was a cattle-king of Idaho, whoscattle fed upon a thousand hills. When sh

was twelve she told her playmate

exciting tales about rattlesnakes. When sh

was fifteen she sat breathless in thmovies and watched picturesqu

horsemen careering up and down an

around the thousand hills, and believed i



her heart that half the Western picture

were taken on or near her father's ranch

She seemed to remember certai

andmarks, and would point them out ther companions and whisper a desultor

ecture on the cattle industry as illustrate

by the picture. She was much inclined t

criticism of the costuming and the acting.

At eighteen she knew definitely that sh

hated the very name Casa Grande. Sh

hated the narrow, half-lighted hallwawith its "tree" where no one ever hung

hat, and the seat beneath where no on

ever sat down. She hated the row of key

and-mail boxes on the wall, with the bel

buttons above each apartment number. Sh

hated the jangling of the hall telephone, th

scurrying to answer, the prodding o



whichever bell button would summon th

enant asked for by the caller. She hated

he meek little Filipino boy who swep

hat ugly hall every morning. She hated thscrubby palms in front. She hated th

pillars where the paint was peeling badly

She hated the conflicting odours tha

seeped into the atmosphere at certaihours of the day. She hated the three old

maids on the third floor and the frows

woman on the first, who sat on the fron

steps in her soiled breakfast cap an

bungalow apron. She hated the nervou

enant who occupied the apartment jus

over her mother's three-room-and-bathand pounded with a broom handle on th

floor when Lorraine practised overtime o

chromatic scales.



At eighteen Lorraine managed somehow

o obtain work in a Western picture, and

being unusually pretty she so fa

distinguished herself that she was given small part in the next production. He

glorious duty it was to ride madly throug

he little cow-town "set" to the post-offic

where the sheriff's posse loungeconspicuously, and there pull her horse to

an abrupt stand and point quite excitedl

o the distant hills. Also she danced quit

close to the camera in the "Typica

Cowboy Dance" which was a feature o

his particular production.

Lorraine thereby earned enough mone

o buy her fall suit and coat and chea

furs, and learned to ride a horse at

gallop and to dance what passed i



pictures as a "square dance."

At nineteen years of age Lorrain

Hunter, daughter of old Brit Hunter of thTJ up-and-down, became a real "range

bred girl" with a real Stetson hat of he

own, a green corduroy riding skirt, gra

flannel shirt, brilliant neckerchief, bootand spurs. A third picture gave her furthe

practice in riding a real horse,—albeit a

extremely docile animal called Mous

with good reason. She became known ohe lot as a real cattle-king's daughter

hough she did not know the name of he

father's brand and in all her life had see

no herd larger than the thirty head of tam

cattle which were chased past the camer

again and again to make them look like te

housand, and which were so thoroughl



"camera broke" that they stopped whe

hey were out of the scene, turned an

were ready to repeat the performance a

ib.

Had she lived her life on the Quirt ranc

she would have known a great deal mor

about horseback riding and cattle anrange dances. She would have known

great deal less about the romance of th

West, however, and she would probably

never have seen a sheriff's posse ridinwenty strong and bunched like bird-sho

when it leaves the muzzle of the gun

ndeed, I am very sure she would no

Killings such as her father heard of wit

his lips drawn tight and the cords standin

out on the sides of his skinny neck sh

would have considered the grim tragedie



hey were, without once thinking of th

"picture value" of the crime.

As it was, her West was filled with menwho died suddenly in gobs of red pain

and girls who rode loose-haired an

panting with hand held over the hear

hurrying for doctors, and cowboys anparsons and such. She had seen many

man whip pistol from holster and dare

mob with lips drawn back in a wolfis

grin over his white, even teeth, ankidnappings were the inevitabl

accompaniment of youth and beauty.

Lorraine learned rapidly. In three year

she thrilled to more blood-curdlin

adventure than all the Bad Men in all th

West could have furnished had they lived



o be old and worked hard at being bad al

heir lives. For in that third year sh

worked her way enthusiastically through

sixteen-episode movie serial called "ThTerror of the Range." She was pas

mistress of romance by that time. Sh

knew her West.

It was just after the "Terror of the

Range" was finished that a great revulsio

n the management of this particula

company stopped production with stunning completeness that left actors an

actresses feeling very much as if th

studio roof had fallen upon them

Lorraine's West vanished. The little cow

own "set" was being torn down to mak

room for something else quite differen

The cowboys appeared in tailored suit



and drifted away. Lorraine went home to

he Casa Grande, hating it more than eve

she had hated it in her life.

Some one up-stairs was frying liver an

onions, which was in flagrant defiance o

he Rule Four which mentioned cabbage

onions and fried fish as undesirablfoodstuffs. Outside, the palm leaves wer

dripping in the night fog that had swep

soggily in from the ocean. Her mother wa

rying to collect a gas bill from thdressmaker down the hall, who proteste

shrilly that she distinctly remembere

having paid that gas bill once and had n

ntention of paying it twice.

Lorraine opened the door marke

LANDLADY, and closed it with a slam



The affair had progressed appreciably i

her absence, it would appear. He greeted

her with a fatherly "Hello, kiddie," an

would have kissed her had Lorraine noevaded him skilfully.

Her mother came in then and complaine

ntimately to the man, and declared that thdressmaker would have to pay that bill o

have her gas turned off. He offere

sympathy, assistance in the turning off o

he gas, and a kiss which was perfectlaudible to Lorraine in the next room. Th

affair had indeed progressed!

"L'raine, d'you know you've got a new

papa?" her mother called out in th

peculiar, chirpy tone she used when sh

was exuberantly happy. "I knew you'd b



surprised!"

"I am," Lorraine agreed, pulling asid

he cheap green portières and looked iupon the two. Her tone was unenthusiastic

"A superfluous gift of doubtful value. I do

not feel the need of a papa, thank you. I

you want him for a husband, mother, thas entirely your own affair. I hope you'l

be very happy."

"The kid don't want a papa; husbands arwhat means the most in her young life,

chuckled the groom, restraining his brid

when she would have risen from his knee

"I hope you'll both be very happ

ndeed," said Lorraine gravely. "Now you

won't mind, mother, when I tell you that



am going to dad's ranch in Idaho. I reall

meant it for a vacation, but since yo

won't be alone, I may stay with da

permanently. I'm leaving to-morrow or thnext day—just as soon as I can pack m

runk and get a Pullman berth."

She did not wait to see the relief in hemother's face contradicting th

expostulations on her lips. She went out t

he telephone in the hall, remembere

suddenly that her business would boverheard by half the tenants, and decide

o use the public telephone in a hote

farther down the street. Her decision to g

o her dad had been born with the word

on her lips. But it was a lusty, full-voiced

young decision, and it was growing at a

amazing rate.



Of course she would go to her dad i

daho! She was astonished that the ide

had never before crystallised into action

Why should she feed her imagination upoa mimic West, when the great, gloriou

real West was there? What if her dad had

not written a word for more than a year

He must be alive; they would surely havheard of his death, for she and Royal wer

his sole heirs, and his partner would hav

heir address.

She walked fast and arrived at th

elephone booth so breathless that she wa

compelled to wait a few minutes befor

she could call her number. She inquired

about trains and rates to Echo, Idaho!

Echo, Idaho! While she waited for th



nformation clerk to look it up the ver

words conjured visions of wide horizon

and clean winds and high adventure. If sh

pictured Echo, Idaho, as being a replica ohe "set" used in the movie serial, can yo

wonder? If she saw herself, the belove

queen of her father's cowboys, dashin

nto Echo, Idaho, on a crimply-manebroncho that pirouetted gaily before th

post-office while handsome young men i

chaps and spurs and "big four" Stetson

watched her yearningly, she was merel

iving mentally the only West that she

knew.

From that beatific vision Lorrain

floated into others more entrancing. Al

he hairbreadth escapes of the heroine o

he movie serial were hers, adapted by he



native logic to fit within the bounds o

possibility,—though I must admit the

bulged here and there and threatened t

overlap and to encroach upon thmpossible. Over the hills where he

father's vast herds grazed, sleek and wil

and long-horned and prone to stampede

galloped the Lorraine of Lorraine'dreams, on horses sure-footed and swift

With her galloped strong men whose face

imned the features of her favourit

Western "lead."

That for all her three years o

ntermittent intimacy with a disillusionin

world of mimicry, her dreams were pur

romance, proved that Lorraine had still th

unclouded innocence of her girlhoo

unspoiled.



CHAPTER III

REALITY IS WEIGHED AND FOUNDWANTING

Still dreaming her dreams, still featurin

herself as the star of many adventuresLorraine followed the brakeman out of th

dusty day coach and down the car steps t

he platform of the place called Echo

daho. I can only guess at what sh

expected to find there in the person of

cattle-king father, but whatever it was sh

did not find it. No father, of any typ



whatever, came forward to claim her. In

spite of her "Western" experience she

ooked about her for a taxi, or at least

streetcar. Even in the wilds of Westernmelodrama one could hear the clang o

street-car gongs warning careless autoist

off the track.

After the train had hooted and gone o

around an absolutely uninteresting low hil

of yellow barrenness dotted with stunte

sage, it was the silence that firsmpressed Lorraine disagreeably. Echo

daho, was a very poor imitation of all th

Western sets she had ever seen. True, i

had the straggling row of square-fronted

one-story buildings, with hitch rails, bu

he signs painted across the fronts wer

absolutely common. Any director she had



ever obeyed would have sent for hi

assistant director and would have use

anguage which a lady must not listen to

Behind the store and the post-office anhe blacksmith shop, on the brow of th

ow hill around whose point the train ha

disappeared, were houses with ba

windows and porches absolutely out okeeping with the West. So far as Lorraine

could see, there was not a log cabin in th

whole place.

The hitch rails were empty, and ther

was not a cowboy in sight. Before th

post-office a terribly grimy touring ca

stood with its running-boards loaded wit

canvas-covered suitcases. Three goggled

sunburned women in ugly khaki suits wer

disconsolately drinking soda water fro



bottles without straws, and a goggled, red

faced, angry-looking man was jerkin

mpatiently at the hood of the machine

Lorraine and her suitcase apparentlexcited no interest whatever in Echo

daho.

The station agent was carrying twboxes of oranges and a crate of Californi

cabbages in out of the sun, and a lim

ndividual in blue gingham shirt and dirt

overalls had shouldered the mail sack anwas making his way across the dusty, rut

scored street to the post-office.

Two questions and two brief answer

convinced her that the station agent did no

know Britton Hunter,—which wa

strange, unless this happened to be a ver



new agent. Lorraine left him to hi

cabbages and followed the man with th

mail sack.

At the post-office the anaemic cler

came forward, eyeing her with admirin

curiosity. Lorraine had seen anaemi

young men all her life, and the last threyears had made her perfectly familiar wit

hat look in a young man's eyes. She met i

with impatient disfavour founded chiefl

upon the young man's need of a decenhair-cut, a less flowery tie and a tailore

suit. When he confessed that he did no

know Mr Britton Hunter by sight h

ceased to exist so far as Lorraine wa

concerned. She decided that he also wa

new to the place and therefore perfectl

useless to her.



The postmaster himself—Lorraine wa

cheered by his spectacles, his shir

sleeves, and his chin whiskers, whic

made him look the part—was bettenformed. He, too, eyed her curiousl

when she said "My father, Mr Britton

Hunter," but he made no comment on th

relationship. He gave her a telegram and etter from the General Delivery. Th

elegram, she suspected, was the one sh

had sent to her dad announcing the date o

her arrival. The postmaster advised her t

get a "livery rig" and drive out to th

ranch, since it might be a week or tw

before any one came in from the QuirLorraine thanked him graciously an

departed for the livery stable.

The man in charge there chewed tobacc



meditatively and told her that his team

were all out. If she was a mind to wai

over a day or two, he said, he migh

maybe be able to make the trip. Lorrainook a long look at the structure which h

ndicated as the hotel.

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

"Walk?" The stableman stoppe

chewing and stared at her. "It's som

consider'ble of a walk. It's all of eighteemile—I dunno but twenty, time y'get to th

house."

"I have frequently walked twenty-five ohirty miles. I am a member of the Sierr

Club in Los Angeles. We seldom take

hikes of less than twenty miles. If you wil



kindly tell me which road I must tak

——"

"There she is," the man stated flatly, andpointed across the railroad track to wher

a sandy road drew a yellowish lin

hrough the sage, evidently making for th

hills showing hazily violet in the distanceThose hills formed the only break in th

monotonous gray landscape, and Lorrain

was glad that her journey would take he

close to them.

"Thank you so much," she said coldl

and returned to the station. In the smal

avatory of the depot waiting room sh

exchanged her slippers for a pair o

moderately low-heeled shoes which sh

had at the last minute of packing tucke



nto her suitcase, put a few extra article

nto her rather smart travelling bag, lef

he suitcase in the telegraph office an

started. Not another question would shask of Echo, Idaho, which was flatter an

more insipid than the drinking water in th

in "cooler" in the waiting room. Th

station agent stood with his hands on hihips and watched her cross the track an

start down the road, pardonabl

astonished to see a young woman wal

down a road that led only to the hill

wenty miles away, carrying her luggag

exactly as if her trip was a matter of

block or two at most.

The bag was rather heavy and as sh

went on it became heavier. She meant to

carry it slung across her shoulder on



stick as soon as she was well away fro

he prying eyes of Echo's inhabitants

Later, if she felt tired, she could easil

hide it behind a bush along the road ansend one of her father's cowboys after it

The road was very dusty and carried th

wind-blown traces of automobile tires

Some one would surely overtake her angive her a ride before she walked ver

far.

For the first half hour she believed thashe was walking on level ground, bu

when she looked back there was no sig

of any town behind her. Echo had

disappeared as completely as if it ha

been swallowed. Even the unseemly bay

windowed houses on the hill had gon

under. She walked for another half hou



and saw only the gray sage stretching al

around her. The hills looked farther awa

han when she started. Still, that beate

road must lead somewhere. Two hourater she began to wonder why thi

particular road should be so unending an

so empty. Never in her life before had sh

walked for two hours without seeming tget anywhere, or without seeing any livin

human.

Both shoulders were sore from thweight of the bag on the stick, but th

sagebushes looked so exactly alike tha

she feared she could not describe th

particular spot where the cowboys woul

find her bag, wherefore she carried it still

She was beginning to change hands ver

often when the wind came.



Just where or how that wind sprang up

she did not know. Suddenly it wa

whooping across the sage and flinging u

clouds of dust from the road. To Lorrainesoftened by years of southern Californi

weather, it seemed to blow straight off a

ce field, it was so cold.

After an interminable time whic

measured three hours on her watch, sh

came to an abrupt descent into a cree

bed, down the middle of which the creetself was flowing swiftly. Here the road

forked, a rough, little-used trail keepin

on up the creek, the better travelled roa

crossing and climbing the farther bank

Lorraine scarcely hesitated before sh

chose the main trail which crossed th

creek.



From the creek the trail she followe

kept climbing until Lorraine wondered i

here would ever be a top. The win

whipped her narrow skirts and impedeher, tugged at her hat, tingled her nose and

watered her eyes. But she kept o

doggedly, disgustedly, the West, which

she had seen through the glamour of swiftblooded Romance, sinking lower an

ower in her estimation. Nothing but jac

rabbits and little, twittery birds move

hrough the sage, though she watche

hungrily for horsemen.

Quite suddenly the gray landscap

glowed with a palpitating radiance

unreal, beautiful beyond expression. Sh

stopped, turned to face the west and stare

awestruck at one of those flaming sunset



which makes the desert land seem but

gateway into the ineffable glory beyon

he earth. That the high-piled, gorgeou

cloud-bank presaged a thunderstorm shnever guessed; and that a thunderstor

may be a deadly, terrifying peril she neve

had quite believed. Her mother had told o

people being struck by lightning, buLorraine could not associate lightnin

with death, especially in the West, where

men usually died by shooting, lynching, o

by pitching over a cliff.

The wind hushed as suddenly as it ha

whooped. Warned by the twinkling light

far behind her—lights which must be th

small part at last visible of Echo, Idaho—

Lorraine went on. She had been walkin

steadily for four hours, and she mus



surely have come nearly twenty miles. I

she ever reached the top of the hill, sh

believed that she would see her father'

ranch just beyond.

The afterglow had deepened to dus

when she came at last to the highest poin

of that long grade. Far ahead loomed cluster of square, black objects whic

must be the ranch buildings of the Quir

and Lorraine's spirits lightened a little

What a surprise her father and all hicowboys would have when she walked i

upon them! It was almost worth the walk

she told herself hearteningly. She hoped

hat dad had a good cook. He would wea

a flour-sack apron, naturally, and would

be tall and lean, or else very fat. H

would be a comedy character, but sh



hoped he would not be the grouchy kind

which, though very funny when h

rampages around on the screen, might b

rather uncomfortable to meet when one iired and hungry and out of sorts. But o

course the crankiest of comedy cook

would be decently civil to her . Me

always were, except directors who arpaid for their incivility.

A hollow into which she walked i

complete darkness and in silence, save thgurgling of another stream, hid from sigh

he shadowy semblance of houses an

barns and sheds. Their disappearanc

slumped her spirits again, for withou

hem she was no more than a solitar

speck in the vast loneliness. Their actua

nearness could not comfort her. She wa



seized with a reasonless, panicky fear tha

by the time she crossed the stream an

climbed the hill beyond they would n

onger be there where she had seen themShe was lifting her skirts to wade th

creek when the click of hoofs strikin

against rocks sent her scurrying to cove

n a senseless fear.

"I learned this act from the jack rabbits,

she rallied herself shakily, when she wa

safely hidden behind a sagebush whospungency made her horribly afraid that sh

might sneeze, which would be to

ridiculous.

"Some of dad's cowboys, probably, bu

still they may be bandits."



If they were bandits they could scarcel

be out banditting, for the two horseme

were talking in ordinary, conversationa

ones as they rode leisurely down to thford. When they passed Lorraine, th

horse nearest her shied against the othe

and was sworn at parenthetically for

fool. Against the skyline Lorraine saw thrider's form bulk squatty and ungracefu

reminding her of an actor whom she knew

and did not like. It was that resemblanc

perhaps which held her quiet instead o

following her first impulse to speak t

hem and ask them to carry her to th

house.

The horses stopped with their forefeet i

he water and drooped heads to drin

hirstily. The riders continued thei



conversation.

"—and as I says time and again, the

ain't big enough to fight the outfit, and thquicker they git out the less lead they'l

carry under their hides when they do go

What they want to try an' hang on for

beats me. Why, it's like setting into poker game with a five-cent piece! The

ain't got my sympathy. I ain't got any us

for a damn fool, no way yuh look at it."

"Well, there's the TJ—they been here a

ong while, and they ain't packin' any lead

and they ain't getting out."

"Well, say, lemme tell yuh something

The TJ'll git theirs and git it right. Drin

all night, would yuh?" He swore long an



kidnapped and tied to trees and threatene

with death—but it is quite different t

accost rough-speaking men in the dar

when you know they are not being rough tsuit the director of the scene.

She was so absorbed in trying t

construct a range of war or somethinequally thrilling from the scrap o

conversation she had heard that sh

reached the hilltop in what seemed a ver

few minutes of climbing. The sky wabecoming overcast. Already the stars to

he west were blotted out, and the absolut

stillness of the atmosphere frightened he

more than the big, dark wilderness itself

t seemed to her exactly as though the eart

was holding its breath and waiting fo

something terrible to happen. The vagu



bulk of buildings was still some distanc

ahead, and when a rumble like the deepes

notes of a pipe organ began to fill all th

air, Lorraine thrust her grip under a bushand began to run, her soggy shoe

squashing unpleasantly on the roug

places in the road.

Lorraine had seen many stage storms an

had thrilled ecstatically to the mimi

ightning, knowing just how it was made

But when that huge blackness behind ano the left of her began to open and show

errible brilliance within, and to clos

abruptly, leaving the world ink black, sh

was terrified. She wanted to hide as sh

had hidden from those two men; but fro

hat stupendous monster, a rea

hunderstorm, sagebrush formed n



protection whatever. She must reach th

substantial shelter of buildings, th

comforting presence of men and women.

She ran, and as she ran she wept alou

ike a child and called for her father. Th

deep rumble grew louder, nearer. The

revealed brilliance became swift swordhrusts of blinding light that seemed to sta

deep the earth. Lorraine ran awkwardly

her hands over her ears, crying out at eac

ightning flash, her voice drowned in thhunder that followed it close. Then, a

she neared the sombre group of buildings

he clouds above them split with a terrific

rending crash, and the whole place stoo

pitilessly revealed to her, as if a spotligh

had been turned on. Lorraine stood aghast

The buildings were not buildings at al



They were rocks, great, black, forbiddin

boulders standing there on a narrow ridge

having a diabolic likeness to houses.

The human mind is wonderfull

resilient, but readjustment comes slowl

after a shock. Dumbly, refusing to admi

he significance of what she had seenLorraine went forward. Not until she ha

reached and had touched the firs

grotesque caricature of habitation did sh

wholly grasp the fact that she was lostand that shelter might be miles away. Sh

stood and looked at the orderly group o

boulders as the lightning intermittentl

revealed them. She saw where the roa

ran on, between two square-faced rocks

She would have to follow the road, fo

after all it must lead somewhere,—to he



father's ranch, probably. She wondered

rrelevantly why her mother had neve

mentioned these queer rocks, and sh

wondered vaguely if any of them hacaves or ledges where she could be saf

from the lightning.

She was on the point of stepping out inthe road again when a horseman rode int

sight between the two rocks. In the sam

nstant of his appearance she heard th

unmistakable crack of a gun, saw the rideerk backward in the saddle, throw up on

hand—and then the darkness droppe

between them.

Lorraine crouched behind a juniper bus

close against the rock and waited. Th

next flash came within a half-minute. I



showed a man at the horse's head, holdin

t by the bridle. The horse was rearing

Lorraine tried to scream that the man o

he ground would be trampled, busomething went wrong with her voice, s

hat she could only whisper.

When the light came again the man whhad been shot was not altogether on th

ground. The other, working swiftly, had

hrust the injured man's foot through th

stirrup. Lorraine saw him stand back anift his quirt to slash the horse across th

rump. Even through the crash of thunde

Lorraine heard the horse go past her dow

he hill, galloping furiously. When sh

could see again she glimpsed him running

while something bounced along on th

ground beside him.



She saw the other man, with a dr

branch in his hand, dragging it across th

road where it ran between the two rocks

Then Lorraine Hunter, hardened to thsight of crimes committed for pictur

values only, realised sickeningly that sh

had just looked upon a real murder,—th

cold-blooded killing of a man. She felvery sick. Queer little red spark

squirmed and danced before her eyes. Sh

crumpled down quietly behind the jumpe

bush and did not know when the rai

came, though it drenched her in the firs

wo or three minutes of downpour.



CHAPTER IV

"SHE'S A GOOD GIRL WHEN SHE

AIN'T CRAZY"

When the sun has been up just lon

enough to take the before-dawn chill frohe air without having swallowed all th

diamonds that spangle bush and twig an

grass-blade after a night's soaking rain, i

s good to ride over the hills of Idaho anfeel oneself a king,—and never mind th

crown and the sceptre. Lone Morgan

riding early to the Sawtooth to see th

foreman about getting a man for a fewdays to help replace a bridge carried fift

yards downstream by a local cloudburst

would not have changed places with



millionaire. The horse he rode was th

horse he loved, the horse he talked to lik

a pal when they were by themselves. Th

ridge gave him a wide outlook to the foucorners of the earth. Far to the north th

Sawtooth range showed blue, the neare

mountains pansy purple where the pin

rees stood, the foothills shaded delicatelwhere canyons swept down to the gra

plain. To the south was the sagebrush, a

soft, gray-green carpet under the sun. Th

sky was blue, the clouds were handfuls o

clean cotton floating lazily. Of the night'

storm remained no trace save slipper

mud when his horse struck a patch of claywhich was not often, and the packed san

still wet and soggy from the beating rain.

Rock City showed black an



nhospitable even in the sunlight. The roc

walls rose sheer, the roofs slanted

rakishly, the signs scratched on the roc

by facetious riders were pointless annane. Lone picked his way through th

crooked defile that was marked MAIN

STREET on the corner of the first hug

boulder and came abruptly into the roadHere he turned north and shook his hors

nto a trot.

A hundred yards or so down the slopbeyond Rock City he pulled up short wit

a "What the hell!" that did not soun

profane, but merely amazed. In the sodde

road were the unmistakable footprints of

woman. Lone did not hesitate in namin

he sex, for the wet sand held the imprin

cleanly, daintily. Too shapely for a boy



oo small for any one but a child or

woman with little feet, and with the poin

at the toes proclaiming the fashion of th

owns, Lone guessed at once that she waa town girl, a stranger, probably,—and

hat she had passed since the rain; whic

meant since daylight.

He swung his horse and rode back

wondering where she could have spent th

night. Halfway through Rock City th

footprints ended abruptly, and Lone turnedback, riding down the trail at a lope. Sh

couldn't have gone far, he reasoned, and i

she had been out all night in the rain, wit

no better shelter than Rock City afforded

she would need help,—"and lots of it, an

pretty darn quick," he added to John Doe

which was the ambiguous name of hi



horse.

Half a mile farther on he overtook her

Rather, he sighted her in the trail, saw heduck in amongst the rocks and scattere

brush of a small ravine, and spurred afte

her. It was precarious footing for his hors

when he left the road, but John Doe waaccustomed to that. He jumped boulders

shied around buckthorn, crashed throug

sagebrush and so brought the girl to ba

against a wet bank, where she stooshivering. The terror in her face and he

wide eyes would have made her famous i

he movies. It made Lone afraid she wa

crazy.

Lone swung off and went up to he

guardedly, not knowing just what a



nsane woman might do when cornered

"There, now, I'm not going to hurt yuh a

all," he soothed. "I guess maybe you'r

ost. What made you run away from mwhen you saw me coming?"

Lorraine continued to stare at him.

"I'm going to the ranch, and if you'd lik

a ride, I'll lend you my horse. He'll b

gentle if I lead him. It's a right smart wal

from here." Lone smiled, meaning treassure her.

"Are you the man I saw shoot that ma

and then fasten him to the stirrup of thsaddle so the horse dragged him down th

road? If you are, I—I——"



"No—oh, no, I'm not the man," Lone sai

gently. "I just now came from home. Bette

et me take you in to the ranch."

"I was going to the ranch—did you se

him shoot that man and make the hors

drag him— make the horse—he slashe

hat horse with the quirt—and he wenearing down the road dragging—it—i

was— horrible!"

"Yes—yes, don't worry about it. We'lfix him. You come and get on John Doe

and let me take you to the ranch. Come o

—you're wet as a ducked pup."

"That man was just riding along—I saw

him when it lightened. And he shot him—

oh, can't you do something?"



"Yes, yes, they're after him right now

Here. Just put your foot in the stirrup—I'l

help you up. Why, you're soaked!

Perseveringly Lone urged her to the horse"You're soaking wet!" he exclaimed again

"It rained," she muttered confusedly. "

hought it was the ranch—but they werrocks. Just rocks. Did you see him shoo

hat man? Why—why it shouldn't b

allowed! He ought to be arrested righ

away—I'd have called a policeman but—sn't thunder and lightning just perfectl

awful ? And that horse—going down th

road dragging——"

"You'd better get some one to double fo

me in this scene," she said irrelevantly. "

—I don't know this horse, and if he start



running the boys might not catch him i

ime. It isn't safe, is it?"

"It's safe," said Lone pityingly. "Youwon't be dragged. You just get on and

ride. I'll lead him. John Doe's gentle as

dog."

"Just straight riding?" Lorrain

considered the matter gravely. "Wel-ll—

but I saw a man dragged, once. He'd bee

shot first. It—it was awful!"

"I'll bet it was. How'd you come to b

walking so far?"

Lorraine looked at him suspiciously

Lone thought her eyes were the mos

wonderful eyes—and the most terrible—



hat he had ever seen. Almond-shaped the

were, the irises a clear, dark gray, the

eyeballs blue-white like a healthy baby's

That was the wonder of them. But theiglassy shine made them terrible. Her lid

ifted in a sudden stare.

"You're not the man, are you? I—I thinkhe was taller than you. And his hat wa

brown. He's a brute—a beast ! To shoot a

man just riding along—— It rained," sh

added plaintively. "My bag is back thersomewhere under a bush. I think I coul

find the bush—it was where a rabbit wa

sitting—but he's probably gone by thi

ime. A rabbit," she told him impressively

"wouldn't sit out in the rain all nigh

would he? He'd get wet. And a rabbi

would feel horrid when he was wet—suc



hick fur he never would get dried ou

Where do they go when it rains? The

have holes in the ground, don't they?"

"Yes. Sure, they do. I'll show you one

down the road here a little piece. Come o

—it ain't far."

To see a rabbit hole in the ground

Lorraine consented to mount and rid

while Lone walked beside her, agreein

with everything she said that needeagreement. When she had gone a few rods

however, she began to call him Charli

and to criticise the direction of the picture

They should not, she declared, mi

murders and thunderstorms in the sam

scene. While the storm effect wa

perfectly wonderful , she thought it rathe



detracted from the killing. She did no

believe in lumping big stuff together lik

hat. Why not have the killing done b

moonlight, and use the storm when thmurderer was getting away, or somethin

ike that? And as for taking them out o

ocation and making all those storm scene

without telling them in advance so thahey could have dry clothes afterwards

she thought it a perfect outrage! If it wer

not for spoiling the picture, she woul

quit, she asserted indignantly. She though

he director had better go back to driving

aundry wagon, which was probabl

where he came from.

Lone agreed with her, even though h

did not know what she was talking about

He walked as fast as he could, but even s



he could not travel the six miles to th

ranch very quickly. He could see that th

girl was burning up with fever, and h

could hear her voice growing husky,—could hear, too, the painful labouring o

her breath. When she was not mumblin

ncoherent nonsense she was laughin

hoarsely at the plight she was in, and aftehat she would hold both hands to he

chest and moan in a way that made Lon

grind his teeth.

When he lifted her off his horse at th

foreman's cottage she was whisperin

hings no one could understand. Thre

cowpunchers came running and hindere

him a good deal in carrying her into th

house, and the foreman's wife ra

excitedly from one room to the other



asking questions and demanding that som

one do something "for pity's sake, she ma

be dying for all you know, while you stan

here gawping like fool-hens."

"She was out all night in the rain—go

ost, somehow. She said she was comin

here, so I brought her on. She's down wita cold, Mrs Hawkins. Better take off the

wet clothes and put hot blankets aroun

her. And a poultice or something on he

chest, I reckon." Lone turned to the doorstopped to roll a cigarette, and watche

Mrs Hawkins hurrying to Lorraine with

whisky toddy the cook had mixed for her.

"A sweat's awful good for a cold lik

she's got," he volunteered practically

"She's out of her head—or she was when



found her. But I reckon that's mostly scare

from being lost all night. Give her a goo

sweat, why don't you?" He reached th

doorstep and then turned back to add, "Sheft a grip back somewhere along the road

'll go hunt it up, I reckon."

He mounted John Doe and rode down the corral, where two or three riders wer

killing time on various pretexts while the

waited for details of Lone's adventure

Delirious young women of the silstocking class did not arrive at th

Sawtooth every morning, and it wa

rumoured already amongst the men tha

she was some looker, which naturall

whetted their interest in her.

"I'll bet it's one of Bob's girls, com



railin' him up. Mebby another of the

heart-ballum cases of Bob's," hazarde

Pop Bridgers, who read nothing unless i

was printed on pink paper, and whorefused to believe that any good coul

come out of a city. "Ain't that right

Loney? Hain't she a heart-ballum girl o

Bob's?"

From the saddle Lone stared dow

mpassively at Pop and Pop's companions

"I don't know a thing about her," he statedemphatically. "She said she was coming t

he ranch, and she was scared of th

hunder and lightning. That's every wor

of sense I could get outa her. She ain

altogether ignorant—she knows how t

climb on a horse, anyway, and she kicked

about having to ride sideways on accoun



of her skirts. She was plumb out of he

head, and talked wild, but she handled he

reins like a rider. And she neve

mentioned Bob, nor anybody elsexcepting some fellow she called Charlie

She thought I was him, but she only talke

o me friendly. She didn't pull any lov

alk at all."

"Charlie?" Pop ruminated over a fres

quid of tobacco. "Charlie! Mebby Bob, h

stakes himself to a different name now anhen. There ain't any Charlie, excep

Charlie Werner; she wouldn't mean him

do yuh s'pose?"

"Charlie Werner? Hunh! Say, Pop, she

ain't no squaw—is she, Loney?" Si

Sterling remonstrated.



"If I can read brands," Lone testified

"she's no girl of Bob's. She's a good

honest girl when she ain't crazy."

"And no good, honest girl who is no

crazy could possibly be a girl of mine! I

hat the idea, Lone?"

Lone turned unhurriedly and looked a

young Bob Warfield standing in the stable

door with his hands in his trousers pocket

and his pipe in his mouth.

"That ain't the argument. Pop, here, wa

wondering if she was another heart

ballum girl of yours," Lone grinneunabashed. "I don't know such a hell of

ot about heart-balm ladies, Bob. I ain't

millionaire. I'm just making a guess a



heir brand—and it ain't the brand thi

ittle lady carries."

Bob removed one hand from his pockeand cuddled the bowl of his pipe. "If she'

a woman, she's a heart-balmer if she get

he chance. They all are, down deep i

heir tricky hearts. There isn't a woman oearth that won't sell a man's soul out of hi

body if she happens to think it's worth he

while—and she can get away with it. Bu

don't for any sake call her my heartbalmer."

"That was Pop," drawled Lone. "It don

strike me as being any subject for yo

fellows to make remarks about, anyway,

he advised Pop firmly. "She's a right nic

ittle girl, and she's pretty darn sick." H



of identifying the spot. But he was to

sorry for her to be amused at the vagarie

of her sick brain. He did not believ

anything she had said, except that she habeen coming to the ranch and had left he

bag under a bush beside the road. It shoul

not be difficult to find it, if he followe

he road and watched closely the busheon either side.

Until he reached the place where he ha

first sighted her, Lone rode swiftlyanxious to be through with the busines

and go his way. But when he came upo

her footprints again, he pulled up and hel

John Doe to a walk, scanning each bus

and boulder as he passed.

It seemed probable that she had left th



grip at Rock City where she must hav

spent the night. She had spoken of bein

deceived into thinking the place was th

Sawtooth ranch until she had come into iand found it "just rocks." Then, h

reasoned, the storm had broken, and he

fright had held her there. When dayligh

came she had either forgotten the bag ohad left it deliberately.

At Rock City, then, Lone stopped to

examine the base of every rock, everiding around those nearest the road. Th

girl, he guessed shrewdly, had no

wandered off the main highway, else sh

would not have been able to find it again

Rock City was confusing unless one wa

perfectly familiar with its curious

winding lanes.



It was when he was riding slowl

around the boulder marked "Palace Hote

Rates Reasnible," that he came upon th

place where a horse had stood, on the sidbest sheltered from the storm. Deep hoo

marks closely overlapping, an overturne

stone here and there gave proof enough

and the rain-beaten soil that blurred thhoofprints farthest from the rock told hi

more. Lone backed away, dismounted

and, stepping carefully, went close. H

could see no reason why a horse shoul

have stood there with his head toward th

road ten feet away, unless his rider wa

waiting for something—or some oneThere were other boulders near whic

offered more shelter from rain.

Next the rock he discovered a boo



rain.

"The poor little kid!" he muttered, an

with a sudden impulse he turned anooked toward the rock behind which th

horse had stood. Help had been that close

and she had not known it, unless——

"If anything happened there last night

she could have seen it from here," h

decided, and immediately put the though

away from him.

"But nothing happened," he added

"unless maybe she saw him ride out an

go on down the road. She was out of hehead and just imagined things."

He slipped the soaked purse into hi



coat pocket, remounted and rode o

slowly, looking for the grip and half

believing she had not been carrying one

but had dreamed it just as she hadreamed that a man had been shot.

He rode past the bag without seeing it

for Lorraine had thrust it far back under stocky bush whose scraggly branche

nearly touched the ground. So he came a

ast to the creek, swollen with the night'

storm so that it was swift and dangerousLone was turning back when John Do

hrew up his head, stared up the creek fo

a moment and whinnied shrilly. Lon

stood in the stirrups and looked.

A blaze-faced horse was standing

short rifle-shot away, bridled and with a



empty saddle. Whether he was tied or no

Lone, could not tell at that distance, but h

knew the horse by its banged forelock an

ts white face and sorrel ears, and hknew the owner of the horse. He rod

oward it slowly.

"Whoa, you rattle-headed fool," hadmonished, when the horse snorted an

backed a step or two as he approached

He saw the bridle-reins dangling, broken

where the horse had stepped on them irunning. "Broke loose and run off again,

he said, as he took down his rope an

widened the loop. "I'll bet Thurman woul

sell you for a bent nickel, this morning."

The horse squatted and jumped when h

cast the loop, and then stood quivering an



snorting while Lone dismounted an

started toward him. Ten steps from the

horse Lone stopped short, staring. Fo

down in the bushes on the farther side halay, half hung the limp form of a man.

CHAPTER V

A DEATH "BY ACCIDENT"

Lone Morgan was a Virginian by birthhough few of his acquaintances knew it.

Lone never talked of himself except a



his personal history touched a commo

nterest with his fellows. But until he wa

seventeen he had lived very close to th

centre of one of the deadliest feuds of thBlue Ridge. That he had been neutral wa

merely an accident of birth, perhaps. And

hat he had not become involved in th

quarrel that raged among his neighbourwas the direct result of a genius fo

holding his tongue. He had attended th

funerals of men shot down in their ow

dooryards, he had witnessed the trials o

he killers. He had grown up with th

settled conviction that other men'

quarrels did not concern him so long as hwas not directly involved, and that wha

did not concern him he had no right t

discuss. If he stood aside and let violenc

stalk by unhindered, he was merely doin



what he had been taught to do from th

ime he could walk. "Mind your ow

business and let other folks do the same,

had been the family slogan in Lone'home. There had been nothing in Lone'

ater life to convince him that minding hi

own business was not a very good habit. I

had grown to be second nature,—and ihad made him a good man for th

Sawtooth Cattle Company to have on it

pay roll.

Just now Lone was stirred beyond hi

usual depth of emotion, and it was no

altogether the sight of Fred Thurman'

battered body that unnerved him. H

wanted to believe that Thurman's deat

was purely an accident,—the accident i

appeared. But Lorraine and the telltal



man, weighted the edges with rocks an

rode away.

Halfway up the hill he left the road anook a narrow trail through the sage,

short-cut that would save him a couple o

miles.

The trail crossed the ridge half a mil

beyond Rock City, dipping into the lowe

end of the small gulch where he ha

overtaken the girl. The place recalled witfresh vividness her first words to him

"Are you the man I saw shoot that othe

man and fasten his foot in the stirrup?

Lone shivered and threw away th

cigarette he had just lighted.

"My God, that girl mustn't tell that to an



one else!" he exclaimed apprehensively

"No matter who she is or what she is, sh

mustn't tell that!"

"Hello! Who you talking to? I hear

somebody talking——" The bushes parte

above a low, rocky ledge and a fac

peered out, smiling good-humouredlyLone started a little and pulled up.

"Oh, hello, Swan. I was just telling thi

horse of mine all I was going to do to himSay, you're a chancey bird, Swan, yellin

from the brush like that. Some folk

woulda taken a shot at you."

"Then they'd hit me, sure," Swa

observed, letting himself down into th

rail. He, too, was wet from his hat crow



o his shoes, that squelched when h

anded lightly on his toes. "Anybod

would be ashamed to shoot at a mark s

arge as I am. I'd say they're pooshooters." And he added irrelevantly, a

he held up a grayish pelt, "I got that coyot

been chasing for two weeks. He wa

sure smart. He had me guessing. But made him guess some, maybe. He guesse

wrong this time."

Lone's eyes narrowed while he lookeSwan over. "You must have been out al

night," he said. "You're crazier abou

hunting than I am."

"Wet bushes," Swan corrected

carelessly. "I been tramping sinc

daylight. It's my work to hunt, like it's you



work to ride." He had swung into the trai

ahead of John Doe and was walking wit

ong strides,—the tallest, straightest

imberest young Swede in all the countryHe had the bluest eyes, the readiest smile

he healthiest colour, the sunniest hair and

disposition the Sawtooth country had see

for many a day. He had homesteaded aeighty-acre claim on the south side o

Bear Top and had by that means gained

possession of two living springs and th

only accessible portion of Wilder Cree

where it crossed the meadow calle

Skyline before it plunged into a gulch to

narrow for cattle to water with any safety

The Sawtooth Cattle Company had fo

years "covered" that eighty-acre patch o

government land, never dreaming that an



one would ever file on it. Swan Vjolma

was there and had his log cabin roofe

and ready for the door and window

before the Sawtooth discovered hipresence. Now, nearly a year afterwards

he was accepted in a tolerant, half

friendly spirit. He had not objected to th

Sawtooth cattle which still watered aSkyline Meadow. He was a "Governmen

hunter" and he had killed many coyote

and lynx and even a mountain lion or two

Lone wondered sometimes what th

Sawtooth meant to do about the Swede

but so far the Sawtooth seemed inclined t

do nothing at all, evidently thinking hiwar on animal pests more than atoned fo

his effrontery in taking Skyline as

homestead. When he had proven up on hi

claim they would probably buy him ou



and have the water still.

"Well, what do you know?" Swan turned

his head to inquire abruptly. "You'repretty quiet."

Lone roused himself. "Fred Thurman'

been dragged to death by that damneflighty horse of his," he said. "I found hi

n the brush this side of Granite Creek

Had his foot caught in the stirrup. I though

'd best leave him there till the coronecan view him."

Swan stopped short in the trail an

urned facing Lone. "Last night my doYack whines to go out. He went and sat in

a place where he looks down on th

walley, and he howled for half an hour.



said then that somebody in the walley ha

died. That dog is something queer about it

He knows things."

"I'm going to the Sawtooth," Lone tol

him. "I can telephone to the coroner fro

here. Anybody at Thurman's place, do yo

know?"

Swan shook his head and started agai

down the winding, steep trail. "I don't hun

over that way for maybe a week. That'oo bad he's killed. I like Fred Thurman

He's a fine man, you bet."

"He was," said Lone soberly. "It's damn shame he had to go—like that."

Swan glanced back at him, studie



"All right," Swan agreed readily. "I'll do

hat, Lone. Good-bye."

Lone nodded and watched him climb thsteep slope of the gulch on the side towar

Thurman's ranch. Swan climbed swiftly

seeming to take no thought of where he pu

his feet, yet never once slipping oslowing. In two minutes he was out o

sight, and Lone rode on moodily, tryin

not to think of Fred Thurman, trying to shu

from his mind the things that wild-eyedhoarse-voiced girl had told him.

"Lone, you mind your own business," h

advised himself once. "You don't know

anything that's going to do any one an

good, and what you don't know there's n

good guessing. But that girl—she mustn



alk like that!"

Of Swan he scarcely gave a thought afte

he Swede had disappeared, yet Swan waworth a thought or two, even from a ma

who was bent on minding his ow

business. Swan had no sooner climbed th

gulch toward Thurman's claim than hproceeded to descend rather carefully t

he bottom again, walk along on the rock

for some distance and climb to the ridg

whose farther slope led down to GranitCreek. He did not follow the trail, bu

struck straight across an outcroppin

edge, descended to Granite Creek an

strode along next the hill where the soi

was gravelly and barren. When he ha

gone some distance, he sat down and too

from under his coat two huge, crudel



made moccasins of coyote skin. These h

pulled on over his shoes, tied them aroun

his ankles and went on, still keeping clos

under the hill.

He reached the place where Fre

Thurman lay, stood well away from th

body and studied every detail closelyThen, stepping carefully on trample

brush and rocks, he approached an

cautiously lifted Lone's coat. It was not

pretty sight, but Swan's interest held hihere for perhaps ten minutes, his eye

eaving the body only when the blaze

faced horse moved. Then Swan woul

ook up quickly at the horse, see

reassured when he saw that the anima

was not watching anything at a distance

and return, to his curious task. Finally h



drew the coat back over the head an

shoulders, placed each stone exactly as h

had found it and went up to the horse

examining the saddle rather closely. Aftehat he retreated as carefully as he ha

approached. When he had gone half a mil

or so upstream he found a place where h

could wash his hands without wetting himoccasins, returned to the rocky hillsid

and took off the clumsy footgear an

stowed them away under his coat. The

with long strides that covered the groun

as fast as a horse could do without loping

Swan headed as straight as might be fo

he Thurman ranch.

About noon Swan approached the crow

of men and a few women who stood at

ittle distance and whispered together



with their faces averted from the bod

around which the men stood grouped. Th

news had spread as such news will, eve

n a country so sparsely settled as thSawtooth. Swan counted forty men,—h

did not bother with the women. Fre

Thurman had been known to every one o

hem. Some one had spread a piece ocanvas over the corpse, and Swan did no

go very near. The blaze-faced horse had

been led farther away and tied to

cottonwood, where some one had throw

down a bundle of hay. The Sawtoot

country was rather punctilious in its dut

oward the law, and it was generallbelieved that the coroner would want t

see the horse that had caused the tragedy.

Half an hour after Swan arrived, th



what becomes of that ranch? What yo

hink, Lone?"

"Hell, how should I know?" Lonscowled at him from the saddle and rod

away, leaving Swan standing there starin

after him. He turned away to find th

sheriff and almost collided with BriHunter, who was glancing speculativel

from him to Lone Morgan. Swan stoppe

and put out his hand to shake.

"Lone says I should tell the sheriff

could look after Fred Thurman's ranch

What you think, Mr Hunter?"

"Good idea, I guess. Somebody'll hav

o. They can't——" He checked himself

"You got a horse? I'll ride over with yuh



maybe."

"I got legs," Swan returned laconically

"They don't get scared, Mr Hunter, andmaybe kill me sometime. You could tel

he sheriff I'm government hunter an

honest man, and I take good care of things

You could do that, please?"

"Sure," said Brit and rode over to wher

he sheriff was standing.

The sheriff listened, nodded, beckone

o Swan. "The court'll have to settle up th

estate and find his heirs, if he's got any

But you look after things—what's youname? Vjolmar—how yuh spell it? I'l

swear you in as a deputy. Good Lord

you're a husky son-of-a-gun!" The sheriff'



eyes went up to Swan's hat crown

descended to his shoulders and lingere

here admiringly for a moment, travelle

down his flat, hard-muscled body and histraight legs. "I'll bet you could put up

some fight, if you had to," he commented.

Swan grinned good-humouredly, glancedconscience-stricken at the covered figur

on the ground and straightened his fac

decorously.

"I could lick you good," he admitted in

stage whisper. "I'm a son-off-a-gun al

right—only I don't never get mad a

somebody."

Brit Hunter smiled at that, it was so lik

Swan Vjolmar. But when they wer



halfway to Thurman's ranch—Brit o

horseback and Swan striding easily alon

beside him, leading the blaze-faced horse

he glanced down at Swan's face anwondered if Swan had not lied a little.

"What's on your mind, Swan?" he aske

abruptly.

Swan started and looked up at him

glanced at the empty hills on either side

and stopped still in the trail.

"Mr Hunter, you been longer in th

country than I have been. You seen some

good riding, I bet. Maybe you see sommen ride backwards on a horse?"

Brit looked at him uncomprehendingly



"Backwards?"

Swan led up the blaze-faced horse an

pointed to the right stirrup. "Spurs woulscratch like that if you jerk your foo

maybe. You're a good rider, Mr Hunter

you can tell. That's a right stirrup, ain't it

Fred Thurman, he's got his left foot twisaround, all broke from jerking in hi

stirrup. Left foot in right stirrup——" H

pushed back his hat and rumpled hi

yellow hair, looking up into Brit's facnquiringly. "Left foot in right stirrup i

riding backwards. That's a damn goo

rider to ride like that—what you think, M

Hunter?"



CHAPTER VI

LONE ADVISES SILENCE

Twice in the next week Lone found anexcuse for riding over to the Sawtooth

During his first visit, the foreman's wif

old him that the young lady was still to

sick to talk much. The second time hwent, Pop Bridgers spied him first an

cackled over his coming to see the girl

Lone grinned and dissembled as best h

could, knowing that Pop Bridgers fed hi

magination upon denials and argumen

and remonstrance and was likely to buil

gossip that might spread beyond th



Sawtooth. Wherefore he did not go nea

he foreman's house that day, but contented

himself with gathering from Pop's talk tha

he girl was still there.

After that he rode here and there

wherever he would be likely to meet

Sawtooth rider, and so at last he camupon Al Woodruff loping along the cres

of Juniper Ridge. Al at first displayed no

ntention of stopping, but pulled up whe

he saw John Doe slowing dowsignificantly. Lone would have preferred

chat with some one else, for this was

sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued man; but A

Woodruff stayed at the ranch and would

know all the news, and even though h

might give it an ill-natured twist, Lon

would at least know what was going on



any farther." He offered Al his tobacco

sack and fumbled for a match. "I neve

knew Brit Hunter had a girl."

"Nor me," Al said and sifted tobacco

nto a cigarette paper. "Bob, he drove he

over there yesterday. Took him close to

all day to make the trip—and Bob, hclaims to hate women!"

"So would I, if I'd got stung for fift

housand. She ain't that kind. She's a nicgirl, far as I could tell. She got well, al

right, did she?"

"Yeah—only she was still coughingsome when she left the ranch. She like t

of had pneumonia, I guess. Queer how sh

claimed she spent the night in Rock City



ain't it?"

"No," Lone answered judicially, "I don

know as it's so queer. She never realisedhow far she'd walked, I reckon. She wa

plumb crazy when I found her. You

couldn't take any stock in what she said

Say, you didn't see that bay I was halterbreaking, did yuh, Al? He jumped th

fence and got away on me, day befor

yesterday. I'd like to catch him up again

He'll make a good horse."

Al had not seen the bay, and the talk

apered off desultorily to a final "So-long

see yuh later." Lone rode on, careful not to

ook back. So she was Brit Hunter's girl

Lone whistled softly to himself while h

studied this new angle of the problem,—



for a problem he was beginning t

consider it. She was Brit Hunter's gir

and she had told them at the Sawtooth tha

she had spent the night at Rock City. Hwondered how much else she had told

how much she remembered of what sh

had told him.

He reached into his coat pocket an

pulled out a round leather purse with

chain handle. It was soiled and shrunke

with its wetting, and the clasp had fleckof rust upon it. What it contained Lone di

not know. Virginia had taught him that a

man must not be curious about th

personal belongings of a woman. Now h

urned the purse over, tried to rub out th

stiffness of the leather, and smiled a littl

as he dropped it back into his pocket.



"I've got my calling card," he said softl

o John Doe. "I reckon I had the righ

hunch when I didn't turn it over to Mr

Hawkins. I'll ask her again about that grishe said she hid under a bush. I neve

heard about any of the boys finding it."

His thoughts returned to Al Woodrufand stopped there. Determined still t

attend strictly to his own affairs, hi

houghts persisted in playing truant and i

straying to a subject he much preferred noo think of at all. Why should Al Woodruf

be interested in the exact spot where Bri

Hunter's daughter had spent the night of th

storm? Why should Lone instinctivel

discount her statement and lie whole

heartedly about it?



"Now if Al catches me up in that, he'l

hink I know a lot I don't know, or els

——" He halted his thoughts there, fo

hat, too, was a forbidden subject.

Forbidden subjects are like othe

forbidden things: they have a way o

making themselves very conspicuousLone was heading for the Quirt ranch b

he most direct route, fearing, perhaps, tha

f he waited he would lose his nerve an

would not go at all. Yet it was importanhat he should go; he must return the girl'

purse!

The most direct route to the Quirt too

him down Juniper Ridge and acros

Granite Creek near the Thurman ranch

ndeed, if he followed the trail up Granit



Creek and across the hilly country to Quir

Creek, he must pass within fifty yards o

he Thurman cabin. Lone's time wa

imited, yet he took the direct route rathereluctantly. He did not want to b

reminded too sharply of Fred Thurman a

a man who had lived his life in his ow

way and had died so horribly.

"Well, he didn't have it coming to him—

but it's done and over with now, so it's no

use thinking about it," he reflected, whehe roofs of the Thurman ranch building

began to show now and then through th

hin ranks of the cottonwoods along th

creek.

But his face sobered as he rode along. I

seemed to him that the sleepy littl



meadows, the quiet murmuring of th

creek, even the soft rustling of th

cottonwood leaves breathed a new

oneliness, an emptiness where the mawho had called this place home, who ha

clung to it in the face of opposition tha

was growing into open warfare, had live

and left life suddenly—unwarrantablyLone knew in his heart. It might be of n

use to think about it, but the vivid memor

of Fred Thurman was with him when h

rode up the trail to the stable and the smal

corrals. He had to think, whether he woul

or no.

At the corral he came unexpectedly i

sight of the Swede, who grinned

guileless welcome and came toward him

so that Lone could not ride on unless h



would advertise his dislike of the place

John Doe, plainly glad to find an excuse t

stop, slowed and came to where Swa

waited by the gate.

"By golly, this is lonesome here," Swa

complained, heaving a great sigh. "Tha

udge don't get busy pretty quick, I'maybe jumping my job. Lone, what yo

hink? You believe in ghosts?"

"Naw. What's on your chest, Swan?Lone slipped sidewise in the saddle

resting his muscles. "You been seeing

hings?"

"No—I don't be seeing things, Lone. Bu

sometimes I been—like I feel something.

He stared at Lone questioningly. "Wha



you think, Lone, if you be sitting dow

eating your supper, maybe, and you fee

something say words in your brain? Lik

you know something talks to you and thequits."

Lone gave Swan a long, measuring look

and Swan laughed uneasily.

"That sounds crazy. But it's true, wha

something tells me in my brain. I go an

ook, and by golly, it's there just like thwords tell me."

Lone straightened in the saddle. "You

better come clean, Swan, and tell thwhole thing. What was it? Don't talk i

circles. What words did you feel—in you

brain?" In spite of himself, Lone felt as h



had when the girl had talked to him an

called him Charlie.

Swan closed the gate behind him witsteady hands. His lips were presse

firmly together, as if he had definitel

made up his mind to something. Lone wa

mpressed somehow with Swan's perfeccontrol of his speech, his thoughts, hi

actions. But he was puzzled rather tha

anything else, and when Swan turned

facing him, Lone's bewilderment did noessen.

"I'll tell you. It's when I'm sitting dow

o eat my supper. I'm just reaching out m

hand like this, to get my coffee. And

something says in my head, 'It's a lie.

don't ride backwards. Go look at m



saddle. There's blood——' And that's all

t's like the words go far away so I can

hear any more. So I eat my supper, and

hen I get the lantern and I go look. Youcome with me, Lone. I'll show you."

Without a word Lone dismounted and

followed Swan into a small shed besidhe stable, where a worn stock saddl

hung suspended from a cross-piece,

rawhide string looped over the horn. Lon

did not ask whose saddle it was, nor diSwan name the owner. There was no

need.

Swan took the saddle and swung i

around so that the right side was towar

hem. It was what is called a full-stampe

saddle, with the popular wild-rose desig



on skirts and cantle. Much hard use an

occasional oilings had darkened th

eather to a rich, red brown, marred wit

old scars and scratches and the stains omany storms.

"Blood is hard to find when it's rainin

all night," Swan observed, speaking lowas one does in the presence of death. "Bu

f somebody is bleeding and falls off

horse slow, and catches hold of things and

ries like hell to hang on——" He liftehe small flap that covered the cinch rin

and revealed a reddish, flaked stain

Phlegmatically he wetted his finger tip o

his tongue, rubbed the stain and held up

his finger for Lone to see. "That's a dam

funny place for blood, when a man i

dragging on the ground," he commente



dryly. "And something else is damn funny

Lone."

He lifted the wooden stirrup and touchewith his finger the rowel marks. "That i

on the front part," he said. "I could swea

n court that Fred's left foot was twisted—

hat's damn funny, Lone. I don't see menride backwards, much."

Lone turned on him and struck the stirrup

from his hand. "I think you better forget," he said fiercely. "He's dead—it can

help him any to——" He stopped an

pulled himself together. "Swan, you take

fool's advice and don't tell anybody els

about feeling words talk in your head

They'll have you in the bug-house a

Black-foot, sure as you live." He looke



at the saddle, hesitated, looked again a

Swan, who was watching him. "Tha

blood most likely got there when Fre

was packing a deer in from the hills. Andmarks on them old oxbow stirrups don

mean a damn thing but the need of a new

pair, maybe." He forced a laugh and

stepped outside the shed. "Just shows youSwan, that imagination and being alone al

he time can raise Cain with a fellow. You

want to watch yourself."

Swan followed him out, closing the doo

carefully behind him. "By golly, I'

watching out now," he assented

houghtfully. "You don't tell anybody

Lone."

"No, I won't tell anybody—and I'



advise you not to," Lone repeated grimly

"Just keep those thoughts outa your head

Swan. They're bad medicine."

He mounted John Doe and rode away

his eyes downcast, his quirt slappin

absently the weeds along the trail. It wa

not his business, and yet—— Lone shoohimself together and put John Doe into

ope. He had warned Swan, and he coul

do no more.

Halfway to the Quirt he met Lorrain

riding along the trail. She would hav

passed him with no sign of recognition

but Lone lifted his hat and stopped

Lorraine looked at him, rode on a few

steps and turned. "Did you wish to spea

about something?" she aske



mpersonally.

Lone felt the flush in his cheeks, whic

angered him to the point of speakincurtly. "Yes. I found your purse where you

dropped it that night you were lost. I wa

bringing it over to you. My name'

Morgan. I'm the man that found you anook you in to the ranch."

"Oh." Lorraine looked at him steadily

"You're the one they call Loney?"

"When they're feeling good toward me

'm Lone Morgan. I went back to find you

grip—you said you left it under a bush, buhe world's plumb full of bushes. I foun

your purse, though."



"Thank you so much. I must have been a

awful nuisance, but I was so scared—an

hings were terribly mixed in my mind.

didn't even have sense enough to tell yowhat ranch I was trying to find, did I? S

you took me to the wrong one, and I was

week there before I found it out. And then

hey were perfectly lovely about it anbrought me—home." She turned the purs

over and over in her hands, looking at i

without much interest. She seemed in n

hurry to ride on, which gave Lon

courage.

"There's something I'd like to say," h

began, groping for words that would mak

his meaning plain without telling to

much. "I hope you won't mind my tellin

you. You were kinda out of your head



when I found you, and you said somethin

about seeing a man shot and——"

"Oh!" Lorraine looked up at him, lookehrough him, he thought, with thos

brilliant eyes of hers. "Then I did tel

——"

"I just wanted to say," Lone interrupted

her, "that I knew all the time it was just

nightmare. I never mentioned it t

anybody, and you'll forget all about it, hope. You didn't tell any one else, did

you?"

He looked up at her again and found hestudying him curiously. "You're not the

man I saw," she said, as if sue wer

satisfying herself on that point. "I'v



wondered since—but I was sure, too, tha

had seen it. Why mustn't I tell any one?"

Lone did not reply at once. The girl'eyes were disconcertingly direct, he

voice and her manner disturbed him wit

heir judicial calmness, so at varianc

with the wildness he remembered.

"Well, it's hard to explain," he said a

ast. "You're strange to this country, and

you don't know all the ins and outs of—hings. It wouldn't do any good to you o

anybody else, and it might do a lot o

harm." His eyes flicked her face with

wistful glance. "You don't know me—

really haven't got any right to ask o

expect you to trust me. But I wish yo

would, to the extent of forgetting that yo



saw—or thought you saw—anything tha

night in Rock City."

Lorraine shivered and covered her eyeswiftly with one hand. His words ha

brought back too sharply that scene. Bu

she shook off the emotion and faced hi

again.

"I saw a man murdered," she cried. "

wasn't sure afterwards; sometimes

hought I had dreamed it. But I was sure saw it. I saw the horse go by, running—

and you want me to keep still about that

What harm could it do to tell? Perhaps it'

rue—perhaps I did see it all. I might thin

you were trying to cover up something—

only, you're not the man I saw—or though

saw."



"No, of course I'm not. You dreamed the

whole thing, and the way you talked to m

was so wild, folks would say you're craz

f they heard you tell it. You're a strangehere, Miss Hunter, and—your father is no

as popular in this country as he might be

He's got enemies that would be glad of th

chance to stir up trouble for him. You—ust dreamed all that. I'm asking you t

forget a bad dream, that's all, and not g

elling it to other folks."

For some time Lorraine did not answer

The horses conversed with sundry nose

rubbings, nibbled idly at convenient brus

ips, and wondered no doubt why thei

riders were so silent. Lone tried to thin

of some stronger argument, some appea

hat would reach the girl withou



frightening her or causing her to distrus

him. But he did not know what more h

could say without telling her what mus

not be told.

"Just how would it make trouble for m

father?" Lorraine asked at last. "I can

believe you'd ask me to help cover up crime, but it seems hard to believe that

nightmare would cause any grea

commotion. And why is my fathe

unpopular?"

"Well, you don't know this country,

Lone parried inexpertly. "It's all right i

some ways, and in some ways it could b

a lot improved. Folks haven't got much t

alk about. They go around gabbling thei

heads off about every little thing, an



adding onto it until you can't recognis

your own remarks after they've peddle

for a week. You've maybe seen places

ike that."

"Oh, yes." Lorraine's eyes lighted with

smile. "Take a movie studio, for instance.

"Yes. Well, you being a stranger, you

would get all the worst of it. I just though

'd tell you; I'd hate to see yo

misunderstood by folks around here. I—feel kinda responsible for you; I'm the on

hat found you."

Lorraine's eyes twinkled. "Well, I'mglad to know one person in the countr

who doesn't gabble his head off. You

haven't answered any of my questions, an



ust imagining it all over again."

"It was sure horrible the way you talke

about it," Lone assured her. "It's becausyou were sick, I reckon. I wish you'd tel

me as close as you can where you left tha

grip of yours. You said it was under a

bush where a rabbit was sitting. I'd like tfind the grip—but I'm afraid that rabbi

has done moved!"

"Oh, Mr Warfield and I found it, thankyou. The rabbit had moved, but I sort o

remembered how the road had looke

along there, and we hunted until w

discovered the place. Dad has driven i

after my other luggage to-day—and

believe I must be getting home. I was onl

out for a little ride."



She thanked him again for the trouble h

had taken and rode away. Lone turned of

he trail and, picking his way around roug

outcroppings of rock, and acrosunexpected little gullies, headed straigh

for the ford across Granite Creek an

home. Brit Hunter's girl, he was thinking

was even nicer than he had pictured herAnd that she could believe in th

nightmare was a vast relief.

CHAPTER VII

THE MAN AT WHISPER



Brit Hunter finished washing th

breakfast dishes and put a stick of woo

nto the broken old cook-stove that ha

served him and Frank for fifteen years anwas feeling its age. Lorraine's breakfas

was in the oven, keeping warm. Bri

ooked in, tested the heat with his gnarle

hand to make sure that the sour-dougbiscuits would not be dried to crusts, an

closed the door upon them and the baco

and fried potatoes. Frank Johnson had th

horses saddled and it was time to go, ye

Brit lingered, uneasily conscious that hi

habitation was lacking in many thing

which a beautiful young woman mighconsider absolute necessities. He had see

n Lorraine's eyes, as they glanced her

and there about the grimy walls, a certai

disparagement of her surroundings. Th



ook had made him wince, though he coul

not quite decide what it was tha

displeased her. Maybe she wanted lac

curtains, or something.

He set the four chairs in a row agains

he wall, swept up the bits of bark an

ashes beside the stove, made sure that thwater bucket was standing full on it

bench beside the door, sent anothe

critical glance around the room, and tip

oed over to the dish cupboard and ledown the flowered calico curtain that ha

been looped up over a nail fo

convenience. The sun sent a bright, wid

bar of yellow light across the room to res

on the shelf behind the stove where stoo

he salt can, the soda, the teapot, a box o

matches and two pepper cans, one empt



and the other full. Brit always meant t

hrow out that empty pepper can an

always neglected to do so. Just now h

remembered picking up the empty one anshaking it over the potatoes futilely an

hen changing it for the full one. But he di

not take it away; in the wilderness on

earns to save useless things in the fainhope that some day they may becom

useful. The shelves were cluttered with fi

companions to that empty pepper can. Bri

hought that he would have "cleaned out

had he known that Lorraine was coming

Since she was here, it scarcely seeme

worth while.

He walked on his boot-toes to the doo

of the second room of the cabin, listene

here for a minute, heard no sound an



and hips that reminded her of the littl

roofs over dormer windows, and went fo

a ride. And if she did that, there wa

nowhere to go and nothing to do when sharrived there.

In a very few days Lorraine ha

exhausted the sights of Quirt Creek anvicinity. If she rode south she would

eventually come to the top of a hil

whence she could look down upon furthe

stretches of barrenness. If she rode easshe would come eventually to the roa

along which she had walked from Echo

daho. Lorraine had had enough of tha

road. If she went north she would—wel

she would not meet Mr Lone Morga

again, for she had tried it twice, and ha

urned back because there seemed no en



o the trail twisting through the sage an

rocks. West she had not gone, but she had

no doubt that it would be the same drear

monotony of dull gray landscape.

Monotony of landscape was one thin

which Lorraine could not endure, unless i

had a foreground of riders hurtling herand there, and of perspiring men around

camera tripod. At the Sawtooth ranch

after she was able to be up, she had see

cowboys, but they had lacked the dash anhe picturesque costuming of the West she

knew. They were mostly commonplac

young men, jogging past the house o

horseback, or loitering down by th

corrals. They had offered absolutely n

nterest or "colour" to the place, and th

owner's son, Bob Warfield, had driven



her over to the Quirt in a Ford and ha

seemed exactly like any other big, good

ooking young man who thought well o

himself. Lorraine was not susceptible tmere good looks, three years with th

"movies" having disillusioned her quit

horoughly. Too many young men of Bob

Warfield's general type had attempted tomake love to her—lightly and not too wel

—for Lorraine to be greatly impressed.

She yawned, looked at her watch againfound that she had spent exactly si

minutes in meditating upon her immediat

surroundings, and fell to wondering why i

was that the real West was so terribly

commonplace. Why, yesterday she had

been brought to such a pass of shee

oneliness that she had actually bee



driven to reading an old horse-docto

book! She had learned the symptoms o

epizoötic—whatever that was—and poll

evil and stringhalt, and had gone from thao making a shopping tour through

Montgomery-Ward catalogue. There wa

nothing else in the house to read, except

half-dozen old copies of the Boise News.

There was nothing to do, nothing lo see

no one to talk to. Her dad and the big

heavy-set man whom he called Frankseemed uncomfortably aware of thei

deficiencies and were pitiably anxious t

make her feel welcome—and failed. The

called her "Raine." The other two men di

not call her anything at all. They wer

both sandy-complexioned and they bot

chewed tobacco quite noticeably, and



when they sat down in their shirt sleeve

o eat, Lorraine had seen irregular hump

n their hip pockets which must be six

guns; though why they should carry them iheir pockets instead of in holster belt

buckled properly around their bodies an

sagging savagely down at one side an

swinging ferociously when they walkedLorraine could not imagine. They did no

wear chaps, either, and their spurs wer

ust spurs, without so much as a silve

concho anywhere. Cowboys in overall

and blue gingham shirts and faded ol

coats whose lapels lay in wrinkles an

whose pockets were torn down at thcorners! If Lorraine had not been positiv

hat this was actually a cattle ranch i

daho, she never would have believed tha

hey were anything but day labourers.



"It's a comedy part for the cattle-queen'

daughter," she admitted, putting out a hand

o stroke the lean, gray cat that jumpe

upon her bed from the open window. "Ket's a scream! I'll take my West before the

camera, thank you; or I would, if I hadn

umped right into the middle of this tric

West before I knew what I was doingKet, what do you do to pass away th

ime? I don't see how you can have th

nerve to live in an empty space like thi

and purr!"

She got up then, looked into the kitche

and saw the paper on the table. This wa

new and vaguely promised some sort o

break in the deadly monotony which sh

saw stretching endlessly before her

Carrying the nameless cat in her arms



Lorraine went in her bare feet across th

grimy, bare floor to the table and picked

up the note. It read simply:

"Your brekfast is in the oven we wont b

back till dark maby. Dont leave the rancoday. Yr loveing father."

Lorraine hugged the cat so violently tha

she choked off a purr in the middle

"'Don't leave the ranch to-day!' Ket,

believe it's going to be dangerous osomething, after all."

She dressed quickly and went outsid

nto the sunlight, the cat at her heels, th



hrill of that one command filling the gra

monotone of the hills with wonderfu

possibilities of adventure. Her father ha

made no objection before when she wenfor a ride. He had merely instructed her t

keep to the trails, and if she didn't know

he way home, to let the reins lie loose o

Yellowjacket's neck and he would bringher to the gate.

Yellowjacket's instinct for direction had

not been working that day, howeverLorraine had no sooner left the ranch ou

of sight behind her than she pretended tha

she was lost. Yellowjacket had thereupon

walked a few rods farther and stopped

patiently indifferent to the location of hi

oats box. Lorraine had waited until hi

head began to droop lower and lower, and



his switching at flies had become purel

automatic. Yellowjacket was going to

sleep without making any effort to find th

way home. But since Lorraine had not tolher father anything about it, his injunctio

could not have anything to do with th

unreliability of the horse.

"Now," she said to the cat, "if three o

four bandits would appear on the ridge

over there, and come tearing down into th

mmediate foreground, jump the gate ansurround the house, I'd know this was th

real thing. They'd want to make me tel

where dad kept his gold or whatever i

was they wanted, and they'd have me tie

o a chair—and then, cut to Lone Morga

that's a perfectly wonderful name for th

ead!) hearing shots and coming on a dea



run to the rescue." She picked up the ca

and walked slowly down the hard-trodde

path to the stable. "But there aren't an

bandits, and dad hasn't any gold oanything else worth stealing—Ket, if da

sn't a miser, he's poor ! And Lone Morga

s merely ashamed of the way I talked t

him, and afraid I'll queer myself with thneighbours. No Western lead that I eve

saw would act like that. Why, he didn

even want to ride home with me, that day.

"And Bob Warfield and his Ford are

ncidents of the past, and not one soul a

he Sawtooth seems to give a darn whethe

'm in the country or out of it. Soon as the

found out where I belonged, they brough

me over here and dropped me and forgo

all about me. And that, I suppose, is wha



hey call in fiction the Western spirit!

"Dad looked exactly as if he'd opene

he door to a book agent when I came. H— h e tolerates my presence, Ket! And

Frank Johnson's pipe smells to hig

heaven, and I hate him in the house an

the boys'—hmhm! The boys —Ket, iwould be terribly funny, if I didn't have to

stay here."

She had reached the corral and stoobalancing the cat on a warped top rail

staring disconsolately at Yellowjacket

who stood in a far corner switching a

flies and shamelessly displaying all th

angularity of his bones under a yellowis

hide with roughened hair that wa

shedding dreadfully, as Lorraine had



discovered to her dismay when sh

removed her green corduroy skirt afte

riding him. Yellowjacket's lower lip

sagged with senility or lack of spiritLorraine could not tell which.

"You look like the frontispiece in tha

horse-doctor book," she remarked, eyeinhim with disfavour. "I can't say tha

comedy hide you've got improves you

appearance. You'd be better peeled,

believe."

She heard a chuckle behind her an

urned quickly, palm up to shield her eye

from the straight, bright rays of the sun

ow here was a live man, after all, wit

his hat tilted down over his forehead,

cigarette in one hand and his reins in th



other, looking at her and smiling.

"Why don't you peel him, just on

chance?" His smile broadened to a grinbut when Lorraine continued to look a

him with a neutral expression in her eyes

he threw away his cigarette an

abandoned with it his free-and-easmanner.

"You're Miss Hunter, aren't you? I rode

over to see your father. Thought I'd findhim somewhere around the corra

maybe."

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

"I—see. Is Mr Johnson anywher



about?"

"No, I don't believe anyone is anywher

about. They were all gone when I got up, ittle while ago." Then, remembering tha

she did not know this man, and that sh

was a long way from neighbours, sh

added, "If you'll leave a message I can teldad when he comes home."

"No-o—I'll ride over to-morrow or nex

day. I'm the man at Whisper. You can tellhim I called, and that I'll call again."

Still he did not go, and Lorraine waited

Some instinct warned her that the man hanot yet stated his real reason for coming

and she wondered a little what it could be

He seemed to be watching her covertly



yet she failed to catch any telltal

admiration for her in his scrutiny. Sh

decided that his forehead was too narrow

o please her, and that his eyes were tooclose together, and that the lines around

his mouth were cruel lines and gave th

ie to his smile, which was pleasan

enough if you just looked at the smile anpaid no attention to anything else in hi

face.

"You had quite an experience getting ouhere, they tell me," he observe

carelessly; too carelessly, though

Lorraine, who was well schooled in th

circumlocutions of delinquent tenants

agents of various sorts and those wh

crave small gossip of their neighbours

"Heard you were lost up in Rock City al



night."

Lorraine looked up at him, startled. "

caught a terrible cold," she said, laughinnervously. "I'm not used to the climate,

she added guardedly.

The man fumbled in his pocket anproduced smoking material. "Do you min

f I smoke?" he asked perfunctorily.

"Why, no. It doesn't concern me in thslightest degree." Why, she though

confusedly, must she always be reminded

of that horrible place of rocks? What wa

t to this man where she had been lost?

"You must of got there about the time the

storm broke," the man hazarded after



silence. "It's sure a bad place in

hunderstorm. Them rocks draw lightning

Pretty bad, wasn't it?"

"Lightning is always bad, isn't it?

Lorraine tried to hold her voice steady. "

don't know much about it. We don't have

hunderstorms to amount to anything, iLos Angeles. It sometimes does thunde

here in the winter, but it is very mild."

With hands that trembled she picked thcat off the rail and started toward th

house. "I'll tell dad what you said," sh

old him, glancing back over her shoulder

When she saw that he had turned his hors

and was frankly following her to th

house, her heart jumped wildly into he

hroat—judging by the feel of it.



"I'm plumb out of matches. I wonder i

you can let me have some," he said, stil

speaking too carelessly to reassure her

"So you stuck it out in Rock City alhrough that storm! That's more than wha

'd want to do."

She did not answer that, but once on thdoor-step Lorraine turned and faced him

Quite suddenly it came to her—th

knowledge of why she did not like thi

man. She stared at him, her eyes wide anbright.

"Your hat's brown!" she exclaimed

unguardedly. "I—I saw a man with

brown hat——"

He laughed suddenly. "If you stay around



hrough without dismounting. H

disappeared finally around a small spur o

he hill, and Lorraine found her knee

rembling under her.

"Ket, you're an awful fool," sh

exclaimed fiercely. "Why did you let m

give myself away to that man? I—believe he was the man. And if I really di

see him, it wasn't my imagination at al

He saw me there, perhaps. Ket, I'

scared! I'm not going to stay on this rancall alone. I'm going to saddle the famil

skeleton, and I'm going to ride till dark

There's something queer about that ma

from Whisper. I'm afraid of him."

After awhile, when she had finished he

breakfast and was putting up a lunch



CHAPTER VIII

"IT TAKES NERVE JUST TO HANG

ON"

Brit was smoking his pipe after suppe

and staring at nothing, though his face wa

urned toward the closed door. Lorrain

had washed the dishes and was tidying throom and looking at her father now an

hen in a troubled, questioning way o

which Brit was quite oblivious.

"Dad," she said abruptly, "who is th

man at Whisper?"



Brit turned his eyes slowly to her face a

f he had not grasped her meaning and wa

waiting for her to repeat the question. I

was evident that his thoughts had pulleaway from something that meant a goo

deal to him.

"Why?"

"A man came this morning, and said h

was the man at Whisper, and that h

would come again to see you."

Brit took his pipe from his mouth

ooked at it and crowded down th

obacco with a forefinger. "He seen mride away from the ranch, this morning,

he said. "He was coming down th

Whisper trail as I was taking the fork ove



o Sugar Spring, Frank and me. What di

he say he wanted to see me about?"

"He didn't say. He asked for you andFrank." Lorraine sat down and folded he

arms on the oilcloth-covered table. "Dad

what is Whisper?"

"Whisper's a camp up against a cliff

over west of here. It belongs to th

Sawtooth. Is that all he said? Just that h

wanted to see me?"

"He—talked a little," Lorraine admitted

her eyebrows pulled down. "If he saw yo

eave, I shouldn't think he'd come here anask for you."

"He knowed I was gone," Brit state



briefly.

With a finger nail Lorraine traced th

ugly, brown pattern on the oilcloth. It wanot easy to talk to this silent man who wa

her father, but she had done a great deal o

hinking during that long, empty day, and

she had reached the point where she waafraid not to speak.

"Dad!"

"What do you want, Raine?"

"Dad, was—has any one around her

died, lately?"

"Died? Nobody but Fred Thurman, ove

here on Granite. He was drug with a hors

and killed."



Lorraine caught her breath, saw Bri

ooking at her curiously and moved close

o him. She wanted to be near somebod

ust then, and after all, Brit was her fatherand his silence was not the inertia of

dull mind, she knew. He seemed bottled

up, somehow, and bitter. She caught hi

hand and held it, feeling its roughnesbetween her two soft palms.

"Dad, I've got to tell you. I feel trapped

somehow. Did his horse have a whitface, dad?"

"Yes, he's a blaze-faced roan. Why?

Brit moved uncomfortably, but he did no

ake his hand away from her. "What do

you know about it, Raine?"



"I saw a man shoot Fred Thurman an

push his foot through the stirrup. And, dad

believe it was that man at Whisper. Th

one I saw had on a brown hat, and thiman wears a brown hat—and I wa

advised not to tell any one I had been a

hat place they call Rock City, when th

storm came. Dad, would an innocent ma—one that didn't have anything to do wit

a crime—would he try to cover it up

afterwards?"

Brit's hand shook when he removed th

pipe from his mouth and laid it on th

able. His face had turned gray whil

Lorraine watched him fearfully. He laid

his hand on her shoulder, pressing dow

hard—and at last his eyes met her big

searching ones.



"If he wanted to live—in this country—

he'd have to. Leastways, he'd have to kee

his mouth shut," he said grimly.

"And he'd try to shut the mouths of other

——"

"If he cared anything about them, hwould. You ain't told anybody what you

saw, have yuh?"

Lorraine hid her face against his arm"Just Lone Morgan, and he thought I wa

crazy and imagined it. That was in th

morning, when he found me. And he—h

wanted me to go on thinking it was just nightmare—that I'd imagined the whol

hing. And I did, for awhile. But this man

at Whisper tried to find out where I wa



They stopped to water their horses, an

hey were talking. They said somethin

about the TJ had been here a long time, bu

hey would get theirs, and it was liksitting into a poker game with a nicke

They said the little ones aren't big enoug

o fight the Sawtooth, and they'd carry lea

under their hides if they didn't leave. Dadsn't your brand the TJ? That's what i

ooks like on Yellowjacket."

Brit did not answer, and when Lorrainwas sure that he did not mean to do so, sh

asked another question. "Dad, why didn

you want me to leave the ranch to-day?

was nervous after that man was here, and

did go."

"I didn't want you riding around th



country unless I knew where you went,

Brit said. "My brand is the TJ up-and

down. We never call it just the TJ."

"Oh," said Lorraine, relieved. "The

weren't talking about you, then. But dad—

t's horrible! We simply can't let tha

murder go and not do anything. Because know that man was shot. I heard the sho

fired, and I saw him start to fall off hi

horse. And the next flash of lightning I saw

——"

"Look here, Raine. I don't want yo

alking about what you saw. I don't wan

you thinkin' about it. What's the use

Thurman's dead and buried. The cor'ne

come and held an inquest, and the jur

agreed it was an accident. I was on th



ury. The sheriff's took charge of hi

property. You couldn't prove what you

saw, even if you was to try." He looked a

her very much as Lone Morgan had lookeat her. His next words were very nearl

what Lone Morgan had said, Lorrain

remembered. "You don't know this countr

ike I know it. Folks live in it mainlbecause they don't go around blattin

everything they see and hear and think."

"You have laws, don't you, dad? Youspoke about the sheriff——"

"The sheriff!" Brit laughed harshly

"Yes, we got a sheriff, and we got a jail

and a judge—all the makin's of law. Bu

we ain't got one thing that goes with it, an

hat's justice. You'd best make up you



mind like the cor'ner's jury done, that Fre

Thurman was drug to death by his horse

That's all that'll ever be proved, and if yo

can't prove nothing else you better keepyour mouth shut."

Lorraine sprang up and stood facing he

father, every nerve taut with protest. "Youdon't mean to tell me, dad, that you an

Frank Johnson and Lone Morgan and—

everybody in the country are cowards, d

you?"

Brit looked at her patiently. "No," h

said in the tone of acknowledged defeat

"we ain't cowards, Raine. A man ain't a

coward when he stands with his hand

over his head. Most generally it's becaus

some one's got the drop on 'im."



Lorraine would not accept that. "You

hink so, because you don't fight," sh

cried hotly. "No one is holding a gun a

your head. Dad! I thought Westernernever quit. It's fight to the finish, always

Why, I've seen one man fight a whol

outfit and win. He couldn't be beate

because he wouldn't give up. Why——"

Brit gave her a tolerant glance. "Where'

you see all that, Raine?" He moved to th

able, picked up his pipe and knocked ouhe ashes on the stove hearth. Hi

movements were those of an aging man—

yet Brit Hunter was not old, as age i

reckoned.

"Well—in stories—but it wa

reasonable and logical and possible, jus



he same. If you use your brains you ca

outwit them, and if you have any nerv

——"

Brit made a sound somewhat like

snort. "These days, when politics i

played by the big fellows, and the law i

used to make money for 'em, it takes nervust to hang on," he said. "Nobody but

dang fool would fight." Slow anger grew

within him. He turned upon Lorrain

almost fiercely. "D'yuh think me and Francould fight the Sawtooth and get anythin

out of it but a coffin apiece, maybe?" h

demanded harshly. "Don't the Sawtoot

own this country? Warfield's got the

sheriff in his pocket, and the cor'ner, and

he judge, and the stock inspector—he'

Senator Warfield, and what he wants he



Brit stooped and opened the stove door

seeking a live coal; found none and turne

again to Lorraine, shaking his pipe at he

for emphasis.

"We try to prove Fred was murdered

and what's the result? Something happens

o me, mebby, or Frank, or both of us. Andyou can't say, 'Here, I know the Sawtoot

had a hand in that.' You got to prove it

And when you've proved it," he adde

bitterly, "you got to have officers that'lcarry out the law instead of using it t

hog-tie yuh."

His futile, dull anger surged up again

"You call us cowards because we don't gi

up on our hind legs and fight the Sawtooth

A lot you know about courage! You've



read stories, and you've saw movin

pictures, and you think that's the West—

hat's the way they do it. One man hold of

a hunderd with his gun—and on the othehand, a hunderd men, mebby, ridin' hell

whoopin' after one. You think that's it—

hat's the way they do it. Hunh!" He lifte

he lid of the stove, spat into it as if hwere spitting in the face of an enemy, and

urned again to Lorraine.

"What you seen—what you say you see—that was done at night when there wasn

no audience. All the fighting the Sawtoot

does is done under cover. You won't se

none of it—they ain't such fools. And wha

us small fellers do, we do it quiet, too

We ain't ridin' up and down the trail

flourishin' our six-shooters and yellin' t



he Sawtooth to come on and we'll clea

em up!"

"But you're fighting just the same, arenyou, dad? You're not letting them——"

"We're makin' out to live here—and

we've been doin' it for twenty-five year,Brit told her, with a certain grim dignity

"We've still got a few head uh stock left—

enough to live on. Playin' poker with

nickel, mebby—but we manage to anteevery hand so fur." His mind returned to

he grisly thing Lorraine had seen.

"We can't run down the man that goFred Thurman, supposin' he was killed, a

you say. That's what the law is paid to do

f Lone Morgan told you not to talk abou



t, he told you right. He was talking fo

your own good. What about Al—the man

from Whisper? You didn't tell him, di

you?"

His tone, the suppressed violence of hi

manner, frightened Lorraine. She moved

farther away from him.

"I didn't tell him anything. He wa

curious but—I only said I knew hi

because he was wearing a brown hat, anhe man that shot Mr Thurman had a brow

hat. I didn't say all that. I just mentione

he hat. And he said there were lots o

brown hats in the country. He said he had

raded for that one, just yesterday. He said

his own hat was gray."



Brit stared at her, his jaw sagging

ittle, his eyes growing vacant with th

houghts he hid deep in his mind. H

slumped down into his chair and leaneforward, his arms resting on his knees, hi

fingers clasped loosely. After a little he

ilted his head and looked up at her.

"You better go to bed," he told He

stolidly. "And if you're going to live at th

Quirt, Raine, you'll have to learn to kee

your mouth shut. I ain't blaming you—buyou told too much to Al Woodruff. Don'

alk to him no more, if he comes her

when I'm gone." He put out a hand

beckoning her to him, sorry for hi

harshness. Lorraine went to him and knel

beside him, slipping an arm around hi

neck while she hid her face on hi



shoulder.

"I won't be a nuisance, dad—really,

won't," she said. "I—I can shoot a gun. never shot one with bullets in, but I could

And I learned to do lots of things when

was working in that play West I though

was real. It isn't like I thought. There's npicture stuff in the real West, I guess; they

don't do things that way. But—what I wan

you to know is that if they're fighting yo

hey'll have to fight me, too.

"I don't mean movie stuff, honestly

don't. I'm in this thing now, and you'll hav

o count me, same as you count Jim an

Sorry. Won't you please feel that I'm one

more in the game, dad, and not just anothe

responsibility? I'll herd cattle, or d



whatever there is to do. And I'll keep my

mouth shut, too. I can't stay here, day afte

day, doing nothing but sweep and dust two

rooms and fry potatoes and bacon for yoat night. Dad, I'll go crazy if you don't le

me into your life!

"Dad, if you knew the stunts I've done ihe last three years! It was make-believ

West, but I learned things just the same.

She kissed him on the unshaven chee

nearest her—and thought of the kisses shhad breathed upon the cheeks of stor

fathers with due care for the make-up o

her lips. Just because this was real, sh

kissed him again with the frank vigour of

child.

"Dad," she said wheedlingly, "I thin



you might scare up something that I ca

really ride. Yellowjacket is safe, but—bu

you have real live horses on the ranch

haven't you? You must not go judging meby the palms and the bay windows of th

Casa Grande. That's where I've slept, th

ast few years when I wasn't off o

ocation—but it's just as sensible to think don't know anything else, as it would b

for me to think you can't do anything bu

skim milk and fry bacon and make sour

dough bread, just because I've seen you d

t!"

Brit laughed and patted her awkwardl

on the back. "If you was a boy, I'd set yo

up as a lawyer," he said with an attempt a

playfulness. "I kinda thought you coul

ride. I seen how you piled onto ol



Yellowjacket and the way you held you

reins. It runs in the blood, I guess. I'll se

what I can do in the way of a horse. Ol

Yellowjacket used to be a real rim-riderbut he's gitting old; gitting old—same a

me."

"You're not! You're just letting yourselfeel old. And am I one of the outfit, dad?"

"I guess so—only there ain't going to b

any of this hell-whoopin' stuff, Raine. Youcan't travel these trails at a long lope wit

yore hair flyin' out behind and—and al

hat damn foolishness. I've saw 'em in th

movin' pitchers——"

Lorraine blushed, and was thankful tha

her dad had not watched her work in tha



serial. For that matter, she hoped that Lon

Morgan would never stray into a movi

where any of her pictures were bein

shown.

"I'm serious, dad. I don't want to make

show of myself. But if you'll feel that I ca

be a help instead of a handicap, that'what I want. And if it comes to fightin

——"

Brit pushed her from him impatiently"There yuh go—fight—fight—and I tol

yuh there ain't any fighting going on

othing more'n a fight to hang on an

make a living. That means straight, har

work and mindin' your own business. I

you want to help at that——"



"I do," said Raine quietly, getting to he

feet. Her legacy of stubbornness set he

ips firmly together. "That's exactly what

mean. Good night, dad."

Brit answered her non-committally

apparently sunk already in his ow

musings. But his lips drew in to suppresa smile when he saw, from the corner o

his eyes, that Lorraine was winding th

alarm on the cheap kitchen clock, and tha

she set the hand carefully and took thclock with her to bed.

CHAPTER IX



THE EVIL EYE OF THE

SAWTOOTH

Oppression is a growth that flourishebest in the soil of opportunity. It seldo

springs into full power at once. Th

Sawtooth Cattle Company had begun muc

as its neighbours had begun: with a trac

of land, cattle, and the ambition fo

prospering. Senator Warfield had then

been plain Bill Warfield, manager of theoutfit, who rode with his men and saw

how his herds increased,—saw too how

hey might increase faster under certai

conditions. At the outset he was noperhaps, more unscrupulous than some o

his neighbours. True, if a homesteader lef

his claim for a longer time than the law

allowed him, Bill Warfield would choose



one of his own men to file a contest on tha

claim. The man's wages would be paid

Witnesses were never lacking to swear to

he improvements he had made, and aftehe patent had been granted th

homesteader (for the contestant alway

won in that country) the Sawtooth woul

pay him for the land. Frequently Sawtooth man would file upon land befor

any other man had claimed it. Sometimes

Sawtooth man would purchase

relinquishment from some poor devil of

claim-holder who seemed always to hav

bad luck, and so became discouraged an

ready to sell. An intelligent man like BilWarfield could acquire much land in thi

manner, give him time enough.

In much the same manner his herd



ncreased. He bought out small rancher

who were crowded to the selling point i

one way or another. They would find

hemselves fenced off from water, thSawtooth having acquired the water right

o creek or spring. Or they would b

hemmed in with fenced fields and woul

find it next to impossible to make use ohe law which gave them the right t

"condemn" a road through. They woul

not be openly assailed,—Bill Warfield

was an intelligent man. A dozen brand

were recorded in the name of th

Sawtooth Cattle Company, and if a smal

rancher found his calf crop shorter than ishould be, he might think as he pleased

but he would have no tangible proof tha

his calves wore a Sawtooth brand.



Inevitably it became necessary now an

hen to stop a mouth that was ready t

speak unwelcome truths. But if a Sawtoot

man were known to have committeviolence, the Sawtooth itself was the firs

o put the sheriff on his trail. If the ma

successfully dodged the sheriff and mad

his way to parts unknown, the Sawtootcould shrug its shoulders and wash it

hands of him.

Then whispers were heard that thSawtooth had on its pay roll men wh

were paid to kill and to leave no trace. S

many heedless ones crossed th

Sawtooth's path to riches! Fred Thurma

had been one; a "bull-headed cuss" wh

had the temerity to fight back when th

Sawtooth calmly laid claim to the firs



water rights to Granite Creek, havin

bought it, they said, with the placer clai

of an old miner who had prospected alon

he headwaters of Granite at the base oBear Top.

By that time the Sawtooth had grown to

power no poor man could hope to defeaBill Warfield was Senator Warfield, and

Senator Warfield was a power in the

political world that immediatel

surrounded him. Since his neighbourinranchmen had not been able to prevent hi

steady climbing to the position he now

held, they had small hope of pulling hi

down. Brit was right. They did well t

hang on and continue living in that country

At open killing, one that would attrac



"What have they said? The girl was a

he ranch for several days. She didn't tal

here, or Hawkins would have told me."

"She was sick. I saw her the other day a

he Quirt, and she more'n half recognise

me. Hell! How'd I know she was in ther

among them rocks? Everybody that waapt to be riding through was accounte

for, and I knew there wasn't any on

coming horseback or with a rig. M

hearing's pretty good."

Warfield moved the spark lever up and

down on the wheel while he thought

"Well," he said carefully at last, "if you're

falling down in your work, what are yo

whining about it to me for? What do yo

want?"



Al moistened his lips with his tongue. "

want to know how far I can go. It's bee

hands off the Quirt, up to now. And the

Quirt's beginning to think it can get awawith most anything. They've throwed

fence across the pass through from Suga

Spring to Whisper. That sends us awa

around by Three Creek. You can't traistock across Granite Ridge, nor them lav

edges. If it's going to be hands off, I wan

o know it. There's other places I'd rathe

ive in, if the Quirt's going to raise tal

about Fred Thurman."

Senator Warfield pulled at his collar an

ie as if they choked him. "The Quirt ha

made no trouble," he said. "Of course, i

hey begin throwing fences across ou

stock trails and peddling gossip, that i



another story. I expect you to protect ou

nterests, of course. And I have neve

made a practice of dictating to you. In thi

case"—he sent a sharp glance at Al—"iseems to me your interests are involve

more than ours. As to Fred Thurman,

don't know anything about it. I was no

here when he died, and I have never seehis girl of Brit's who seems to worry you

She doesn't interest me, one way or th

other."

"She seems to interest Bob a whole lot,

Al said maliciously. "He rode over to se

her yesterday. She wasn't home, though."

Senator Warfield seemed unmoved by

his bit of news, wherefore Al returned to

he main issue.



"Do I get a free hand, or don't I?" h

nsisted. "They can't be let peddle talk—

not if I stay around here."

Senator Warfield considered the matter.

"The girl's got the only line on me," A

went on. "The inquest was as clean as ever saw. Everything all straight—and

hen, here she comes up——"

"If you know how to stop a woman'mouth, Al, you can make a million a month

elling other men." Senator Warfield

smiled at him. Then he leaned across th

front seat and added impressively, "Beaone thing in mind, Al. The Sawtoot

cannot permit itself to become involved i

any scandal, nor in any killing cases



We're just at the most crucial point with

our reclamation project, over here on th

flat. The legislature is willing to make a

appropriation for the building of the canaand in two or three months at the latest w

should begin selling agricultural tracts t

he public. The State will also throw ope

he land it had withdrawn from settlementpending the floating of this canal projec

More than ever the integrity of th

Sawtooth Cattle Company must b

preserved, since it has come out openly a

a backer of the irrigation company

othing— nothing must be permitted t

stand in the way."

He removed his thin driving cap an

wiped his perspiring forehead. "I'm sorr

his all happened—as it has turned out,



he said, with real regret in his tone. "Bu

since it did happen, I must rely upon yo

o—to—er——"

"I guess I understand," Al grinned

sardonically. "I just wanted you to know

how things is building up. The Quirt'

kinda overreached itself. I didn't want yocomin' back on me for trying to keep thei

feet outa the trough. I want you to know

hings is pretty damn ticklish right now

and it's going to take careful steppin'."

"Well, don't let your foot slip, Al,

Senator Warfield warned him. "The

Sawtooth would hate to lose you; you're

good man."

"Oh, I get yuh," Al retorted. "My foo



general ones as Senator Warfield had jus

given him. He gave none. Whatever he di

he did alone, and he took no man into hi

confidence. It is more than probable thaSenator Warfield would never have

known to a certainty that Al wa

responsible for Thurman's death, if Al had

not been worried over the Quirt's possiblknowledge of the crime and anxious t

know just how far his power might go.

Ostensibly he was in charge of the campat Whisper, a place far enough off th

beaten trails to free him from chanc

visitors. The Sawtooth kept many suc

camps occupied by men whose duty it wa

o look after the Sawtooth cattle tha

grazed near; to see that stock did not "bo

down" in the tricky sand of the adjacen



water holes and die before help came, an

o fend off any encroachments of th

smaller cattle owners—though these wer

growing fewer year by year, thanks to thweeding-out policy of the Sawtooth an

he cunning activities of such as A

Woodruff.

It may sound strange to say that th

Sawtooth country had not had a rea

"killing" for years, though accidenta

deaths had been rather frequent. One manfor instance, had fallen over a ledge an

broken his neck, presumably while drunk

Another had bought a few sticks o

dynamite to open up a spring on his ranch

and at the inquest which followed the jur

had returned a verdict of "death caused b

being blown up by the accidenta



discharge of dynamite." A sheepman wa

struck by lightning, according to th

coroner, and his widow had been glad to

sell ranch and sheep very cheaply to thSawtooth and return to her relatives i

Montana. The Sawtooth had shipped th

sheep within a month and turned the ranc

nto another line-camp.

You will see that Senator Warfield had

every reason to be sincere when he calle

Al Woodruff a good man; good for theSawtooth interests, that means. You wil

also see that Brit Hunter had reasons fo

believing that the business of ranching i

he Sawtooth country might be classed a

extra hazardous, and for saying that it too

nerve just to hang on.



That is why Al rode oblivious to hi

surroundings, meditating no doubt upo

he best means of preserving the integrit

of the Sawtooth and at the same timsoothing effectively the ticklishness of th

situation of which he had complained. I

was his business to find the best means. I

was for just such work that the Sawtootpaid him—secretly, to be sure—bette

wages than the foreman, Hawkins

received. Al was conscientious and did

his best to earn his wages; not because h

particularly loved killing and spying as

sport, but because the Sawtooth ha

bought his loyalty for a price, and so lonas he felt that he was getting a square dea

from them, he would turn his hand agains

any man that stood in their way. He was

Sawtooth man, and he fought the enemie



of the Sawtooth as matter-of-factly as

soldier will fight for his country. To hi

unimaginative mind there was sufficien

ustification in that attitude. As for thease with which he planned to kill an

cover his killing under the semblance o

accident, he would have said, if you coul

make him speak of it, that he was nosqueamish. They'd all have to die som

day, anyway.

CHAPTER X

ANOTHER SAWTOOTH



decided carelessly. "They're easy loaded

and I guess my back's as good as yourn."

"All you got to do is skid 'em down off'he bank onto the wagon," Frank said. "

wisht you'd go on up where we cut the

ast ones and git my sweater, Brit. I must

eft it hanging on a bush right close twhere I was workin'."

Brit's grunt signified assent, and Fran

went out. Jim and Sorry, the twounpicturesque cowboys of whom Lorrain

had complained to the cat, had alread

departed with pick and shovel to thei

unromantic task of digging post holes

Each carried a most unattractive lunch tie

n a flour sack behind the cantle of hi

saddle. Lorraine had done he



conscientious best, but with lumpy

sourdough bread, cold bacon and curran

elly of that kind which is packed i

wooden kegs, one can't do much with cold lunch. Lorraine wondered how muc

worse it would look after it had been tie

on the saddle for half a day; wondered to

what those two silent ones got out of lif—what they looked forward to, what wa

heir final goal. For that matter sh

frequently wondered what there was i

ife for any of them, shut into that deadl

monotony of sagebrush and rock

nterspersed with little, grassy meadow

where the cattle fed listlessly.

Even the sinister undercurrent o

antagonism against the Quirt could no

whip her emotions into feeling that sh



was doing anything more than live th

restricted, sordid little life of a poorl

equipped ranch. She had ridden once wit

Frank Johnson to look through a bunch ocattle, but it had been nothing more than

hot, thirsty, dull ride, with a wind tha

blew her hat off in spite of pins and tie

veil, and with a companion who spokonly when he was spoken to and then a

briefly as possible.

Her father would not talk again as he haalked that night. She had tried to mak

him tell her more about the Sawtooth an

had gotten nothing out of him. The ma

from Whisper, whom Brit had spoken o

as Al, had not returned. Nor had th

promised saddle horse materialised. Th

boys were too busy to run in any horses



her father had told her shortly when sh

reminded him of his promise. When th

fence was done, maybe he could rustle he

another horse—and then he had added thahe didn't see what ailed Yellowjacket, fo

all the riding she was likely to do.

"Straight hard work and minding youown business," her father had said, and i

seemed to Lorraine after three or fou

days of it that he had summed up the life o

a cattleman's daughter in a masterlmanner which ought to be recorded amon

Famous Sayings like "War is hell" and

"Don't give up the ship."

On this particular morning Lorraine'

spirits were at their lowest ebb. If it wer

not for the new stepfather, she would



return to the Casa Grande, she told hersel

disgustedly. And if it were not for the

belief among all her acquaintances tha

she was queening it over the cattle-king'vast domain, she would return and fin

work again in motion pictures. But sh

could not bring herself to the point o

facing the curiosity and the petty gossip ohe studios. She would be expected t

explain satisfactorily why she had left th

real West for the mimic West o

Hollywood. She did not acknowledge t

herself that she also could not face th

admission of failure to carry out what sh

had begun.

She had told her dad that she wanted t

fight with him, even though "fighting" i

his case meant washing the coars



over and over that she was staying merel

because she was too proud to go back t

he old life and own the West a failure.

She was sweeping the doorstep with th

one-sided broom when Brit drove ou

hrough the gate and up the trail which sh

knew led eventually to Sugar Spring. Thhorses, sleek in their new hair and skittis

with the change from hay to new grass

danced over the rough ground so that th

running gear of the wagon, with its loopeog-chain, which would later do duty as

brake on the long grade down from timbe

ine on the side of Spirit Canyon, rattle

and banged over the rocks with the clatte

hat could be heard for half a mile

Lorraine looked after her father enviously

f she were a boy she would be riding o



hat sack of hay tied to the "hounds" for

seat. But, being a girl, it had neve

occurred to Brit that she might like to g

—might even be useful to him on the trip.

"I suppose if I told dad I could drive tha

eam as well as he can, he'd just look a

me and think I was crazy," she thoughresentfully and gave the broom a spitefu

fling toward a presumptuous hen that ha

approached too closely. "If I'd asked hi

o let me go along he'd have made somexcuse—oh, I'm beginning to know dad

He thinks a woman's place is in the hous

—preferably the kitchen. And here I'v

hought all my life that cowgirls di

nothing but ride around and warn peopl

about stage holdups and everything! I'

ust like to know how a girl would eve



have a chance to know what was going o

n the country, unless she heard the me

alking while she poured their coffee

Only this bunch don't talk at all. They jusgobble and go."

She went in then and shut the door with

slam. Up on the ridge Al Woodrufowered his small binocular and ease

away from the spot where he had bee

crouching behind a bush. Every one on th

Quirt ranch was accounted for. As well af he had sat at their breakfast table A

knew where each man's work would tak

him that day. As for the girl, she was safe

at the ranch for the day, probably. If she

did take a ride later on, it would probabl

be up the ridge between the Quirt an

Thurman's ranch, and sit for an hour or s



ust looking. That ride was beginning to b

a habit of hers, Al observed, so that h

considered her accounted for also.

He made his way along the side hill t

where his horse was tied to a bush

mounted and rode away with his min

pretty much at ease. Much more at eashan it would have been had he read wha

was in Lorraine's mind when she slamme

hat door.

Up above Sugar Spring was timber. B

applying to the nearest Forest Superviso

a certain amount could be had for ranc

mprovements upon paying a small su

for the "stumpage." The Quirt ha

permission to cut posts for their new fenc

which Al Woodruff had reported to his



boss.

As he drove up the trail, which was i

places barely passable for a wagon, Briwas thinking of that fence. The Sawtoot

would object to it, he knew, since it cu

off one of their stock trails and sent the

around through rougher country. Just whaform their objection would take, Brit di

not know. Deep in his intrepid soul h

hoped that the Sawtooth would at las

show its hand openly. He had liked FredThurman, and what Lorraine had told hi

went much deeper than she knew. H

wanted to bring them into the open wher

he could fight with some show of winning

"I'll git Bill Warfield yet—and git him

right," was the gist of his musings. "He'



bound to show his head, give him tim

enough. Him and his killers can't alway

keep under cover. Let 'em come at m

about that fence! It's on my land—thQuirt's got a right to fence every foot o

and that belong to 'em."

All the way over the ridge and acroshe flat and up the steep, narrow roa

along the edge of Spirit Canyon, Bri

dwelt upon the probable moves of th

Sawtooth. They would wait, he thoughuntil the fence was completed and the

had made a trail around through the lav

rocks. They would not risk any move a

present; they would wait and tacitl

accept the fence, or pretend to accept it, a

a natural inconvenience. But Brit did no

deceive himself that they would remai



passive. That it had been "hands off th

Quirt" he did not know, but attributed th

Quirt's immunity to careful habits and th

fact that they had never come to the poinwhere their interests actually clashed wit

he Sawtooth.

It never occurred to him therefore that hwas slated for an accident that day if th

details could be conveniently arranged.

It was a long trail to Sugar Spring, anfrom there up Spirit Canyon the climb wa

so tedious and steep that Brit took a ful

hour for the trip, resting the team ofte

because they were soft from the new gras

diet and sweated easily. They lost none o

heir spirit, however, and when the road

was steepest nagged at each other wit



head-shakings and bared teeth, and ducke

against each other in pretended fright a

every unusual rock or bush.

At the top he was forced to drive a ful

half mile beyond the piled posts to a fla

arge enough to turn around. All this too

ime, especially since Caroline, the browmare, would rather travel ten mile

straight ahead than go backward ten fee

Brit was obliged to "take it out of her

with the rein ends and his full repertoirof opprobrious epithets before he coul

cramp the wagon and head them down th

rail again.

At the post pile he unhitched the team fo

safety's sake and tied them to trees, wher

he fed them a little grain in nose bags. H



was absorbed now in his work an

hought no more about the Sawtooth. H

fastened the log chain to the rear wheels t

brake the wagon on the long grade dowhe canyon, loaded the wagon with posts

bound them fast with a lighter chain he ha

brought for the purpose, ate his own lunc

and decided that, since he had made faiime and would arrive home too early t

do the chores and too late to start an

other job, he would cruise farther up th

mountain side and see what was th

prospect of getting out logs enough for a

addition to the cabin.

Now that Raine was going to live wit

him, two rooms were not enough. Bri

wanted to make her as happy as he could

n his limited fashion. He had for som



days been planning a "settin' room an

bedroom" for her. She would be havin

beaux after awhile when she go

acquainted, he supposed. He could nodeny her the privilege; she was young an

she was, in Brit's opinion, the best lookin

girl he had ever seen, not even exceptin

Minnie, her mother. But he hoped shwouldn't go off and get married the firs

hing she did,—and one good way t

prevent that, he reasoned, was to make he

comfortable with him. He had notice

how pleased she was that their cabin wa

of logs. She had even remarked that sh

could not understand how a rancher woulever want to build a board shack if ther

was any timber to be had. Well, timbe

was to be had, and she should have he

og house, though the hauling was no



going to be any sunshine, in Brit's opinion

With his axe he walked through the timber

craning upward for straight tree trunks an

ightly blazing the ones he would want, thoccasional axe strokes sounding distinctl

n the quiet air.

Lorraine heard them as she rode olYellowjacket puffing up the grade

following the wagon marks, and knew tha

she was nearing the end of her journey,—

for which Yellowjacket, she supposedwould be thankful. She had started no

more than an hour later than her father, bu

he team had trotted along more briskl

han her poor old nag would travel, so tha

she did not overtake her dad as she ha

hoped.



She was topping the last climb when sh

saw the team tied to the trees, and at th

same moment she caught a glimpse of

man who crawled out from under the loaof posts and climbed the slope farther on

She was on the point of calling out to him

hinking that he was her dad, when h

disappeared into the brush. At the sammoment she heard the stroke of an ax

over to the right of where the man wa

climbing.

She was riding past the team whe

Caroline humped her back and kicke

viciously at Yellowjacket, who plunged

straight down off the trail without waitin

o see whether Caroline's aim was exact

He slid into a juniper thicket and sat dow

ooking very perplexed and ver



permanently placed there. Lorrain

stepped off on the uphill side of him

hanked her lucky stars she had not broke

a leg, and tried to reassure Yellowjackeand to persuade him that no real harm ha

been done him. Straightway sh

discovered that Yellowjacket had a mind

of his own and that a pessimistic mind. Hrefused to scramble back into the trai

preferring to sit where he was, or sinc

Lorraine made that too uncomfortable, t

stand where he had been sitting

Yellowjacket, I may explain, owned a

Roman nose, a pendulous lower lip an

drooping eyelids. Those who know horsewill understand.

By the time Lorraine had bullied an

cajoled him into making a somewha



circuitous route to the road, where h

finally appeared some distance above th

point of his descent, Brit was there

hitching the team to the wagon.

"What yuh doing up there?" he wanted t

know, looking up with some astonishment

Lorraine furnished him with details an

her opinion of both Caroline an

Yellowjacket. "I simply refuse to ride thi

comedy animal another mile," shdeclared with some heat. "I'll drive th

eam and you can ride him home, or he ca

be tied on behind the wagon."

"He won't lead," Brit objected. "Yeller'

all right if you make up your mind to a few

failin's. You go ahead and ride him home



You sure can't drive this team."

"I can!" Lorraine contended. "I've drive

four horses—I guess I can drive two, alright."

"Well, you ain't going to," Brit stated

with a flat finality that abruptly ended thargument.

Lorraine had never before been reall

angry with her father. She strucYellowjacket with her quirt and sent him

sidling past the wagon and the trick

Caroline, too stubborn to answer her da

when he called after her that she habetter ride behind the load. She went on

making Yellowjacket trot when he did no

want to trot down hill.



Behind her she heard the chuck-chuck o

he loaded wagon. Far ahead she hear

some one whistling a high, sweet melod

which had the queer, minor strains osome old folk song. For just a few bar

she heard it, and then it was stilled, an

he road dipping steeply before he

seemed very lonely, its emptiness coolinher brief anger to a depression that ha

held her too often in its grip since tha

errible night of the storm. For the firs

ime she looked back at her father lurchin

along on the load and at the team lookin

so funny with the collars pushed up o

heir necks with the weight of the loabehind.

With a quick impulse of penitence sh

waved her hand to Brit, who waved bac



at her. Then she went on, feeling a bit les

alone in the world. After all, he was he

dad, and his life had been hard. If h

failed to understand her and her mentahunger for real companionship, perhap

she also failed to understand him.

They had left the timber line now anhad come to the lip of the canyon itself

Lorraine looked down its steep, rock

roughened sides and thought how her ol

director would have raved over itpossibilities in the way of "stunts.

Yellowjacket, she noticed, kep

circumspectly to the centre of the trail an

eyed the canyon with frank disfavour.

She did not know at just what momen

she became aware of trouble behind her. I



may have been Yellowjacket, turning his

head sidewise and abruptly quickening hi

pace that warned her. It may have been th

difference in the sound of the wagon anhe impact of the horses' hoofs on the roc

rail. She turned and saw that somethin

had gone wrong. They were coming dow

upon her at a sharp trot, stepping high, thwagon tongue thrust up between thei

heads as they tried to hold back the load.

Brit yelled to her then to get out of thway, and his voice was harsh and

nsistent. Lorraine looked at the stee

bank to the right, knew instinctively tha

Yellowjacket would never have time to

climb it before the team was upon them

and urged him to a lope. She glanced bac

again, saw that the team was not runnin



away, that they were trying to hold th

wagon, and that it was gaining momentu

n spite of them.

"Jump, dad!" she called and got n

answer. Brit was sitting braced with hi

feet far apart, holding and guiding th

eam. "He won't jump—he wouldn't jump—any more than I would," she chattered t

herself, sick with fear for him, while sh

ashed her own horse to keep out of thei

way.

The next she knew, the team wa

running, their eyeballs staring, their fron

feet flung high as they lunged panic

stricken down the trail. The load wa

rocking along behind them. Brit was stil

braced and clinging to the reins.



Panic seized Yellowjacket. He, too

went lunging down that trail, his hea

hrown from side to side that he migh

watch the thing that menaced himheedless of the fact that danger might li

ahead of him also. Lorraine knew that h

was running senselessly, that he migh

eave the trail at any bend and go rollinnto the canyon.

A sense of unreality seized her. It could

not be deadly earnest, she thought. It waso exactly like some movie thrill, planne

carefully in advance, rehearsed perhap

under the critical eye of the director, and

done now with the camera man turnin

calmly the little crank and counting th

number of film feet the scene would take

A little farther and she would be out of th



scene, and men stationed ahead woul

ride up and stop her horse for her and tel

her how well she had "put it over."

She looked over her shoulder and saw

hem still coming. It was real. It wa

erribly real, the way that team wa

fleeing down the grade. She had neveseen anything like that before, never see

horses so frantically trying to run from th

swaying load behind them. Always, sh

had been accustomed to moderation in thpace and a slowed camera to speed up th

action on the screen. Yellowjacket, too—

she had never ridden at that terrific spee

down hill. Twice she lost a stirrup and

grabbed the saddle horn to save hersel

from going over his head.



They neared a sharp turn, and it took al

her strength to pull her horse to the insid

and save him from plunging off down th

canyon's side. The nose of the hill hid foa moment her dad, and in that moment sh

heard a crash and knew what ha

happened. But she could not stop

Yellowjacket had his ears laid back flaon his senseless head, and the bit clampe

ight in his teeth.

She heard the crash repeated idiminuendo farther down in the canyon

There was no longer the rattle of th

wagon coming down the trail, the sharp

staccato of pounding hoofs.



CHAPTER XI

SWAN TALKS WITH HIS

THOUGHTS

Lorraine, following instinct rather tha

hought, pulled Yellowjacket into the firs

opening that presented itself. This was

narrow, rather precipitous gully thaseamed the slope just beyond the bend

The bushes there whipped her head an

shoulders cruelly as the horse forged i

among them, but they trapped hi

effectually where the gully narrowed to

point. He stopped perforce, and Lorrain

was out of the saddle and running down t



he trail before she quite realised what sh

was doing.

At the bend she looked down, saw thmarks where the wagon had gone over

scraping rocks and bushes from its path

Fence posts were strewn at all angle

down the incline, and far down a horswas standing with part of the harness o

him and with his head droopin

dispiritedly. Her father she could not see

nor the other horse, nor the wagon. Aclump of young trees hid the lowe

declivity. Lorraine did not stop to think o

what she would find down there. Sliding

running, she followed the traces of th

wreck to where the horse was standing. I

was Caroline, looking very dejected bu

apparently unhurt, save for skinne



patches here and there where she ha

rolled over rocks.

A little farther, just beyond the point ohe grove which they seemed to hav

missed altogether, lay the other horse and

what was left of the wagon. Brit she di

not see at all. She searched the bushesooked under the wagon, and called an

called.

A full-voiced shout answered her frofarther up the canyon, and she ra

stumbling toward the sound, too agonise

o shed tears or to think very clearly. I

was not her father's voice; she knew tha

beyond all doubt. It was no voice that sh

had ever heard before. It had a clea

resonance that once heard would not hav



been easily forgotten. When she saw the

finally, her father was being propped up i

a half-sitting position, and the strange ma

was holding something to his lips.

"Just a little water. I carry me a bottle o

water always in my pocket," said Swan

glancing up at her when she had reachehem. "It sometimes makes a man's hea

hink better when he has been hurt, if h

can drink a little water or something."

Brit swallowed and turned his fac

away from the tilted bottle. "I jumped—

but I didn't jump quick enough," h

muttered thickly. "The chain pulled loose

Where's the horses, Raine?"

"They're all right. Caroline's standin



over there. Are you hurt much, dad?" I

was a futile question, because Brit wa

already going off into unconsciousness.

"He's hurt pretty bad," Swan declare

honestly; looking up at her with his eye

grown serious. "I was across the walle

and I saw him coming down the road likrolling rocks down a hill. I came quick

ow we make stretcher, I think, and carr

him home. I could take him on my back

but that is hurting him too much." Hooked at her—through her, it seemed to

Lorraine. In spite of her fear, in spite o

her grief, she felt that Swan was readin

her very soul, and she backed away fro

him.

"I could help your father very much," h



said soberly, "but I should tell you

secret if I do that. I should maybe ask tha

you tell a lie if somebody asks questions

Could you do that, Miss?"

"Lie?" Lorraine laughed uncertainly. "I'd

kill! —if that would help dad."

Swan was folding his coat very carefull

and placing it under Brit's head. "M

mother I love like that," he said, withou

ooking up. "My mother I love so well thatalk with my thoughts to her sometimes

You believe people can talk with thei

houghts?"

"I don't know—what's that got to do wit

helping dad?" Lorraine knelt beside Bri

and began stroking his forehead softly, a



s the soothing way of women with thei

sick.

"I could send my thought to my mother. could say to her that a man is hurt and tha

a doctor must come very quickly to th

Quirt ranch. I could do that, Miss, but

should not like it if people knew that I dit. They would maybe say that I am crazy

They would laugh at me, and it is not righ

o laugh at those things."

"I'm not laughing. If you can do it, fo

heaven's sake go ahead! I don't believe it

but I won't tell any one, if that's what yo

want."

"If some neighbours should ask, 'How

did that doctor come so quick?'——"



"I'd rather lie and say I sent for him, tha

say that you or any one else sent

elepathic message. That would soun

more like a lie than a lie would. How arwe going to make a stretcher? We've go

o get him home, somehow——"

"At my cabin is blankets," Swan told hebriskly. "I can climb the hill—it is up

here. In a little while I will come back."

He started off without waiting to sewhat Lorraine would have to say about it

and with some misgivings she watche

him run down to the canyon's bottom an

go forging up the opposite side with

most amazing speed and certainty. I

ravel pictures she had seen mountai

sheep climb like that, and she likened hi



now to one of them. It seemed a shame tha

he was a bit crazy, she thought; and

mmediately she recalled his perfec

assurance when he told her of sendinhought messages to his mother. She had

heard of such things, she had even read

ittle on the subject, but it had neve

seemed to her a practical means ocommunicating. Calling a doctor, fo

nstance, seemed to Lorraine rather far

fetched an application of what was at bes

but a debatable theory.

Considering the distance, he was back i

a surprisingly short time with tw

blankets, a couple of light poles and

flask of brandy. He seemed as fresh and

unwinded as if he had gone no farther tha

he grove, and he wore, more than ever



his air of cheerful assurance.

"The doctor will be there," he remarked

ust as if it were the simplest thing in thworld. "We can carry him to Fred

Thurman's. There I can get horses and

wagon, and you will not have to carry s

far. And when we get to your ranch thedoctor will be there, I think. He is startin

now. We will hurry. I will fix it so you

need not carry much. It is just to make i

steady for me."

While he talked he was working on th

stretcher. He had a rope, and he wa

knotting it in a long loop to the poles

Lorraine wondered why, until he had

ifted her father and placed him on th

stretcher and placed the loop over hi



head and under one arm, as a ploughma

holds the reins, so that his hands may b

free.

"If you will carry the front," said Swa

politely, "it will not be heavy for you lik

his. But you will help me keep it steady."

Lorraine was past discussing anything

She obeyed him silently, lifting the end o

he stretcher and leading the way down t

he canyon's bottom, where Swan assureher they could walk quite easily an

would save many detours which the roa

above must take. At the bottom Swa

stopped her so that he might shorten th

rope and take more of the weight on hi

shoulders. She protested half-heartedly

but Swan only laughed.



"I am strong like a mule," he said. "You

should see me wrestle with somebody

Clear over my head—I can carry a man i

my hands. This is so you can walk fastThree miles straight down we come t

Thurman's ranch, where I get the horses

t's funny how hills make a road fa

around. Just three miles—that's all. I havwalked many times."

Lorraine did not answer him. She fel

hat he was talking merely to keep hefrom worrying, and she was fairly sic

with anxiety and did not hear half of wha

he was saying. She was nervously carefu

about choosing her steps so that she woul

not stumble and jolt her father. She did no

believe that he was wholly unconscious

for she had seen his eyelids tighten and hi



ips twitch several times, when sh

waiting for Swan. He had seemed to be i

pain and to be trying to hide the fact fro

her. She felt that Swan knew it, else hwould have talked of her dad, would a

east have tried to reassure her. But it i

difficult to speak of a person who hear

what you are saying, and Swan waalking of everything, it seemed to her

except the man they were carrying.

She wondered if it were really true thaSwan had sent a call through space for

doctor; straightway she would call hersel

crazy for even considering for a momen

ts possibility. If he could do that—but o

course he couldn't. He must just imagin

t.



Many times Swan had her lower th

stretcher to the ground, and would make

great show of rubbing his arms and easin

his shoulder muscles. Whenever Lorrainooked full into his face he would grin a

her as though nothing was wrong, an

when they came to a clear-running strea

he emptied the water bottle, dipped up ittle fresh water, added brandy, and lifted

Brit's head very gently and gave him

drink. Brit opened his eyes and looked a

Swan, and from him to Lorraine, but h

did not say anything. He still had tha

ightened look around his mouth whic

spelled pain.

"Pretty quick now we get you fixed up

good," Swan told him cheerfully. "On

mile more is all, and we get the horse



and I make a good bed for you." H

ooked a signal, and Lorraine once mor

ook up the stretcher.

Another mile seemed a long way, ligh

hough Swan had made the load for her

She thought once that he must have som

clairvoyant power, because whenever shfelt as if her arms were breaking, Swa

would tell her to stop a minute.

"How do you know a doctor wilcome?" she asked Swan suddenly, whe

hey were resting with the Thurman ranc

n view half a mile below them.

Swan did not look at her directly, as had

been his custom. She saw a darker shad

of red creep up into his cheeks. "M



mother says she would send a docto

quick," he replied hesitatingly. "You wil

see. It is because—your father he is no

ike other men in this country. Your fathers a good man. That is why a docto

comes."

Lorraine looked at him strangely anstooped again to her burden. She did no

speak again until they were passing th

Thurman fence where it ran up into th

mouth of the canyon. A few horses weregrazing there, the sun striking their side

with the sheen of satin. They stare

curiously at the little procession, snorte

and started to run, heads and tails hel

high. But one wheeled suddenly and cam

galloping toward them, stopped when h

was quite close, ducked and wen



hundering past to the head of the field

Lorraine gave a sharp little scream and se

down the stretcher with a lurch, starin

after the horse wide-eyed, her face white.

"They do it for play," Swan said

reassuringly. "They don't hurt you. Th

fence is between, and they don't hurt yoanyway."

"That horse with the white face—I saw

t—and when the man struck it with hiquirt it went past me, running like that an

dragging— oh-h!" She leaned against th

bluff side, her face covered with her tw

palms.

Swan glanced down at Brit, saw that hi

eyes were closed, ducked his head fro



under the looped rope and went t

Lorraine.

"The man that struck that horse—do yoknow that man?" he asked, all the goo

nature gone from his voice.

"No—I don't know—I saw him twiceby the lightning flashes. He shot—and the

saw him——" She stopped abruptly

stood for a minute longer with her eye

covered, then dropped her hands limply ther sides. But when the horse cam

circling back with a great flourish, sh

shivered and her hands closed into th

fists of a fighter.

"Are you a Sawtooth man?" sh

demanded suddenly, looking up at Swa



defiantly. "It was a nightmare. I—

dreamed once about a horse—like that."

Swan's wide-open eyes softened a little"The Sawtooth calls me that damn Swed

on Bear Top," he explained. "I took a

homestead up there and some day the

will want to buy my place or they wilwant to make a fight with me to get th

water. Could you know that man again?"

"Raine!" Brit's voice held a warningand Lorraine shivered again as she turne

oward him. "Raine, you——"

He closed his eyes again, and she coulget no further speech from him. But sh

hought she understood. He did not wan

her to talk about Fred Thurman. She wen



o her end of the stretcher and waited ther

while Swan put the rope over his head

They went on, Lorraine walking with he

head averted, trying not to see the blazefaced roan, trying to shut out the memor

of him dashing past her with his terribl

burden, that night.

Swan did not speak of the matter again

With Lorraine's assistance he carried Bri

nto Thurman's cabin, laid him, stretche

and all, on the bed and hurried out to catcand harness the team of work horses

Lorraine waited beside her father

helpless and miserable. There was nothin

o do but wait, yet waiting seemed to he

he one thing she could not do.

"Raine!" Brit's voice was very weak, bu



Lorraine jumped as though a trumpet ha

bellowed suddenly in her ear. "Swan—

he's all right. But don't go telling—all yu

know and some besides. He ain't—Sawtooth, but—he might let out——"

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

——"

Brit turned his face to the wall as if n

more was to be said on the subjec

Lorraine wandered around the cabinwhich was no larger than her father'

place. The rooms were scrupulously clea

—neater than the Quirt, she observe

guiltily. Not one article, however smal

and unimportant, seemed to be out of it

place, and the floors of both rooms wer

scrubbed whiter than any floors she ha



ever seen. Swan's housekeeping qualitie

made her ashamed of her ow

mperfections; and when, thinking tha

Swan must be hungry and that the least shcould do was to set out food for him, sh

opened the cupboard, she had a swift

embarrassed vision of her own culinar

mperfections. She could cook better foohan her dad had been content to eat and t

set before others, but Swan's bread was

riumph in sour dough. Biscuits tall an

ight as bread can be she found, covere

neatly with a cloth. Prunes stewed so tha

here was not one single wrinkle in the

—Lorraine could scarcely believe thewere prunes until she tasted them. Sh

was investigating a pot of beans whe

Swan came in.



"Food I am thinking of, Miss," h

grinned at her. "We shall hurry, but it is

not good to go hungry. Milk is outside in

cupboard. It is quicker than to makcoffee."

"It will be dark before we can get hi

home," said Lorraine uneasily. "And bhe time a doctor can get out there——"

"A doctor will be there, I think. You

don't believe, but that is no difference this coming just the same."

He brought the milk, poured off th

creamy top into a pitcher, stirred it, andquietly insisted that she drink two glasses

Lorraine observed that Swan himself at

very little, bolting down a biscuit in grea



mouthfuls while he carried a mattress an

blankets out to spread in the wagon. It wa

ike his pretence of weariness on the lon

carry down the canyon, she thought. It wafor her more than for himself that he wa

hinking.

CHAPTER XII

THE QUIRT PARRIES THE FIRST

BLOW

A car with dimmed lights stood in fron

of the Quirt cabin when Swan drov



around the last low ridge and down to th

gate. The rattle of the wagon must hav

been heard, for the door opened suddenl

and Frank stood revealed in the yellowight of the kerosene lamp on the tabl

within. Behind Frank, Lorraine saw Ji

and Sorry standing in their shirt sleeve

ooking out into the dark. Another, shortefigure she glimpsed as Frank and the tw

men stepped out and came striding hastil

oward them. Lorraine jumped out and ra

o meet them, hoping and fearing that he

hope was foolish. That car might easily b

only Bob Warfield on some errand of no

mportance. Still, she hoped.

"That you, Raine? Where's Brit? What'

all this about Brit being hurt? A docto

from Shoshone——"



"A doctor ? Oh, did a doctor come, then

Oh, help Swan carry dad in! I'm—oh, I'

afraid he's awfully injured!"

"Yes-s—but how'n hell did a docto

know about it?" Sorry, the silent, blurted

unexpectedly.

"Oh,—never mind—but get dad in. I'l

——" She ran past them without finishin

her sentence and burst incoherently int

he presence of an extremely calm littlman with gray whiskers and dust on th

shoulder of his coat. These details, I ma

add, formed the sum of Lorraine's firs

mpression of him.

"Well! Well!" he remonstrated with a

professional briskness, when she nearl



bowled him over. "We seem to be in

something of a hurry! Is this the patient

was sent to examine?"

"No!" Lorraine flashed impatiently ove

her shoulder as she rushed into her ow

room and began turning down the covers

"It's dad, of course—and you'd better geyour coat off and get ready to go to work

because I expect he's just one mass o

broken bones!"

The doctor smiled behind his whisker

and returned to the doorway to direct th

carrying in of his patient. His sharp eye

went immediately to Brit's face, palli

under the leathery tan, his fingers went t

Brit's hairy, corded wrist. The docto

smiled no more that evening.



"No, he is not a mass of broken bones,

am happy to say," he reported gravely to

Lorraine afterwards. "He has a sufficien

number, however. The left scapula ifractured, likewise the clavicle, and ther

s a compound fracture of the femur. Ther

s some injury to the head, the exact exten

of which I cannot as yet determine. Hshould be removed to a hospital, unles

you are prepared to have a nurse here fo

some time, or to assume the burden of

ong and tedious illness." He looked at he

houghtfully. "The journey to Shoshon

would be a considerable strain on th

patient in his present condition. He has splendid amount of constitutional vitality

or he would scarcely have survived hi

njuries so long without medica

attendance. Can you tell me just how th



accident occurred?"

"Excuse me, doctor—and Miss," Swa

diffidently interrupted. "I could ask you take a look on my shoulder, if you please

f you are done setting bones in M

Hunter. I have a great pain on my shoulde

from carrying so long."

"You never mentioned it!" Lorraine

reproached him quickly. "Of course i

must be looked after right away. And thenDoctor, I'd like to talk to you, if you don

mind." She watched them retreat to th

bunk-house together. Swan's big for

owering above the doctor's slighte

figure. Swan was talking earnestly, th

mumble of his voice reaching Lorrain

without the enunciation of any particula



word to give a clue to what he was saying

But it struck her that his voice did no

sound quite natural; not so Swedish, not s

careful.

Frank came tiptoeing out of the roo

where Brit lay bandaged and unconsciou

and stood close to Lorraine, looking dowat her solemnly.

"How'n 'ell did he git here—th

doctor?" he demanded, making a greaeffort to hold his voice down to

whisper, and forgetting now and then

"How'd he know Brit rolled off'n th

grade? Us here, we never knowed it, and

was tryin' to send him back when yo

came. He said somebody telephoned ther

was a man hurt in a runaway. There ain't



elephone closer'n the Sawtooth, and tha

here's a good twenty mile and more fro

where Brit was hurt. It's damn funny."

"Yes, it is," Lorraine admitted

uncomfortably. "I don't know any mor

han you do about it."

"Well, how'n 'ell did it happen? Brit, he

oughta know enough to rough-lock dow

hat hill. An' that team ain't a runawa

eam. I never had no trouble with 'em—hey're good at holdin' a load. They'll se

down an' slide but what they'll hold 'er

What become of the horses?"

"Why—they're over there yet. We forgo

all about the horses, I think. Caroline wa

standing up, all right. The other horse ma



be killed. I don't know—it was lyin

down. And Yellowjacket was up that little

gully just this side of the wreck, when

eft him. They did try to hold the loadFrank. Something must have happened t

he brake. I saw dad crawling out fro

under the wagon just before I got to wher

he load was standing. Or some one did. hink it was dad. But Caroline kicked m

horse down off the road, and, I only saw

him a minute—but it must have been dad

And then, a little way down the hil

something went wrong."

Frank seemed trying to reconstruct th

accident from Lorraine's description

"He'd no business to start down if hi

rough-lock wasn't all right," he said. "I

ain't like him. Brit's careful about the



hings—little men most always are. I don

see how 'n 'ell it worked loose. It's a dam

queer layout all around; and this her

doctor gitting here ahead of you folks, thahere is the queerest. What's he say abou

Brit? Think he'll pull through?"

The doctor himself, coming up just thenanswered the question. Of course th

patient would pull through! What wer

doctors for? As to his reason for coming

he referred them to Mr Vjolmar, whom hhought could better explain the matter.

The three of them waited,—five of them

since Jim and Sorry had come up, anxiou

o hear the doctor's opinion and anythin

else pertaining to the affair. Swan wa

coming slowly from the bunk-house



buttoning his coat. He seemed to feel tha

hey were waiting for him and to know

why. His manner was diffident

deprecating even.

"We may as well go in out of the

mosquitoes," the doctor suggested. "And

wish you would tell these people whayou told me, young man. Don't be afraid t

speak frankly; it is rather amazing but no

at all impossible, as I can testify. In fact,

he added dryly, "my presence here ougho settle any doubt of that. Just tell them

young man, about your mother."

Swan was the last to enter the kitchen

and he stood leaning against the close

door, turning his old hat round and round

his eyes going swiftly from face to face



They were watching him, and Swa

blushed a deep red while he told the

about his mother in Boise, and how h

could talk to her with his thoughts. Hexplained laboriously how the thought

from her came like his mother speaking i

his head, and that his thoughts reached he

n the same way. He said that since he waa little boy they could talk together wit

heir thoughts, but people laughed an

some called them crazy, so that now h

did not like to have somebody know tha

he could do it.

"But Brit Hunter's hurt bad, so a docto

must come quick, or I think he maybe wil

die. It takes too long to ride a horse t

Echo from this ranch, so I call on m

mother, and I tell my mother a doctor mus



come quick to this ranch. So my mothe

sends a telephone to this doctor i

Shoshone, and he comes. That is all. But

would not like it if everybody maybe findt out that I do that, and makes talk abou

t."

He looked straight at Jim and Sorry, andhose two unprepossessing ones looked a

each other and at Swan and at the docto

and at each other again, and headed for th

door. But Swan was leaning against it, anhis eyes were on them. "I would like it i

you say somebody rides to get the doctor,

he hinted quietly.

Sorry looked at Jim. "I rode like hell,

he stated heavily. "I leave it to Jim."



"You shore'n hell did!" Jim agreed, and

Swan removed his big form from the door

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

"Yeah," said Sorry, answering for them

both, and they went out, giving Swan sidelong look of utter bafflement as the

passed him. Talking by the thought route

from Spirit Canyon to Boise City wa

evidently a bit too much for even theiphlegmatic souls to contemplate wit

perfect calm.

"They'll keep it to theirselves, whethehey believe it or not," Frank assure

Swan in his laboured whisper. "It don't go

down with me. I ain't supe'stitious enoug



fer that."

"The doctor he comes, don't he?" Swa

retorted. "I shall go back now and milk thcows and do chores."

"But if your shoulder is lame, Swan

how can you?" Lorraine asked in heunexpected fashion.

Swan swallowed and looked helplessl

at the doctor, who stood smoothing hichin. "The muscle strain is not serious," h

said calmly. "A little gentle exercise wil

prevent further trouble, I think.

Whereupon he turned abruptly to the dooof the other room, glanced in at Brit an

beckoned Lorraine with an upraise

finger.



"You have had a hard time of it yourself

young lady," he told her. "You needn'

worry about Swan. He is not sufferin

appreciably. I shall mix you a verunpleasant dose of medicine, and then

want you to go to bed and sleep. I shal

stay with your father to-night; not that it i

necessary, but because I prefer daylighfor the trip back to town. So there is n

reason why you should sit up and wea

yourself out. You will have plenty of time

o do that while your father's bones mend.

He proceeded to mix the unpleasan

dose, which Lorraine swallowed an

straightway forgot, in the muddle o

houghts that whirled confusingly in he

brain. Little things distressed her oddly

while her father's desperate state left he



numb. She lay down on the cot in th

farther corner of the kitchen where he

father had slept just last night—it seeme

so long ago!—and almost immediately, aher senses recorded it, bright sunlight wa

shining into the room.

CHAPTER XIII

LONE TAKES HIS STAND

Lone Morgan, over at Elk Spring camp

was just sitting down to eat his midda

meal when some one shouted outside



Lone stiffened in his chair, felt under hi

coat, and then got up with som

deliberation and looked out of the window

before he went to the door. All this was amatter of habit, bred of Lone's youth in th

feud country, and had nothing whatever to

do with his conscience.

"Hello!" he called, standing in th

doorway and grinning a welcome t

Swan, who stood with one arm resting o

he board gate. "She's on the table—comon in."

"I don't know if you're home with th

door shut like that," Swan explained

coming up to the cabin. "I chased a coyot

from Rock City to here, and by golly, he'

going yet! I'll get him sometime, maybe



He's smart, but you can beat anything wit

hinking if you don't stop thinking. Alway

he other feller stops sometimes, and the

you get him. You believe that?"

"It most generally works out that way,

Lone admitted, getting another plate an

cup from the cupboard, which was merela box nailed with its bottom to the wall

and a flour sack tacked across the front fo

a curtain. "Even a coyote slips up now an

hen, I reckon."

Swan sat down, smoothing his tousle

yellow hair with both hands as he did so

"By golly, my shoulder is sore yet fro

carrying Brit Hunter," he remarked

carelessly, flexing his muscles and

grimacing a little.



Lone was pouring the coffee, and he ra

Swan's cup over before he noticed wha

he was doing. Swan looked up at him an

ooked away again, reaching for a cloth twipe the spilled coffee from the table.

"How was that?" Lone asked, turnin

away to the stove. "What-all happened tBrit Hunter?"

Swan, with his plate filled and hi

coffee well sweetened, proceeded trelate with much detail the story of Brit'

misfortune. "By golly, I don't see how h

don't get killed," he finished, helpin

himself to another biscuit. "By golly,

don't. Falling into Spirit Canyon is lik

getting dragged by a horse. It should kill

man. What you think, Lone?"



"It didn't, you say." Lone's eyes wer

urned to his coffee cup.

"It don't kill Brit Hunter—not yet. I thinmaybe he dies with all his bones broke

ike that. By golly, that shows you wha

could happen if a man don't think. Bri

should look at that chain on his wheebefore he starts down that road."

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

"I look at that wagon," Swan answere

carefully. "It is something funny about tha

chain. I worked hauling logs in th

mountains, once. It is something damfunny about that chain, the way it's fixed."

Lone did not ask him for particulars, a



perhaps Swan expected. He did not spea

at all for awhile, but presently pushe

back his plate as if his appetite were gone

"It's like Fred Thurman," Swa

continued moralising. "If Fred don't rid

backwards, I bet he don't get killed—lik

hat."

"Where's Brit now?" Lone asked, gettin

up and putting on his hat. "At the ranch?"

"Or heaven, maybe," Swan responde

sententiously. "But my dog Yack, he don'

howl yet. I guess Brit's at the ranch."

"Sorry I'm busy to-day," said Lone

opening the door. "You stay as long as you

ike, Swan. I've got some riding to do."



"I'll wash the dishes, and then I mayb

will think quicker than that coyote. I'

after him, by golly, till I get him."

Lone muttered something and went ou

Within five minutes Swan, hearin

hoofbeats, looked out through a crack i

he door and saw Lone riding at a gallopalong the trail to Rock City. "Good bait

He swallows the hook," he commented t

himself, and his good-natured grin was no

brightening his face while he washed thdishes and tidied the cabin.

With Lone rode bitterness of soul and

sick fear that had nothing to do with hi

own destiny. How long ago Brit had bee

hurled into the canyon Lone did not know

he had not asked. But he judged that i



must have been very recently. Swan had

not told him of anything but the runaway

and of helping to carry Brit home—and o

he "damn funny thing about the chain"—he rough-lock, he must have meant. Too

well Lone understood the sinister meanin

hat probably lay behind that phrase.

"They've started on the Quirt now," h

old himself with foreboding. "She's bee

elling her father——"

Lone fell into bitter argument wit

himself. Just how far was it justifiable t

mind his own business? And if he did no

mind it, what possible chance had h

against a power so ruthless and s

cunning? An accident to a man driving

oaded wagon down the Spirit Canyo



grade had a diabolic plausibility that n

man in the country could question. Brit, h

reasoned, could not have known before h

started that his rough-lock had beeampered with, else he would have fixe

t. Neither was Brit the man to forget th

brake on his load. If Brit lived, he migh

alk as much as he pleased, but he coulnever prove that his accident had bee

deliberately staged with murderous intent

Lone lifted his head and looked awaacross the empty miles of sageland to th

quiet blue of the mountains beyond. Peac

—the peace of untroubled wilderness—

brooded over the land. Far in the distance

against the rim of rugged hills, was a

rregular splotch of brown which was th

headquarters of the Sawtooth. Lone turne



his wrist to the right, and John Doe

obeying the rein signal, left the trail an

began picking his way stiff-legged dow

he steep slope of the ridge, headindirectly toward the home ranch.

John Doe was streaked with sweat an

his flanks were palpitating with fatiguwhen Lone rode up to the corral an

dismounted. Pop Bridgers saw him an

came bow-legging eagerly forward wit

gossip titillating on his meddlesomongue, but Lone stalked by him with onl

a surly nod. Bob Warfield he saw at a

distance and gave no sign of recognition

He met Hawkins coming down from hi

house and stopped in the trail.

"Have you got time to go back to th



office and fix up my time, Hawkins?" h

asked without prelude. "I'm quitting to

day."

Hawkins stared and named the Biblica

place of torment. "What yuh quittin' for

Lone?" he added incredulously. "All yo

boys got a raise last month; ain't that gooenough?"

"Plenty good enough, so long as I wor

for the outfit."

"Well, what's wrong? You've been with

us five years, Lone, and it's suited you al

right so far——"

Lone looked at him. "Say, I never set ou

o marry the Sawtooth," he stated calmly



"And if I have married you-all b

accident, you can get a bill of divorce fo

desertion. This ain't the first time a ma

ever quit yuh, is it, Hawkins?"

"No—and there ain't a man on the pa

roll we can't do without," Hawkin

retorted, his neck stiffening witresentment. "It's a kinda rusty trick

hough, Lone, quittin' without notice an

eaving a camp empty."

"Elk Spring won't run away," Lon

assured him without emotion. "She's bee

eft alone a week or two at a time durin

roundups. I don't reckon the outfit'll bus

up before you get a man down there."

The foreman looked at him curiously, fo



his was not like Lone, whose tone ha

always been soft and friendly, and whos

manner had no hint of brusqueness. Ther

was a light, too, in Lone's eyes that hanot been there before. But Hawkins woul

not question him further. If Lone Morga

or any other man wanted to quit, that wa

his privilege,—providing, of course, thahis leaving was not likely to menace th

peace and security of the Sawtooth. Lon

had made it a point to mind his ow

business, always. He had never aske

questions, he had never surmised o

gossiped. So Hawkins gave him a chec

for his wages and let him go with no morhan a foreman's natural reluctance to los

a trustworthy man.

By hard riding along short cuts, Lon



reached the Quirt ranch and dropped rein

at the doorstep, not much past mid

afternoon.

"I rode over to see if there's anything

can do," he said, when Lorraine opene

he door to him. He did not like to as

about her father, fearing that the newwould be bad.

"Why, thank you for coming." Lorrain

stepped back, tacitly inviting him to enter"Dad knows us to-day, but of course he'

erribly hurt and can't talk much. We do

need some one to go to town for things

Frank helps me with dad, and Jim an

Sorry are trying to keep things going o

he ranch. And Swan does what he can, o

course, but——"



"I just thought you maybe neede

somebody right bad," said Lone quietly

meaning a great deal more than Lorrain

dreamed that he meant. "I'm not doinanything at all, right now, so I can just a

well help out as not. I can go to town righ

away, if I can borrow a horse. John Doe

he's pretty tired. I been pushing him righhrough—not knowing there was a tow

rip ahead of him."

Lorraine found her eyes going misty. Hwas so quiet, and so reassuring in hi

quiet. Half her burden seemed to slip fro

her shoulders while she looked at him

She turned away, groping for the doo

atch.

"You may see dad, if you like, while



get the list of things the doctor ordered

He left only a little while ago, and I wa

waiting for one of the boys to come bac

so I could send him to town."

It was on Lone's tongue to ask why th

doctor had not taken in the order himsel

and instructed some one to bring out thhings; but he remembered how very bus

with its own affairs was Echo an

decided that the doctor was wise.

He tiptoed in to the bed and saw

sallow face covered with stubbly gra

whiskers and framed with white bandages

Brit opened his eyes and moved his thi

ips in some kind of greeting, and Lone sa

down on the edge of a chair, feeling a

miserably guilty as if he himself ha



brought the old man to this pass. It seeme

o him that Brit must know more of th

accident than Swan had told, and th

hought did not add to his comfort. Hwaited until Brit opened his eyes again

and then he leaned forward, holding Brit'

wandering glance with his own inten

gaze.

"I ain't working now," he said, lowerin

his voice so that Lorraine could not hear

"So I'm going to stay here and help seyou through with this. I've quit th

Sawtooth."

Brit's eyes cleared and studied Lone'

face. "D'ye know—anything?"

"No, I don't." Lone's face hardened



ittle. "But I wanted you to know that I'

—with the Quirt, now."

"Frank hire yuh?"

"No. I ain't hired at all. I'm just— wit

yuh."

"We—need yuh," said Brit grimly

ooking Lone straight in the eyes.

CHAPTER XIV

"FRANK'S DEAD"



"Frank come yet?" The peevis

mpatience of an invalid whose horizo

has narrowed to his own personal welfar

and wants was in Brit's voice. Two weekhe had been sick, and his temper had no

sweetened with the pain of his broke

bones and the enforced idleness. Brit wa

he type of man who is never quiet unleshe is asleep or too ill to get out of bed.

Lorraine came to the doorway an

ooked in at him. Two weeks had set theimark on her also. She seemed older

quieter in her ways; there were shadow

n her eyes and a new seriousness in th

set of her mouth. She had had her burdens

and she had borne them with mor

patience than many an older woman woul

have done, but what she thought of thos



burdens she did not say.

"No, dad—but I thought I heard a wago

a little while ago. He must be coming,she said.

"Where's Lone at?" Brit move

restlessly on the pillow and twisted hiface at the pain.

"Lone isn't back, either."

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

Lorraine came to the bedside and, liftin

Brit's head carefully, arranged the pillowas she knew he liked it. "I don't know

where he went," she said dully. "He rod

off just after dinner. Do you want you

supper now? Or would you rather wai



until Frank brings the fruit?"

"I'd ruther wait—if Frank don't take al

night," Brit grumbled. "I hope he ainconnected up with that Echo booze. If h

has——"

"Oh, no, dad! Don't borrow troubleFrank was anxious to get home as soon a

he could. He'll be coming any minute

now. I'll go listen for the wagon."

"No use listenin'. You couldn't hear it in

hat sand—not till he gits to the gate.

don't see where Lone goes to, all the time

Where's Jim and Sorry, then?"

"Oh, they've had their supper and gone t

he bunk-house. Do you want them?"



"No! What'd I want 'em fur? Not to loo

at, that's sure. I want to know how thing

s going on this ranch. And from all I ca

make out, they ain't goin' at all," Brifretted. "What was you 'n' Lone talkin' s

ong about, out in the kitchen last night

Seems to me you 'n' him have got a lot t

say to each other, Raine."

"Why, nothing in particular. We were

ust—talking. We're all human beings

dad; we have to talk sometimes. There'nothing else to do."

"Well, I caught something about the

Sawtooth. I don't want you talking to Lon

or anybody else about that outfit, Raine.

old yuh so once. He's all right—I ain

saying anything against Lone—but the les



you have to say the more you'll have to b

hankful fur, mebby."

"I was wondering if Swan could havgotten word somehow to the Sawtooth an

had them telephone out that you were hur

And Lone was drawing a map of the trail

and showing me how far it was from thcanyon to the Sawtooth ranch. And he wa

asking me just how it happened that th

brake didn't hold, and I said it must hav

been all right, because I saw you come oufrom under the wagon just before yo

hitched up. I thought you were fixing th

chain on them."

"Huh?" Brit lifted his head off the pillow

and let it drop back again, because of th

pain in his shoulder. "You never seen me



crawl out from under no wagon. I com

straight down the hill to the team."

"Well, I saw some one. He went up intohe brush. I thought it was you." Lorrain

urned in the doorway and stood looking a

him perplexedly. "We shouldn't be talking

about it, dad—the doctor said we mustn'tBut are you sure it wasn't you? Because

certainly saw a man crawl out from unde

he wagon and start up the hill. Then th

horses acted up, and I couldn't see hiafter Yellowjacket jumped off the road."

Brit lay staring up at the ceiling

apparently unheeding her explanation

Lorraine watched him for a minute an

returned to the kitchen door, peering ou

and listening for Frank to come from Ech



behind her, careful that it should not slam

and ran down the path in the heavy dus

wherein crickets were rasping a striden

chorus.

"Oh! It's you, is it, Lone?" sh

exclaimed, when she neared the vagu

figure of a man unsaddling a horse. "Youdidn't see Frank coming anywhere, di

you? Dad won't have his supper unti

Frank comes with the things I sent for

He's late."

Lone was lifting the saddle off the bac

of John Doe, which he had bought from th

Sawtooth because he was fond of th

horse. He hesitated and replaced th

saddle, pulling the blanket straight unde

t.



"I saw him coming an hour ago," he said

"I was back up on the ridge, and I saw

eam turn into the Quirt trail from the ford

t couldn't be anybody but Frank. I'll ridout and meet him."

He was mounted and gone before sh

realised that he was ready. She heard thsharp staccato of John Doe's hoofbeat

and wondered why Lone had not waite

for another word from her. It was as if sh

had told him that Frank was in somerrible danger,—yet she had merel

complained that he was late. The bunk

house door opened, and Sorry came out o

he doorstep, stood there a minute an

came slowly to meet her as she retrace

her steps to the house.



"Where'd Lone go so sudden?" he asked

when she came close to him in the dusk

"That was him, wasn't it?"

Lorraine stopped and stood looking a

him without speaking. A vague terror had

seized her. She wanted to scream, and ye

she could think of nothing to scream overt was Lone's haste, she told hersel

mpatiently. Her nerves were ragged fro

nursing her dad and from worrying ove

hings she must not talk about,—thaforbidden subject which never left he

mind for long.

"Wasn't that him?" Sorry repeated

uneasily. "What took him off again in suc

a rush?"



She was wired up pretty good, though, an

here was more wire in the rig. I don

know of anything else that'd be liable t

happen, unless——"

"Unless what?" Lorraine prompte

sharply. "There's too much that isn't talked

about, on this ranch. What else coulhappen?"

Sorry edged away from her. "Well—

dunno as anything would be liable thappen," he said uncomfortably. "'Tain'

ikely him 'n' Brit'd both have accidents—

not right hand-runnin'."

" Accidents?" Lorraine felt her throa

squeeze together. "Sorry, you don't mean

—Sawtooth accidents?" she blurted.



She surprised a grunt out of Sorry, who

ooked over his shoulder as if he feare

eavesdroppers. "Where'd you git tha

dee?" he demanded. "I dunno what yomean. Ain't that yore dad callin' yuh?"

Lorraine ignored the hint. "You do know

what I mean. Why did you say thewouldn't both be likely to have accident

hand-running? And why don't you d

something? Why does everyone just keep

still and let things happen, and not say word? If there's any chance of Fran

having an—an accident , I should thin

you'd be out looking after him, and no

standing there with your hands in you

pockets just waiting to see if he shows u

or if he doesn't show up. You're all jus

ike these rabbits out in the sage. You'l



hide under a bush and wait until you'r

almost stepped on before you so much a

wiggle an ear! I'm getting good and tire

of this meek business!"

"We-ell," Sorry drawled amiably as she

went past him, "playin' rabbit-under-a

bush mebby don't look purty, but it's dergood life insurance."

"A coward's policy," Lorraine taunted

him over her shoulder, and went to sewhat her father wanted. When he, too

wanted to know why Lone had come an

gone again in such a hurry, Lorraine fel

all the courage go out of her at once. Thei

very uneasiness seemed to prove that ther

was more than enough cause for it. Yet

when she forced herself to stop and think



t was all about nothing. Frank had drive

o Echo and had not returned exactly o

ime, though a dozen things might hav

detained him.

She was listening at the door when Swa

appeared unexpectedly before her, havin

walked over from the Thurman ranch aftedoing the chores. To him she observed

hat Frank was an hour late, and Swan

whistling softly to Jack—Lorraine wa

surprised to hear how closely the calresembled the chirp of a bird—strod

away without so much as a pretence a

excuse. Lorraine stared after him wide

eyed, wondering and yet not daring t

wonder.

Her father called to her fretfully, and sh



went in to him again and told him wha

Sorry had said about the cracke

doubletree, and persuaded him to let he

bring his supper at once, and to have thfruit later when Frank arrived. Brit did no

say much, but she sensed his uneasiness

and her own increased in proportion

Later she saw two tiny, glowing pointdown by the corral and knew that Sorr

and Jim were down there, waiting an

istening, ready to do whatever wa

needed of them; although what that woul

be she could not even conjecture.

She made her father comfortable

chattered aimlessly to combat he

understanding of his moody silence, an

istened and waited and tried her pitifu

best not to think that anything could b



wrong. The subdued chuckling of th

wagon in the sand outside the gate startle

her with its unmistakable reality after s

many false impressions that she heard it.

"Frank's coming, dad," she announce

relievedly, "and I'll go and get the mai

and the fruit."

She ran down the path again, almos

ight-hearted in her relief from that vagu

error which had held her for the pashour. From the corral Sorry and Jim cam

walking up the path to meet the wago

which was making straight for th

bunkhouse instead of going first to th

stable. One man rode on the seat, drivin

he team which walked slowly, oddly

reminding Lorraine of a funera



procession. Beside the wagon rode Lone

his head drooped a little in the starlight. I

was not until the team stopped before th

bunk-house that Lorraine knew what iwas that gave her that strange, creep

feeling of disaster. It was not Fran

Johnson, but Swan Vjolmar who climbe

imberly down from the seat withouspeaking and turned toward the back of th

wagon.

"Why, where's Frank?" she asked, goinup to where Lone was dismounting i

silence.

"He's there—in the wagon. We picked

him up back here about three-quarters of

mile or so."



"What's the matter? Is he drunk?" Thi

was Sorry who came up to Swan an

stood ready to lend a hand.

"He's so drunk he falls out of wago

down the road, but he don't have whisk

smell by his face," was Swan's ambiguou

reply.

"He's not hurt, is he?" Lorraine presse

close, and felt a hand on her arm pullin

her gently away.

"He's hurt," Lone said, just behind her

"We'll take him into the bunk-house and

bring him to. Run along to the house andon't worry—and don't say anything t

your dad, either. There's no need to bothe

him about it. We'll look after Frank."



Already Swan and Sorry and Jim wer

ifting Frank's limp form from the rear o

he wagon. It sagged in their arms like

dead thing, and Lorraine stepped bacshuddering as they passed her. A minute

ater she followed them inside, where Ji

was lighting the lamp with shaking fingers

By the glow of the match Lorraine sawhow sober Jim looked, how his chin wa

rembling under the drooping, sand

moustache. She stared at him, hating t

read the emotion in his heavy face that sh

had always thought so utterly void o

feeling.

"It isn't—he isn't——" she began, an

urned upon Swan, who was beside th

bunk, looking down at Frank's upturne

face. "Swan, if it's serious enough for



"He's got to be breathing!" Lon

declared with a suppressed fierceness tha

made them all look at him. "I found a hal

bottle of whisky in his pocket—buSwan's right. There wasn't a smell of it o

his breath—I tell you now, boys, that h

was lying in the sand between tw

sagebrushes, on his face. And there iwhere he got the blow— behind his ear

t's one of them accidents that you've got t

figure out for yourself."

"Oh, do something!" Lorraine crie

distractedly. "Never mind now how i

happened, or whether he was drunk or no

—bring him to his senses first, and let hi

explain. If there's whisky, wouldn't tha

help if he swallowed some now? And

here's medicine for dad's bruises in th



house. I'll get it. And Swan! Won't you

lease talk to your mother and tell her w

need the doctor?"

Swan drew back. "I can't," he sai

shortly. "Better you send to Echo fo

elegraph. And if you have medicine, i

should be on his head quick."

Lone was standing with his finger

pressed on Frank's wrist. He looked up

hesitated, drew out his knife and openehe small blade. He moved so that hi

back was to Lorraine, and still holding th

wrist he made a small, clean cut in th

flesh. The three others stooped, stare

with tightened lips at the bloodles

ncision, straightened and looked at on

another dumbly.



"I'd like to lie to you," Lone tol

Lorraine, speaking over his shoulder. "Bu

won't. You're too game and too square

Go and stay with your dad, but don't lehim know—get him to sleep. We don

need that medicine, nor a doctor either

Frank's dead. I reckon he was dead whe

he hit the ground."



CHAPTER XV

SWAN TRAILS A COYOTE

At daybreak Swan was striding towar

he place where Frank Johnson had bee

found. Lone, his face moody, his eyeclouded with thought, rode beside him

while Jack trotted loose-jointedly a

Swan's heels. Swan had his rifle, an

Lone's six-shooter showed now and the

under his coat when the wind flipped bac

a corner. Neither had spoken since the

eft the ranch, where Jim was wanderin



dismally here and there, trying to do th

chores when his heart was heavy with

sense of personal loss and gri

foreboding. None save Brit had slepduring the night—and Brit had slept onl

because Lorraine had prudently given hi

a full dose of the sedative left by th

doctor for that very purpose. Sorry hagone to Echo to send a telegram to th

coroner, and he was likely to return now

at any time. Wherefore Swan and Lon

were going to look over the ground befor

others had trampled out what evidenc

here might be in the shape of footprints.

They reached the spot where the tea

had stopped of its own accord in crossin

a little, green meadow, and had gone to

feeding. Lone pulled up and half turned i



he saddle, looking at Swan questioningly

"Is that dog of yours any good a

railing?" he asked abruptly. "I've got heory that somebody was in that wago

with Frank, and drove on a ways befor

he jumped out. I believe if you'd put tha

dog on the trail——"

"If I put that dog on the trail he stays o

he trail all day, maybe," Swan averred

with some pride. "By golly, he follows coyote till he drops."

"Well, it's a coyote we're after now,

said Lone. "A sheep-killer that has madhis last killin'. Right here's where I rod

up and caught the team, last night. We

better take a look along here for tracks."



Swan stared at him curiously, but he did

not speak, and the two went on mor

slowly, their glances roving here and ther

along the trail edge, looking for footprintsOnce the dog Jack swung off the trail int

he brush, and Swan followed him whil

Lone stopped and awaited the result

Swan came back presently, with Jacsulking at his heels.

"Yack, he take up the trail of a coyote,

Swan explained, "but it's got the four legsand Yack, he don't understand me when

don't follow. He thinks I'm crazy thi

morning."

"I reckon the team came on toward hom

after the fellow jumped out," Lon

observed. "He'd plan that way, seems to



me. I know I would."

"I guess that's right. I don't hav

experience in killing somebody," Swareturned blandly, and Lone was too

preoccupied to wonder at th

unaccustomed sarcasm.

A little farther along Swan swooped

down upon a blue dotted handkerchief o

he kind which men find so useful wher

aundries are but a name. Again Lonstopped and bent to examine it as Swa

spread it out in his hands. A few tiny

grains of sandstone rattled out, and in th

centre was a small blood spot. Swa

ooked up straight into Lone's dark

brooding eyes.



"By golly, Lone, you would do that, too

f you kill somebody," he began in a new

one,—the tone which Lorraine had hear

ndistinctly in the bunkhouse when Swawas talking to the doctor. "Do you thin

'm a damn fool, just because I'm

Swede? You are smart—you think ou

every little thing. But you make a bimistake if you don't think some one els

may be using his brain, too. Thi

handkerchief I have seen you pull fro

your pocket too many times. And it had

rock in it last night, and the blood show

hat it was used to hit Frank behind th

ear. You think it all out—but maybe I'vebeen thinking too. Now you're unde

arrest. Just stay on your horse—he can

run faster than a bullet, and I don't mis

coyotes when I shoot them on the run."



"The hell you say!" Lone stared at him

"Where's your authority, Swan?"

Swan lifted the rifle to a comfortablefiring position, the muzzle pointing straigh

at Lone's chest. With his left hand h

urned back his coat and disclosed

badge pinned to the lining.

"I'm a United States Marshal, that's all;

government hunter," he stated. "I'm hot o

he trail of coyotes—all kinds. Throw thasix-shooter over there in the brush, wil

you?"

"I hate to get the barrel all sanded up,Lone objected mildly. "You can pack it

can't you?" He grinned a little as h

handed out the gun, muzzle towar



himself. "You're playing safe, Swan, but i

hat dog of yours is any good, you'll have

change of heart pretty quick. Isn't that

man's track, just beside that flat rock? Puhe dog on, why don't you?"

"Yack is on already," Swan pointed out

"Ride ahead of me, Lone."

With a shrug of his shoulders Lon

obeyed, following the dog as it trotte

hrough the brush on the trail of a man'footprints which Swan had shown it. A

man might have had some trouble i

keeping to the trail, but Jack trotted easil

along and never once seemed at fault. In

very few minutes he stopped in a rock

depression where a horse had been tied

and waited for Swan, wagging his tail an



showing his teeth in a panting smile. Th

man he had trailed had mounted an

ridden toward the ridge to the west. Swa

examined the tracks, and Lone sat on hihorse watching him.

Jack picked up the trail where th

horseman had walked away toward throad, and Swan followed him, motionin

Lone to ride ahead.

"You could tell me about this, I think, bucan find out for myself," he observed

glancing at Lone briefly.

"Sure, you can find out, if you use youeyes and do a little thinking," Lon

replied. "I hope you do lay the evidenc

on the right doorstep."



"I will," Swan promised, looking ahea

o where Jack was nosing his way throug

he sagebrush.

They brought up at the edge of the roa

nearly a quarter of a mile nearer Echo tha

he place where Frank's body had bee

found. They saw where the man haclimbed into the wagon, and followed t

where they had found Frank beside th

road, lying just as he had pitched forwar

from the wagon seat.

"I think," said Swan quietly, "we will go

now and find out where that horse wen

ast night."

"A good idea," Lone agreed. "Do yo

see how it was done, Swan? When he saw



he team coming, away back toward Echo

he rode down into that wash and tied hi

horse. He was walking when Fran

overtook him, I reckon—maybe claiminhis horse had broke away from him. H

had a rock in his handkerchief. Fran

stopped and gave him a lift, and he use

he rock first chance he got. Then I reckohe stuck the whisky bottle in Frank'

pocket and heaved him out. He droppe

he handkerchief out of his hip pocke

when he jumped out of the rig. It's righ

simple, and if folks didn't get t

wondering about it, it'd be safe as an

killing can be. As safe," he addedmeaningly, "as dragging Fred Thurman, o

unhooking Brit's chain-lock before h

started down the canyon with his load o

posts."



Swan did not answer, but turned back to

where the horse had been left tied an

ook up the trail from there. As before, th

dog trotted along, Lone riding closbehind him and Swan striding after. The

did not really need the dog, for th

hoofprints were easily followed for th

greater part of the way.

They had gone perhaps four miles whe

Lone turned, resting a hand on the cantl

of his saddle while he looked back aSwan. "You see where he was headed for

don't yuh, Swan?" he asked, his tone a

friendly as though he was not under arres

as a murderer. "If he didn't go to Whisper

'll eat my hat."

"You're the man to know," Swan retorte



grimly. And then, because Lone's horse

had slowed in a long climb over a ridge

he came up even with a stirrup. "Lone,

hate to do it. I'd like you, if you don't kilfor a living. But for that I could shoot yo

quick as a coyote. You're smart—but no

smart enough. You gave yourself away

when I showed you Fred's saddle. Aftehat I knew who was the Sawtooth kille

hat I came here to find."

"You thought you knew," Lone correctedcalmly.

"You don't have to lie," Swan informed

mm bluntly. "You don't have to tel

anything. I find out for myself if I mak

mistake."



"Go to it," Lone advised him coldly. "I

don't make a darn bit of difference to m

whether I ride in front of you or behind

'm so glad you're here on the job, Swanhat I'm plumb willing to be tied hand an

foot if it'll help you any."

"When a man's too damn willing to bmy prisoner," Swan observed seriously

"he gets tied, all right. Put out your hands

Lone. You look good to me with bracelets

on, when you talk so willing to go to jaifor murder."

He had slipped the rifle butt to th

ground, and before Lone quite realise

what he was doing Swan had a short

wicked-looking automatic pistol in on

hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other



Lone flushed, but there was nothing to d

but hold out his hands.

CHAPTER XVI

THE SAWTOOTH SHOWS ITS

HAND

In her fictitious West Lorraine had long

since come to look upon violence as

synonym for picturesqueness; murder anmystery were inevitably a

accompaniment of chaps and spurs. Bu

when a man she had cooked breakfast for



had talked with just a few hours ago, la

dead in the bunk-house, she forgot that i

was merely an expected incident o

Western life. She lay in her bed shakingwith nervous dread, and the shrill raspin

of the crickets and tree-toads wa

unendurable.

After the first shock had passed a deep

fighting rage filled her, made her long fo

day so that she might fight back somehow

Who was the Sawtooth Company, that theycould sweep human beings from their pat

so ruthlessly and never be called t

account? Not once did she doubt that thi

was the doing of the Sawtooth, anothe

carefully planned "accident" calculated t

rid the country of another man who i

some fashion had become inimical to thei



nterests.

From Lone she had learned a good dea

about the new irrigation project which lavery close to the Sawtooth's heart. Sh

could see how the Quirt ranch, with it

water rights and its big, fertile meadow

and its fences and silent disapprobation ohe Sawtooth's methods, might be looke

upon as an obstacle which they would b

glad to remove.

That her father had been sent down tha

grade with a brake deliberately mad

useless was a horrible thought which sh

could not put from her mind. She ha

hought and thought until it seemed to he

hat she knew exactly how and why th

killer's plans had gone awry. She wa



certain that she and Swan had prevente

him from climbing down into the canyo

and making sure that her dad did not liv

o tell what mischance had overtaken himHe had probably been watching while sh

and Swan made that stretcher and carrie

her dad away out of his reach. He woul

not shoot her ,—he would not dare. Nowould he dare come to the cabin an

finish the job he had begun. But he ha

managed to kill Frank—poor old Frank

who would never grumble and argue ove

ittle things again.

There was nothing picturesque, nothin

adventurous about it. It was just straight

heart-breaking tragedy, that had its sordid

side too. Her dad was a querulous sic

man absorbed by his sufferings and not ye



out of danger, if she read the doctor's fac

aright. Jim and Sorry had taken orders al

heir life, and they would not be able t

handle the ranch work alone; yet how elswould it be done? There was Lone,—

nstinctively she turned her thoughts to hi

for comfort. Lone would stay and help

and somehow it would be managed.

But to think that these things could b

done without fear of retribution. Jim an

Sorry, Swan and Lone had not attemptedo hide their belief that the Sawtooth wa

responsible for Frank's death, yet not on

of them had hinted at the possibility o

calling the sheriff, or placing the blam

where it belonged. They seeme

browbeaten into the belief that it would b

useless to fight back. They seemed to loo



upon the doings of the Sawtooth as an ac

of Providence, like being struck b

ightning or freezing to death, as me

sometimes did in that country.

To Lorraine that passive submission wa

he most intolerable part, the one thing sh

could not, would not endure. Had shived all of her life on the Quirt, sh

probably would never have thought o

fighting back and would have accepte

conditions just as her dad seemed taccept them. But her mimic West had

aught her that women sometimes dare

where the men had hesitated. It neve

occurred to her that she should submit t

he inevitable just because the me

appeared to do so.



Wherefore it was a new Lorraine wh

rose at daybreak and silently cooke

breakfast for the men, learned from Ji

hat Sorry was not back from Echo, anhat Swan and Lone had gone down to th

place where Frank had been found. Sh

poured Jim's coffee and went on he

iptoes to see if her father still slept. Shdreaded his awakening and the momen

when she must tell him about Frank, an

she had an unreasonable hope that th

news might be kept from him until th

doctor came again.

Brit was awake, and the look in his eye

frightened Lorraine so that she stopped i

he middle of the room, staring at hi

fascinated.



"Well," he said flatly, "who is it thi

ime? Lone, or—Frank?"

"Why—who is what?" Lorraine parrieawkwardly. "I don't—-"

"Did they git Frank, las' night?" Brit'

eyes seemed to bore into her sousearching pitilessly for the truth. "Don't li

o me, Raine—it ain't going to help any

Was it Frank or Lone? They's a dead man

aid out on this ranch. Who is it?"

"F-frank," Lorraine stammered, backin

away from him. "H-how did you know?"

"How did it happen?" Brit's eyes wer

errible.

Lorraine shuddered while she told him.



"Rabbits in a trap," Brit muttered

staring at the low ceiling. "Can't prov

nothing—couldn't convict anybody if w

could prove it. Bill Warfield's got thicounty under his thumb. Rabbits in a trap

Raine, you better pack up and go home t

your mother. There's goin' to be hell a

poppin' if I live to git outa this bed."

Lorraine stooped over him, and her eye

were almost as terrible as were Brit's

"Let it pop. We aren't quitters, are wedad? I'm going to stay with you." Then sh

saw tears spilling over Brit's eyelids an

eft the room hurriedly, fighting back

storm of weeping. She herself could no

mourn for Frank with any sense of grea

personal loss, but it was different with he

dad. He and Frank had lived together fo



so many years that his loyal heart ache

with grief for that surly, faithful old

partner of his.

But Lorraine's fighting blood was up

and she could not waste time in weeping

She drank a cup of coffee, went out an

called Jim, and told him that she wagoing to take a ride, and that she wanted

decent horse.

"You can take mine," Jim offered. "He'gentle and easy-gaited. I'll go saddle up

When do you want to go?"

"Right now, as soon as I'm ready. I'll fixdad's breakfast, and you can look after hi

until Lone and Swan come back. One o

hem will stay with him then. I may b



gone for three or four hours. I'll go crazy i

stay here any longer."

Jim eyed her while he bit off a chew oobacco. "It'd be a good thing if you ha

some neighbour woman come in and sta

with yuh," he said slowly. "But there ain

any I can think of that'd be much forceYou take Snake and ride around close and

forget things for awhile." He hesitated, hi

hand moving slowly back to his pocket. "I

yuh feel like you want a gun——"

Lorraine laughed bitterly. "You don'

hink any accident would happen to me, d

you?"

"Well, no—er I wouldn't advise yuh to

go ridin'," Jim said thoughtfully. "Thi



here gun's kinda techy, anyway, unles

you're used to a quick trigger. Yuh migh

be safer without than with it."

By the time she was ready, Jim wa

ying his horse, Snake, to the corra

Lorraine walked slowly past the bunk

house with her face turned from it and hehoughts dwelling terrifiedly upon wha

ay within. Once she was past she bega

running, as if she were trying to outrun he

houghts, Jim watched her gravely, untiedSnake and stood at his head while sh

mounted, then walked ahead of her to th

gate and opened it for her.

"Yore nerves are sure shot to hell," he

blurted sympathetically as she rode pas

him. "I guess you need a ride, all right



Snake's plumb safe, so yuh got no call t

worry about him. Take it easy, Raine, on

he worrying. That's about the worst thin

you can do."

Lorraine gave him a grateful glance an

a faint attempt at a smile, and rode up th

rail she always took,—the trail where shhad met Lone that day when he returne

her purse, the trail that led to Fre

Thurman's ranch and to Sugar Spring and

f you took a certain turn at a certaiplace, to Granite Ridge and beyond.

Up on the ridge nearest the house A

Woodruff shifted his position so that he

could watch her go. He had been watchin

Lone and Swan and the dog, trailin

certain tracks through the sagebrush dow



below, and when Lorraine rode awa

from the Quirt they were in the wago

road, fussing around the place wher

Frank had been found.

"They can't pin nothing on me," Al tried

o comfort himself. "If that damn gir

would keep her mouth shut I could stand rial, even. They ain't got any evidenc

whatever, unless she saw me at Rock Cit

hat night." He turned and looked agai

oward the two men down on the road anilted his mouth down at the corners in

sour grin.

"Go to it and be damned to you!" h

muttered. "You haven't got the dope, and

you can't git it, either. Trail that horse i

you want to—I'd like to see yuh amus



yourselves that way!"

He turned again to stare after Lorraine

meditating deeply. If she had only been man, he would have known exactly how t

still her tongue, but he had never befor

been called upon to deal with the proble

of keeping a woman quiet. He saw that shwas taking the trail toward Fre

Thurman's, and that she was ridin

swiftly, as if she had some errand in tha

direction, something urgent. Al was veradept at reading men's moods an

ntentions from small details in thei

behaviour. He had seen Lorraine start o

several leisurely, purposeless rides, and

her changed manner held a significanc

which he did not attempt to belittle.



He led his horse down the side of th

ridge opposite the road and the house

mounted there and rode away afte

Lorraine, keeping parallel with the traibut never using it, as was his habit. H

made no attempt to overtake her, and no

once did Lorraine glimpse him or suspec

hat she was being followed. Al knewwell the art of concealing his movement

and his proximity from the inquisitive eye

of another man's saddle horse, and Snak

had no more suspicion than his rider tha

hey were not altogether alone tha

morning.

Lorraine sent him over the trail at a pac

which Jim had long since reserved fo

emergencies. But Snake appeare

perfectly able and willing to hold it an



never stumbled or slowed unexpectedly a

did Yellowjacket, wherefore Lorraine

rode faster than she would have done ha

she known more about horses.

Still, Snake held his own better tha

even Jim would have believed, an

carried Lorraine up over Granite Ridgand down into the Sawtooth flat almost a

quickly as Lorraine expected him to do

She came up to the Sawtooth ranch-house

with Snake in a lather of sweat and wither own determination unweakened t

carry the war into the camp of her enemy

t was, she firmly believed, what shoul

have been done long ago; what woul

have curbed effectually the arrogan

powers of the Sawtooth.



She glanced at the foreman's cottage onl

o make sure that Hawkins was nowher

n sight there, and rode on toward th

corrals, intercepting Hawkins and a largewell-groomed, smooth-faced man who

she knew at once must be Senato

Warfield himself. Unconsciously Lorraine

mentally fitted herself into a dramatimovie "scene" and plunged straight int

he subject.

"There has been," she said tensely"another Sawtooth accident. It worke

better than the last one, when my fathe

was sent over the grade into Spiri

Canyon. Frank Johnson is dead . I am her

o discover what you are going to do abou

t?" Her eyes were flashing, her chest wa

rising and falling rapidly when she ha



you take that tone, Mr Hawkins? My hom

s at the Quirt. When you strike at th

Quirt you strike at me. When you strike a

me I am going to strike back. Since I camhere two men have been killed and m

father has been nearly killed. He may di

yet—I don't know what effect this shoc

will have upon him. But I know that Frans dead, and that it's up to me now to se

hat justice is done. You—you cowards

You will kill a man for the sake of a few

dollars, but you kill in the dark. You cove

your murders under the pretence o

accidents. I want to tell you this: Of all th

men you have murdered, Frank Johnsowill be avenged. You are going to answe

for that. I shall see that you do answer fo

t! There is justice in this country, ther

must be. I'm going to demand that justic



shall be measured out to you. I——"

"Was she violent, before?" Senato

Warfield asked Hawkins in an undertonewhich Lorraine heard distinctly. "You're a

deputy, Hawkins. If this keeps on, I'

afraid you will have to take her in an

have her committed for insanity. It's shame, poor thing. At her age it is pitiful

Look how she has ridden that horse

Another mile would have finished him."

"Do you mean to say you think I'm crazy

What an idea! It seems to me, Senato

Warfield, that you are crazy yourself, to

magine that you can go on killing peopl

and thinking you will never have to pa

he penalty. You will pay. There is law in

his land, even if——"



"This is pathetic," said Senato

Warfield, still speaking to Hawkins. "He

father—if he is her father—is sick and no

able to take care of her. We'll have toassume the responsibility ourselves, I'

afraid, Hawkins. She may harm herself, o

——"

Lorraine turned white. She had neve

seen just such a situation arise in a scree

story, but she knew what danger might li

n being accused of insanity. WhilWarfield was speaking, she had a swif

vision of the evidence they could brin

against her; how she had arrived ther

delirious after having walked out fro

Echo,—why, they would call even that

symptom of insanity! Lone had warned he

of what people would say if she told an



one of what she saw in Rock City, perhap

really believing that she had imagined i

all. Lone might even think that she ha

some mental twist! Her world was reelinaround her.

She whirled Snake on his hind feet

struck him sharply with the quirt and wagalloping back over the trail past th

Hawkins house before Senator Warfield

had finished advising Hawkins. She saw

Mrs Hawkins standing in the door, starinat her, but she did not stop. They would

ake her to the asylum; she felt that th

Sawtooth had the power, that she had

played directly into their hands, and tha

hey would be as ruthless in dealing wit

her as they had been with the nester

whom they had killed. She knew it, sh



had read it in the inscrutable, level look o

Senator Warfield, in the half cringing

wholly subservient manner of Hawkin

when he listened to his master.

"They're fiends!" she cried aloud once

while she urged Snake up the slope o

Granite Ridge. "I believe they'd kill me ihey were sure they could get away wit

t. But they could frame an insanity charg

and put me—my God, what fiends the

are!"

At the Sawtooth, Senator Warfield wa

alking with Mrs Hawkins while he

husband saddled two horses. Mr

Hawkins lived within her four walls an

called that her "spere," and spoke of he

husband as "he." You know the type o



woman. That Senator Warfield wa

anything less than a godlike man wh

stood very high on the ladder of Fame, sh

would never believe. So she relategarrulously certain incoherent, aimles

utterances of Lorraine's, and cried a little

and thought it was perfectly awful that

sweet, pretty girl like that should be crazyShe would have made an ideal witnes

against Lorraine, her very sympath

carrying conviction of Lorraine's need o

t. That she did not convince Senato

Warfield of Lorraine's menta

derangement was a mere detail. Senato

Warfield had reasons for knowing thaLorraine was merely afflicted with

dangerous amount of knowledge and wa

using it without discretion.



"You mustn't let her run loose and maybe

kill herself or somebody else!" Mr

Hawkins exclaimed. "Oh, Senator, it'

awful to think of! When she went past thhouse I knew the poor thing wasn't righ

——"

"We'll overtake her," Senator Warfieldassured her comfortingly. "She can't go

very far on that horse. She'd ridden hi

half to death, getting here. He won't hol

out—he can't. She came here, I supposebecause she had been here before. A

sanitorium may be able to restore her to

normal condition. I can't believe it'

anything more than some nervou

disorder. Now don't worry, my good

woman. Just have a room ready, so tha

she will be comfortable here until we ca



CHAPTER XVII

YACK DON'T LIE

For a time the trail seemed to lea

oward Whisper. Then it turned away and

seemed about to end abruptly on a flaoutcropping of rock two miles fro

Whisper camp. Lone frowned and stare

at the ground, and Swan spoke sharply t

Jack, who was nosing back and forth, a

fault if ever a dog was. But presently h

ook up the scent and led them down

barren slope and into grassy ground wher



a bunch of horses grazed contentedly. Jac

singled out one and ran toward it silently

as he had done all his trailing tha

morning. The horse looked up, stared anwent galloping down the little valley

stampeding the others with him.

"That's about where I thought we'd winup—in a saddle bunch," Lone observe

disgustedly. "If I had the evidence you'r

carrying in your pocket, Swan, I'd put tha

darn dog on the scent of the man, not thhorse."

"The man I've got," Swan retorted. "

don't have to trail him."

"Well, now, you think you've got him

Here's good, level ground—I couldn't ge



outa sight in less than ten minutes, afoot

Let me walk out a ways, and you see i

hat handkerchief's mine. Oh, search m

all you want to, first," he added, when hread the suspicion in Swan's eyes. "Mak

yourself safe as yuh please, but give me

fair show. You've made up your mind I'm

he killer, and you've been fitting thevidence to me—or trying to."

"It fits," Swan pointed out dryly.

"You see if it does. The dog'll tell you

all about it in about two minutes if yo

give him a chance."

Swan looked at him. "Yack don't lie. By

golly, I raised that dog to trail, and h

rails, you bet! He's cocker spaniel an



bloodhound, and he knows things, tha

dog. All right, Lone, you walk over to tha

black rock and set down. If you think yo

frame something, maybe, I pack a deaman to the Quirt again."

"You can, for all me," Lone replied

quietly. "I'd about as soon go that way ahe way I am now."

Swan watched him until he was seate

on the rock as directed, his manaclehands resting on his knees, his face turne

oward the horses. Then Swan took th

blue handkerchief from his pocket, calle

Jack to him and muttered something i

Swedish while the dog sniffed at the cloth

"Find him, Yack," said Swan, standing

straight again.



Jack went sniffing obediently in wid

circles, crossing unconcernedly Lone'

footprints while he trotted back and forth

He hesitated once on the trail of the horshe had followed, stopped and looked a

Swan inquiringly, and whined. Swa

whistled the dog to him with a peculiar

birdlike note and called to Lone.

"You come back, Lone, and let Yack

ake a damn good smell of you. By golly

f that dog lies to me this time, I lick higood!"

Lone came back, grinning a little. "Al

right, now maybe you'll listen to reason.

ain't the kind to tell all I know and som

besides, Swan. I've been a Sawtooth man

and a fellow kinda hates to throw dow



after changed horses there, just on

chance that somebody might trail him fro

he road. You put your dog on the trail o

hat one particular horse, and he showeyuh where it was feeding with the bunch

t looks to me like it was turned loose

back there, and come on alone. Your man

went to Whisper; I'll bank money on thatAnyway, your dog'll know if he's bee

here."

Swan thought it over, his eyes movinhere and there to every hint of movemen

between the skyline and himself. Suddenl

he turned to Lone, his face flushing wit

honest shame.

"Loney, take a damn Swede and giv

him something he believes, and you coul



pull his teeth before you pull that notio

from his thick head. You acted funny, tha

day Fred Thurman was killed, and yo

gave yourself away at the stable when showed you that saddle. So I think you'r

he killer, and I keep on thinking that, and

've been trying to catch you wit

evidence. I'm a Swede, all right! Squarhead. Built of wood two inches thick

Loney, you kick me good. You don't have

ime to ride over here, get some othe

horse and ride back to the Quirt afte

Frank was killed. You got there before

did, last night. We know Frank was dead

not much more than one hour when we gehim to the bunk-house. Yack, he gives you

a good alibi."

"I sure am glad we took the time to trai



hat horse, then," Lone remarked, whil

Swan was removing the handcuffs

"You're all right, Swan. Nothing like

sticking to an idea till you know it'wrong. Now, let's stick to mine fo

awhile. Let's go on to Whisper. It ain

far."

They returned to the rocky hillsid

where the trail had been covered, an

searched here and there for the tracks o

another horse; found the trail and followet easily enough to Whisper. Swan pu

Jack once more on the scent of th

handkerchief, and if actions mean

anything, Jack proved conclusively that h

found the Whisper camp reeking with th

scent.



But that was all,—since Al was at tha

moment trailing Lorraine toward th

Sawtooth.

"We may as well eat," Swan suggested

"We'll get him, by golly, but we don't have

o starve ourselves."

"He wouldn't know we're after him,

Lone agreed. "He'll stick around so as no

o raise suspicion. And he might com

back, most any time. If he does, we'll sa'm out with you after coyotes, and w

stopped here for a meal. That's goo

enough to satisfy him—till you get th

drop on him. But I want to tell yuh, Swan

you can't take Al Woodruff as easy as you

ook me. And you couldn't have taken m

so easy if I'd been the man you wanted. A



would kill you as easy as you kill coyotes

Give him a reason, and you won't need t

give him a chance along with it. He'll fin

he chance himself."

Because they thought it likely that A

would soon return, they did not hurry

They were hungry, and they cookedenough food for four men and ate i

eisurely. Jim was at the ranch, Sorry had

undoubtedly returned before now, and th

coroner would probably not arrive befornoon, at the earliest.

Swan wanted to take Al Woodruff back

with him in irons. He wanted to confron

he coroner with the evidence he ha

found and the testimony which Lone coul

give. There had been too many killing



already, he asserted in his naïve way; th

sooner Al Woodruff was locked up, the

safer the country would be.

He discussed with Lone the possibilit

of making Al talk,—the chance of hi

mplicating the Sawtooth. Lone did no

hope for much and said so.

"If Al was a talker he wouldn't b

holding the job he's got," Lone argued

"Don't get the wrong idea again, SwanYuh may pin this on to Al, but that won'

et the Sawtooth in. The Sawtooth's to

slick for that. They'd be more likely t

make up a lynching party right in the outfi

and hang Al as an example than the

would try to shield him. He's played

one hand, Swan, right from the start



unless I'm badly mistaken. The Sawtooth'

paid him for playing it, that's all."

"Warfield, he's the man I want," Swanconfided. "It's for more than killing thes

men. It goes into politics, Loney, and i

goes deep. He's bad for the government

Getting Warfield for having men killed igetting Warfield without telling secrets o

politics. Warfield, he's a smart man, by

golly. He knows some one is after him i

politics, but he don't know some one iafter him at home. So the big Swede ha

got to be smart enough to get the evidenc

against him for killing."

"Well, I wish yuh luck, Swan, but I can

say you're going at it right. Al won't talk,

ell yuh."



Swan did not believe that. He waite

another hour and made a mental inventor

of everything in camp while he waited

Then, chiefly because Lone's impatiencfinally influenced him, he set out to se

where Al had gone.

According to Jack, Al had gone to thcorral. From there they put Jack on th

freshest hoof-prints leaving the place, an

were led here and there in an apparentl

aimless journey to nowhere until, afteJack had been at fault in another roc

patch, the trail took them straight away t

he ridge overlooking the Quirt ranch. Th

wo men looked at one another.

"That's like Al," Lone commented dryly

"Coyotes are foolish alongside him, an



you'll find it out. I'll bet he's bee

watching this place since daybreak."

"Where he goes, Yack will follow,"Swan grinned cheerfully. "And I follow

Yack. We'll get him, Lone. That dog, he

never quits till I say quit."

"You better go down and get a horse

hen," Lone advised. "They're all gentle

Al's mounted, remember. He's maybe gon

o the Sawtooth, and that's farther than yocan walk."

"I can walk all day and all night, when

need to go like that. I can take short cuthat a horse can't take. I think I shall go o

my own legs."



"Well, I'm going down to the house first

know them two men riding down to th

gate. I want to see what the boss an

Hawkins have got to say about this lasaccident.' Better come on down, Swan

You might pick up something. They're

heading for the ranch, all right. Going t

make a play at being neighbourly, reckon."

"You bet I want to see Warfield," Swan

assented rather eagerly and called Jackwho had nosed around the spot where A

had waited so long and was now trottin

along the ridge on the next lap of Al'

ourney.

They reached the gate in time to mee

Warfield and Hawkins face to face



Hawkins gave Lone a quick, questionin

ook and nodded carelessly to Swan

Warfield, having a delicate errand to

perform and knowing how much dependeupon first impressions, pulled up eagerl

when he recognised Lone.

"Has the girl arrived safely, Lone?" hasked anxiously.

"What girl?" Lone looked at him non

committally.

"Miss—ah—Hunter. Have you bee

away all the forenoon? The girl came t

he ranch in such a condition that I waafraid she might do herself or some on

else an injury. Has she been unbalanced

for long?"



"If you mean Lorraine Hunter, she wa

all right last time I saw her, and that wa

ast night." Lone's eyes narrowed a littl

as he watched the two. "You say she weno the Sawtooth?"

"She came pelting over there crazie

han when you brought her in," Hawkinbroke in gruffly. "She ain't safe goin

around alone like that."

Senator Warfield glanced at himmpatiently. "Is there any truth in he

declaring that Frank Johnson is dead? Sh

seemed to have had a shock of some kind

She was raving crazy, and in her ramblin

alk she said something about Fran

Johnson having died last night."



Lone glanced back as he led the wa

hrough the gate which Swan was holdin

open. "He didn't die—he got killed las

night," he corrected.

"Killed! And how did that happen? I

was impossible to get two coheren

sentences out of the girl." SenatoWarfield rode through just behind Lone

and reined close, lowering his voice. "N

use in letting this get out," he sai

confidentially. "It may be that the girl'dementia is some curable nervou

disorder, and you know what an injustic

t would be if it became noised aroun

hat the girl is crazy. How much English

does that Swede know?"

"Not any more than he needs to get alon



on," Lone answered, instinctively o

guard. "He's all right—just a good-nature

kinda cuss that wouldn't harm anybody."

He glanced uneasily at the house, hopin

hat Lorraine was safe inside, yet fearin

hat she would not be safe anywhere. San

or insane, she was in danger if SenatoWarfield considered her of sufficien

mportance to bring him out on horsebac

o the Quirt ranch. Lone knew how seldo

he owner of the Sawtooth rode ohorseback since he had high-powered car

o carry him in soft comfort.

"I'll go see if she's home," Lon

explained, and reined John Doe towar

he house.



"I'll go with you," Senator Warfield

offered suavely and kept alongside

"Frank Johnson was killed, you say? How

did it happen?"

"Fell off his wagon and broke his neck,

Lone told him laconically. "Brit's prett

sick yet; I don't guess you'd better gnside. There's been a lot of excitemen

already for the old man. He only see

folks he's used to having around."

With that he dismounted and went into

he house, leaving Senator Warfield

without an excuse for following. Swa

and Hawkins came up and waited wit

him, and Jim opened the door of th

bunkhouse and looked out at them withou

showing enough interest to come forwar



and speak to them.

In a few minutes Lone returned, to fin

Senator Warfield trying to gleannformation from Swan, who seeme

willing enough to give it if only he coul

find enough English words to form

complete sentence. Swan, then, haavailed himself of Lone's belittlement o

him and was living down to it. But Lon

gave him scant attention just then.

"She hasn't come back. Brit's worke

himself up into a fever, and I didn't dar

ell him she wasn't with me. I said she'

all tired out and sick and wanted to sta

up by the spring awhile, where it's cool.

said she was with me, and the sun was to

much for her, and she sent him word tha



Jim would take care of him awhile longer

So you better move down this way, o

he'll hear us talking and want to know

what's up."

"You're sure she isn't here?" Senato

Warfield's voice held suspicion.

"You can ask Jim, over here. He's been

on hand right along. And if you can't tak

his word for it, you can go look in th

shack—but in that case Brit's liable take a shot at yuh, Senator. He's on th

warpath right, and he's got his gun righ

handy."

"It is not necessary to search the cabin,

Senator Warfield answered stiffly

"Unless she is in a stupor we'd have hear



her yelling long ago. The girl was a ravin

maniac when she appeared at th

Sawtooth. It's for her good that I'

hinking."

Jim stepped out of the doorway an

came slowly toward them, eyeing the tw

from the Sawtooth curiously while hchewed tobacco. His hands rested on hi

hips, his thumbs hooked inside hi

overalls; a gawky pose that fitted well hi

colourless personality,—and left his righhand close to his six-shooter.

"Cor'ner comin'?" he asked, nodding a

he two who were almost strangers to him

"Sorry, he got back two hours ago, and h

said the cor'ner would be right out. But h

ain't showed up yet."



Senator Warfield said that he felt sure

he coroner would be prompt and the

questioned Jim artfully about "Mis

Hunter."

"Raine? She went fer a ride. I loaned he

my horse, and she ain't back yet. I told he

o take a good long ride and settle henerves. She acted kinda edgy."

Senator Warfield and his foreman

exchanged glances for which Lone coulhave killed them.

"You noticed, then, that she was no

quite—herself?" Senator Warfield usedhis friendly, confidential tone on Jim.

"We-ell—yes, I did. I thought a ride



would do her good, mebby. She's bee

sticking here on the job purty close. And

Frank getting killed kinda—upset her,

guess."

"That's it—that's what I was saying

Disordered nerves, which rest and prope

medical care will soon remedy." Hooked at Lone. "Her horse was worn ou

when she reached the ranch. Does sh

know this country well? She started thi

way, and she should have been here somime ago. We thought it best to ride afte

her, but there was some delay in gettin

started. Hawkins' horse broke away an

gave us some trouble catching him, so th

girl had quite a start. But with her hors

fagged as it was, we had no idea that w

would fail to get even a sight of her. Sh



may have wandered off on some othe

rail, in which case her life as well as he

reason is in danger."

Lone did not answer at once. It ha

occurred to him that Senator Warfield

knew where Lorraine was at that minute

and that he might be showing this concerfor the effect it would have on his hearers

He looked at him speculatively.

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

"I certainly think some one ought to. We

can't let her wander around the country ihat condition. If she is not here, she i

somewhere in the hills, and she should b

found."



"She sure ain't here," Jim asserte

convincingly. "I been watching for the las

wo hours, expecting every minute she'

show up. I'd a been kinda oneasy, myselfbut Snake's dead gentle, and she's a purt

fair rider fer a girl."

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

"The Swede and me'll both help," Lon

volunteered. "Jim and Sorry can wait herfor the coroner. We ought to find he

without any trouble, much. Swan, I'll ge

you that tobacco first and see if Brit need

anything."

He started to the house, and Swa

followed him aimlessly, his long stride



bringing him close to Lone before the

reached the door.

"What do you make of this new play?Lone muttered cautiously when he saw

Swan's shadow move close to his own.

"By golly, it's something funny about itYou stick with them, Loney, and find out

'm taking Al's trail with Yack. You fix it."

And he added whimsically, "Not so muc

obacco, Lone. I don't eat it or smoke iever in my life."

His voice was very Swedish, which wa

fortunate, because Senator Warfieldappeared softly behind him and went int

he house. Swan was startled, but he hadn

much time to worry over the possibility o



having been overheard. Brit's voice ros

n a furious denunciation of Bill Warfield

punctuated by two shots and followe

almost immediately by the senator.

"My God, the whole family's crazy!

Warfield exclaimed, when he had reached

he safety of the open air. "You're rightLone. I thought I'd be neighbourly enoug

o ask what I could do for him, and h

ried to kill me!"

Lone merely grunted and gave Swan th

obacco.



CHAPTER XVIII

"I THINK AL WOODRUFF'S GOT

HER"

There was no opportunity for furthe

conference. Senator Warfield showed noespecial interest in Swan, and the Swed

was permitted without comment to take hi

dog and strike off up the ridge. Jim an

Sorry were sent to look after Brit, whwas still shouting vain threats against th

Sawtooth, and the three men rode awa

ogether. Warfield did not sugges

separating, though Lone expected him tdo so, since one man on a trail was a

good as three in a search of this kind.



He was still inclined to doubt the whol

story. He did not believe that Lorraine had

been to the Sawtooth, or that she ha

raved about anything. She had probablgone off by herself to cry and to worr

over her troubles,—hurt, too, perhaps

because Lone had left the ranch tha

morning without a word with her first. Hbelieved the story of her being insane ha

been carefully planned, and that Warfield

had perhaps ridden over in the hope tha

hey would find her alone; though wit

Frank dead on the ranch that would b

unlikely. But to offset that, Lone's reaso

old him that Warfield had probably noknown that Frank was dead. That had bee

news to him—or had it? He tried t

remember whether Warfield had

mentioned it first and could not. Too many



disturbing emotions had held him lately

Lone was beginning to feel the need of

ong, quiet pondering over his problems

He did not feel sure of anything except thfact that the Quirt was like a drownin

man struggling vainly against th

whirlpool that is sucking him slowl

under.

One thing he knew, and that was hi

determination to stay with these two of th

Sawtooth until he had some definitnformation; until he saw Lorraine o

knew that she was safe from them. Like

weight pressing harder and harder unti

one is crushed beneath it, their talk o

Lorraine's insanity forced fear into hi

soul. They could do just what they ha

alked of doing. He himself had place



hat weapon in their hands when he too

her to the Sawtooth delirious and told o

wilder words and actions. Hawkins an

his wife would swear away her sanity ihey were told to do it, and there wer

witnesses in plenty who had heard hi

call her crazy that first morning.

They could do it; they could have he

committed to an asylum, or at least to

sanitorium. He did not underestimate th

nfluence of Senator Warfield. And whacould the Quirt do to prevent the outrage

Frank Johnson was dead; Brit was out o

he fight for the time being; Jim and Sorr

were the doggedly faithful sort who mus

have a leader before they can be counte

upon to do much.



Swan,—Lone lifted his head an

glanced toward the ridge when he though

of Swan. There, indeed, he might hope fo

help. But Swan was out here, away froreinforcements. He was trailing A

Woodruff, and when he found him,—tha

might be the end of Swan. If not, Warfield

could hurry Lorraine away before Swacould act in the matter. A whimsica

hought of Swan's telepathic miracl

crossed his mind and was dismissed as a

unseemly bit of foolery in a matter s

grave as Lorraine's safety. And yet—the

doctor had received a message that he wa

wanted at the Quirt, and he had arrivebefore his patient. There was no gettin

around that, however impossible it migh

be. No one could have foreseen Brit'

accident; no one save the man who ha



prepared it for him, and he would be th

ast person to call for help.

"We followed the girl's horse-trackalmost to Thurman's place and lost th

rail there." Warfield turned in the saddle

o look at Lone riding behind him. "We

made no particular effort to trace her frohere, because we were sure she woul

come on home. I'm going back that far, and

we'll pick up the trail, unless we find he

at the ranch. She may have hidden herselaway. You can't," he added, "be sure o

anything where a demented person i

concerned. They never act according t

ogic or reason, and it is impossible t

make any deductions as to their probabl

movements."



Lone nodded, not daring to trust hi

ongue with speech just then. If he were t

protect Lorraine later on, he knew that h

must not defend her now.

"Hawkins told me she had some sort o

hallucination that she had seen a ma

killed at Rock City, when she wawandering around in that storm," Warfield

went on in a careless, gossipy tone. "Jus

what was that about, Lone? You're the one

who found her and took her in to the ranchbelieve. She somehow mixed he

delusion up with Fred Thurman, didn

she?"

Lone made a swift decision. He wa

afraid to appear to hesitate, so he laughe

his quiet little chuckle while he scramble



mentally for a plausible lie.

"I don't know as she done that, quite," h

drawled humorously. "She was out of hehead, all right, and talking wild, but I lai

t to her being sick and scared. She said

man was shot, and that she saw it happen

And right on top of that she said she didnhink they ought to stage a murder and

hunderstorm in the same scene, an

hought they ought to save the thunder an

ightning for the murderer to make his geta-way by. She used to work for th

moving pictures, and she was going o

about some wild-west picture she though

she was acting a part in.

"Afterwards I told her what she'd bee

saying, and she seemed to kinda remembe



t, like a bad dream she'd had. She told m

she thought the villain in one of the play

she acted in had pulled off a stage murde

n them rocks. We figured it out togethehat the first crack of thunder had sounde

ike shooting, and that's what started he

off. She hadn't ever been in a rea

hunderstorm before, and she's scared ohem. I know that one we had the other da

ike to of scared her into hysterics.

aughed at her and joshed her out of it."

"Didn't she ever say anything about Fre

Thurman, then?" Warfield persisted.

"Not to me, she didn't. Fred was dragge

hat night, and if she heard about a ma

being killed during that same storm, sh

might have said something about it. Sh



might have wondered if that was what sh

saw. I don't know. She's pretty sensible—

when she ain't crazy."

Warfield turned his horse, as if by

accident, so that he was brought face t

face with Lone. His eyes searched Lone'

face pitilessly.

"Lone, you know how ugly a story ca

grow if it's left alone. Do you believe tha

girl actually saw a man shot? Or do yohink she was crazy?"

Lone met Warfield's eyes fairly. "I think

she was plumb out of her head," hanswered. And he added with just th

right degree of hesitation: "I don't thin

she's what you'd call right crazy, M



Warfield. Lots of folks go outa their head

and talk crazy when they get a touch o

fever, and they get over it again."

"Let's have a fair understanding,

Warfield insisted. "Do you think I am

ustified in the course I am taking, or don

you?"

"Hunting her up? Sure, I do! If you an

Hawkins rode on home, I'd keep o

hunting till I located her. If she's beeraving around like you say, she's in no

shape to be riding these hills alone. She'

got to be taken care of."

Warfield gave him another sharp

scrutiny and rode on. "I always prefer t

deal in the open with everyone," h



averred. "It may not be my affair, strictl

speaking. The Quirt and the Sawtoot

aren't very intimate. But the Quirt's havin

rouble enough to warrant any one iending a hand; and common humanit

demands that I take charge of the girl unti

she is herself again."

"I don't know as any one would questio

hat," Lone assented and ground his teet

afterwards because he must yield even th

appearance of approval. He knew thaWarfield must feel himself in rather a

desperate position, else he would neve

rouble to make his motives so clear t

one of his men. Indeed, Warfield had

protested his unselfishness in the matte

oo much and too often to have deceive

he dullest man who owned the slightes



suspicion of him. Lone could have smile

at the sight of Senator Warfield betraying

himself so, had smiling been possible t

him then.

He dropped behind the two at the firs

rough bit of trail and felt stealthily to tes

he hanging of his six-shooter, which hmight need in a hurry. Those two me

would never lay their hands on Lorrain

Hunter while he lived to prevent it. He di

not swear it to himself; he had no need.

They rode on to Fred Thurman's ranch

dismounted at Warfield's suggestion—

which amounted to a command—an

began a careful search of the premises. I

Warfield had felt any doubt of Lone'

oyalty he appeared to have dismissed i



from his mind, for he sent Lone to th

stable to search there, while he an

Hawkins went into the house. Lon

guessed that the two felt the need of private conference after their visit to th

Quirt, but he could see no way to slip

unobserved to the house and eavesdrop

so he looked perfunctorily through all thsheds and around the depleted haystacks

—wherever a person could find a hidin

place. He was letting himself dow

hrough the manhole in the stable loft whe

Swan's voice, lowered almost to

whisper, startled him.

"What the hell!" Lone ejaculated unde

his breath. "I thought you were on anothe

rail!"



"That trail leads here, Lone. Did yo

find Raine yet?"

"Not a sign of her. Swan, I don't knowwhat to make of it. I did think them tw

were stalling. I thought they either hadn

seen her at all, or had got hold of her an

were trying to square themselves on thnsanity dodge. But if they know wher

she is, they're acting damn queer, Swan

They want her. They haven't got her yet."

"They're in the house," Swan reassure

Lone. "I heard them walking. You don'

hink they've got her there, Lone?"

"If they have," gritted Lone, "they mad

he biggest blunder of their lives bringin

me over here. No, I could see they wante



o get off alone and hold a powwow. They

expected she'd be at the Quirt."

"I think Al Woodruff, he's maybe got herhen," Swan declared, after studying th

matter briefly. "All the way he follows th

rail over here, Lone. I could see yo

sometimes in the trail. He was keeping hifrom the trail—I think because Raine wa

riding along, this morning, and he'

following. The tracks are that old."

"They said they had trailed Raine thi

far, coming from the Sawtooth," Lone told

him worriedly. "What do you think A

would want——"

"Don't she see him shoot Fred Thurman

By golly, I'm scared for that girl, Loney!"



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

"A coward is a brave man when you

scare him bad enough," Swan stated flatly"I'm careful always when I corner

coward."

"Al ain't a coward. You've got himwrong."

"Maybe, but he kills like a cowar

would kill, and he's scared he will bcaught. Warfield, he's scared, too. You

watch him, Lone.

"Now I tell you what I do. Yack, hepicks up the trail from here to where yo

can follow easy. We know two places

where he didn't go with her, and from her



s two more trails he could take. But on

goes to the main road, and he don't tak

hat one, I bet you. I think he takes that gir

up Spirit Canyon, maybe. It's woods anwild country in a few miles, and plenty o

places to hide, and good chances fo

getting out over the top of the divide.

"I'm going to my cabin, and you don't sa

anything when I leave. Warfield, he don

want the damn Swede hanging around. S

you go with them, Loney. This is to whayou call a showdown."

"We'll want the dog," Lone told him, bu

Swan shook his head. Hawkins an

Warfield had come from the house and

were approaching the stable. Swan looke

at Lone, and Lone went forward to mee



hem.

"The Swede followed along on th

ridge, and he didn't see anything," hvolunteered, before Warfield could

question him. "We might put his dog on th

rail and see which way she went fro

here."

Warfield thought that a good idea. He

was so sure that Lorraine must b

somewhere within a mile or two of thplace that he seemed to think the searc

was practically over when Jack, nosin

out the trail of Al Woodruff, went trotting

oward Spirit Canyon.

"Took the wrong turn after she left the

corrals here," Warfield commented



relievedly. "She wouldn't get far, up thi

way."

"There's the track of two horses,Hawkins said abruptly. "That there is th

girl's horse, all right—there's a hind sho

missing. We saw where her horse had cas

a shoe, coming over Juniper Ridge. Buhere's another horse track."

Lone bit his lip. It was the other hors

hat Jack had been trailing so long. "Therwas a loose horse hanging aroun

Thurman's place," he said casually. "It'

him, tagging along, I reckon."

"Oh," said Hawkins. "That accounts fo

t."



CHAPTER XIX

SWAN CALLS FOR HELP

Past the field where the horses wer

grazing and up the canyon on the sid

oward Skyline Meadow, that lay on shoulder of Bear Top, the dog nosed

unfalteringly along the trail. Now and the

he was balked when the hoofprints le

him to the bank of Granite Creek, but no

for long. Jack appeared to understand wh

his trailing was interrupted and sniffed th

bank until he picked up the scent again.



"Wonder if she changed off and rode tha

oose horse," Hawkins said once, whe

he tracks were plain in the soft soil of th

creek bank. "She might, and lead thahorse she was on."

"She wouldn't know enough. She's a cit

girl," Lone replied, his heart heavy witfear for Lorraine.

"Well, she ain't far off then," Hawkin

comforted himself. "Her horse acted abouplayed out when she hit the ranch. She ha

him wet from his ears to his tail, and h

was breathin' like that Ford at the ranch. I

hat's a sample of her riding, she ain't fa

off."

"Crazy—to ride up here. Keep your eye



open, boys. We must find her, whateve

we do." Warfield gazed apprehensively a

he rugged steeps on either hand and at th

imber line above them. "From here on shcouldn't turn back without meeting us—if

remember this country correctly. Could

she, Hawkins?"

"Not unless she turned off, up here

mile or two, into that gulch that heads int

Skyline," said Hawkins. "There's a stoc

rail part way down from the top where iswings off from the divide to Wilde

Creek."

Swan, walking just behind Hawkins

moved up a pace.

"I could go on Skyline with Yack, and



could come down by those trail," h

suggested diffidently, Swedishly, yet with

a certain compelling confidence. "Wha

you think?"

"I think that's a damned good idea for

square head," Hawkins told him, an

repeated it to Warfield, who was ridingahead.

"Why, yes. We don't need the dog, or the

man either. Go up to the head of the gulchand keep your eyes open, Swan. We'l

meet you up here. You know the girl, don'

you?"

"Yas, Ay know her pretty good," grinned

Swan.



"Well, don't frighten her. Don't let he

see that you think anything is wrong—an

don't say anything about us. We made the

mistake of discussing her condition withiher hearing, and it is possible that sh

understood enough of what we wer

saying to take alarm. You understand?

Don't tell girl she's crazy." He tapped hihead to make his meaning plainer. "Don

ell girl we're looking for her. You

understand?"

"Yas, Ay know English pretty good. Ay

don't tell too moch." His cheerful smil

brought a faint response from Senato

Warfield. At Lone he did not look at all. "

go quick. I'm good climber like a sheep,

he boasted, and whistling to Jack, h

began working his way up a rough, brush



scattered ledge to the slope above.

Lone watched him miserably, wishin

hat Swan was not quite so matter of facn his man-chasing. If Al Woodruff, fo

some reason which Lone could not fathom

had taken Lorraine and forced her to g

with him into the wilderness, Warfieldand Hawkins would be his allies th

moment they came up with him. Lone wa

no coward, but neither was he a foo

Hawkins had never distinguished himselas a fighter, but Lone had gleaned here an

here a great deal of information abou

Senator Warfield in the old days when he

had been plain Bill. When Lorraine an

Al were overtaken, then Lone would nee

o show the stuff that was in him. He onl

hoped he would have time, and that luc



would be with him.

"If they get me, it'll be all off with her,

he worried, as he followed the two up thcanyon. "Swan would have been a help

But he thinks more of catching Al than h

does of helping Raine."

He looked up and saw that already Swa

was halfway up the canyon's steep side

making his way through the brush wit

more speed than Lone could have showon foot in the open, unless he ran. Th

sight heartened Lone a little. Swan migh

have some plan of his own,—an ambush

possibly. If he would only keep alon

within rifle shot and remain hidden, h

would show real brains, Lone thought. Bu

Swan, when Lone looked up again, wa



climbing straight away from the littl

searching party; and even though h

seemed tireless on foot, he could no

perform miracles.

Swan, however, was not troublin

himself over what Lone would think, o

even what Warfield was thinkingContrary to Lone's idea of him, Swan wa

ired, and he was thinking a great dea

about Lorraine, and very little about A

Woodruff, except as Al was concernedwith Lorraine's welfare. Swan had made

mistake, and he was humiliated over hi

blunder. Al had kept himself so

successfully in the background whil

Lone's peculiar actions had held hi

attention, that Swan had never considere

Al Woodruff as the killer. Now he blamed



himself for Frank's death. He had bee

watching Lone, had been baffled by Lone'

consistent kindness toward the Quirt, b

he force of his personality which helnone of the elements of cold-bloode

murder. He had believed that he had th

Sawtooth killer under observation, and h

had been watching and waiting foevidence that would impress a grand jury

And all the while he had let Al Woodruf

ride free and unsuspected.

The one stupid thing, in Swan's opinion

which he had not done was to let Lone g

on holding his tongue. He had forced th

ssue that morning. He had wanted to mak

Lone talk, had hoped for a weakening an

a confession. Instead he had learned

good deal which he should have know



before.

As he forged up the slope across th

ridged lip of the canyon, his onmmediate object was speed. Up th

canyon and over the divide on the wes

shoulder of Bear Top was a trail to the

open country beyond. It was perfectlpassable, as Swan knew; he had packed i

by that trail when he located hi

homestead on Bear Top. That is why he

had his cabin up and was living in ibefore the Sawtooth discovered hi

presence.

Al, he believed, was making for Bea

Top Pass. Once down the other side he

would find friends to lend him fres

horses. Swan had learned something o



hese friends of the Sawtooth, and h

could guess pretty accurately how fa

some of them would go in their service

Fresh horses for Al, food—perhaps evea cabin where he could hide Lorrain

away—were to be expected from any on

of them, once Al was over the divide.

Swan glanced up at the sun, saw that i

was dropping to late afternoon and starte

n at a long, loose-jointed trot across th

mountain meadow called Skyline. A fewpines, with scattered clumps of junipe

and fir, dotted the long, irregular stretch o

grassland which formed the meadow

Range cattle were feeding here and there

so wild they lifted heads to stare at th

man and dog, then came trotting forward

heir curiosity unabated by the fact tha



hey had seen these two before.

Jack looked up at his master, looked a

he cattle and took his place at Swan'heels. Swan shouted and flung his arms

and the cattle ducked, turned and gallope

awkwardly away. Swan's trot did no

slacken. His rifle swung rhythmically ihis right hand, the muzzle tilte

downward. Beads of perspiration on hi

forehead had merged into tiny rivulets o

his cheeks and dripped off his clean-linedsquare jaw. Still he ran, his breat

unlaboured yet coming in whisper

aspirations from his great lungs.

The full length of Skyline Meadow h

ran, jumping the small beginning o

Wilder Creek with one great leap tha



scarcely interrupted the beautiful rhyth

of his stride. At the far end of the clearing

snuggled between two great pines tha

reached high into the blue, his squattcabin showed red-brown against th

precipitous shoulder of Bear Top peak

covered thick with brush and scragg

imber whipped incessantly by the winhat blew over the mountain's crest.

At the door Swan stopped and examine

he crude fastening of the door; madhimself certain, by private marks of hi

own, that none had entered in his absence

and went in with a great sigh o

satisfaction. It was still broad daylight

hough the sun's rays slanted in through th

window; but Swan lighted a lantern tha

hung on a nail behind the door, carried i



across the neat little room, and set it dow

on the floor beside the usual pionee

cupboard made simply of clean boxe

nailed bottom against the wall. Swan hafurnished a few extra frills to hi

cupboard, for the ends of the boxes wer

fastened to hewn slabs standing uprigh

and just clearing the floor. Near the uppeshelf a row of nails held Swan's coffe

cups,—four of them, thick and white, suc

as cheap restaurants use.

Swan hooked a finger over the nail tha

held a cracked cup and glanced over hi

shoulder at Jack, sitting in the doorwa

with his keen nose to the world.

"You watch out now, Yack. I shall talk

o my mother with my thoughts," he said



drawing a hand across his forehead an

speaking in breathless gasps. "You

watch."

For answer Jack thumped his tail on th

dirt floor and sniffed the breeze, taking i

his overlapping tongue while he did so

He licked his lips, looked over hishoulder at Swan, and draped his pin

ongue down over his lower jaw again.

"All right, now I talk," said Swan anpulled upon the nail in his fingers.

The cupboard swung toward him bodily

end slabs and all. He picked up thantern, stepped over the log sill an

pulled the cupboard door into place again



Inside the dugout Swan set the lantern o

a table, dropped wearily upon a roug

bench before it and looked at the jar

beside him, lifted his hand and opened compact, but thoroughly efficient fiel

wireless "set." His right fingers droppe

o the key, and the whining drone of th

wireless rose higher and higher as huned up. He reached for his receivers

ducked his head and adjusted them wit

one hand, and sent a call spitting tiny blu

sparks from the key under his fingers.

He waited, repeating the call. His blu

eyes clouded with anxiety and he fumble

he adjustments, coaxing the current int

perfect action before he called again

Answer came, and Swan bent over th

able, listening, his eyes fixed vacantl



upon the opposite wall of the dugou

Then, his fingers flexing delicately

swiftly, he sent the message that told how

completely his big heart matched the bibody:

"Send doctor and trained nurse to Quir

ranch at once. Send men to Bear Top Pass

ntercept man with young woman, or com

o rescue if he don't cross. Have three mehere with evidence to convict if we ca

save the girl who is valuable witness. Gir

being abducted in fear of what she ca

ell. They plan to charge her with insanity

Urgent. Hurry. Come ready to fight.

"S. V."



Swan had a code, but codes require

ittle time in the composition of message, and time was the one thing h

could not waste. He heard the gist of th

message repeated to him, told the man a

he other station that lives were at stakeand threw off the current.

CHAPTER XX

KIDNAPPED



Lorraine had once had a nasty fall fro

riding down hill at a gallop. Sh

remembered that accident and permitte

Snake to descend Granite Ridge at a walkwhich was fortunate, since it gave th

horse a chance to recover a little from th

strain of the terrific pace at which she ha

ridden him that morning. At first it hadbeen fighting fury that had impelled her t

hurry; now it was fear that drove he

homeward where Lone was, and Swan

and that stolid, faithful Jim. She felt tha

Senator Warfield would never dare to

carry out his covert threat, once sh

reached home. Nevertheless, the threahaunted her, made her glance often ove

her shoulder.

At the Thurman ranch, which she wa



passing with a sickening memory of th

night when she and Swan had carried he

father there, Al Woodruff rode ou

suddenly from behind the stable anblocked trail, his six-shooter in his hand

his face stony with determination

Lorraine afterwards decided that he mus

have seen or heard her coming down thridge and had waited for her there. H

smiled with his lips when she pulled up

Snake with a startled look.

"You're in such a hurry this morning tha

thought the only way to get a chance t

alk to you was to hold you up," he said, i

much the same tone he had used that day a

he ranch.

"I don't see why you want to talk to me,



Lorraine retorted, not in the leas

frightened at the gun, which was too muc

ike her movie West to impress her much

But her eyes widened at the look in hiface, and she tried to edge away from hi

without seeming to do so.

Al stopped her by the simple method oreaching out his left hand and catchin

Snake by the cheek-piece of the bridle

"You don't have to see why," he said. "I'v

been thinking a lot about you lately. I'vmade up my mind that I've got to have yo

with me—always. This is kinda sudden

maybe, but that's the way the game runs

sometimes. Now, I want to tell yuh one o

wo things that's for your own good. On

s that I'll have my way, or die getting it

Don't be scared; I won't hurt you. But i



you try to break away, I'll shoot you, that'

all. I'm going to marry you, see, first. The

'll make love to you afterwards. I ain

asking you if you'll marry me. You'regoing to do it, or I'll kill you."

Lorraine gazed at him fascinated, to

astonished to attempt any move towarescape. Al's hand slipped from the bridl

down to the reins, and still holding Snake

still holding the gun muzzle toward her

still looking her straight in the eyes, hhrew his right leg over the cantle of hi

saddle and stepped off his horse.

"Put your other hand on the saddle horn,

he directed. "I ain't going to hurt you i

you're good."



He twitched his neckerchief off—

Lorraine saw that it was untied, and tha

he must have planned all this—and with i

ied her wrists to the saddle horn. Shgave Snake a kick in the ribs, but A

checked the horse's first start and Snak

was too tired to dispute a command t

stand still. Al put up his gun, pulled hunting knife from a little scabbard in hi

boot, sliced two pairs of saddle string

from Lorraine's saddle, calmly caught an

held her foot when she tried to kick him

pushed the foot back into the stirrup an

ied it there with one of the leather strings

Just as if he were engaged in an everydaproceeding, he walked around Snake an

ied Lorraine's right foot; then, to preven

her from foolishly throwing herself fro

he horse and getting hurt, he tied th



stirrups together under the horse's belly.

"Now, if you'll be a good girl, I'll unti

your hands," he said, glancing up into heface. He freed her hands, and Lorrain

mmediately slapped him in the face an

reached for his gun. But Al was too quick

for her. He stepped back, picked upSnake's reins and mounted his own horse

He looked back at her appraisingly, saw

her glare of hatred and grinned at it, whil

he touched his horse with the spurs anrode away, leading Snake behind him.

Lorraine said nothing until Al, riding at

ope, passed the field at the mouth o

Spirit Canyon where the blaze-faced roa

still fed with the others. They wer

feeding along the creek quite close to th



fence, and the roan walked toward them

The sight of it stirred Lorraine out of he

dumb horror.

"You killed Fred Thurman! I saw you,

she cried suddenly.

"Well, you ain't going to holler it alover the country," Al flung back at he

over his shoulder. "When you're married

o me, you'll come mighty close to keepin

your mouth shut about it."

"I'll never marry you! You—you fiend

Do you think I'd marry a cold-bloode

murderer like you?"

Al turned in the saddle and looked at he

ntently. "If I'm all that," he told he



coolly, "you can figure out about what'l

happen to you if you don't marry me. I

you saw what I done to Fred Thurman

what do you reckon I'd do to you?" Hooked at her for a minute, shrugged hi

shoulders and rode on, crossing the cree

and taking a trail which Lorraine di

know. Much of the time they travelled ihe water, though it slowed their space

Where the trail was rocky, they took it and

made better time.

Snake lagged a little on the upgrades, bu

he was well trained to lead and gave littl

rouble. Lorraine thought longingly o

Yellowjacket and his stubbornness and

ried to devise some way of escape. Sh

could not believe that fate would permi

Al Woodruff to carry out such a plan



Lone would overtake them, perhaps,—an

hen she remembered that Lone woul

have no means of knowing which way sh

had gone. If Hawkins and SenatoWarfield came after them, her pligh

would be worse than ever. Still, sh

decided that she must risk that danger an

give Lone a clue.

She dropped a glove beside the trai

where it lay in plain sight of any on

following them. But presently Al lookedover his shoulder, saw that one of he

hands was bare, and tied Snake's reins t

his saddle and his own horse to a bush

Then he went back down the trail until h

found the glove. He put it into his pocket

came silently up to Lorraine and pulled of

her other glove. Without a word he too



her wrists in a firm clasp, tied the

ogether again to the saddle horn, pulle

off her tie, her hat, the pins from her hair.

"I guess you don't know me yet," h

remarked dryly, when he had confiscated

every small article which she could le

fall as she rode. "I was trying to treat yuwhite, but you don't seem to appreciate it

ow you can ride hobbled, young lady."

"Oh, I could kill you!" Lorrainwhispered between set teeth.

"You mean you'd like to. Well, I ain'

going to give you a chance." His eyerested on her face with a new expression

an awakening desire for her, a

admiration for the spirit that would not le



her weep and plead with him.

"Say! you ain't going to be a bit hard t

marry," he observed, his eyes lightinwith what was probably his neares

approach to tenderness. "I kinda wish yo

iked me, now I've got you."

He shook her arm and laughed when sh

urned her face away from him, the

remounted his horse, Snake move

reluctantly when Al started on. Lorrainfelt hope slipping from her. With he

hands tied, she could do nothing at al

save sit there and ride wherever A

Woodruff chose to lead her horse. He

seemed to be making for the head of Spiri

Canyon, on the side toward Bear Top.



As they climbed higher, she could catc

glimpses of the road down which he

father had driven almost to his death. Sh

studied Al's back as he rode before heand wondered if he could really be cold

blooded enough to kill withou

compunction whoever he was told to kil

whether he had any personal quarrel withis victim or not. Certainly he had had n

quarrel with her father, or with Frank.

It was long past noon, and she waerribly hungry and very thirsty, but sh

would not tell Al her wants if she starved

She tried to guess at his plans and at hi

motive for taking her away like this. H

had no camping outfit, a bulkily rolle

slicker forming his only burden. He coul

not, then, be planning to take her muc



farther into the wilderness; yet if he di

not hide her away, how could he expect to

keep her? His motive for marrying he

was rather mystifying. He did not seesufficiently in love with her to warrant a

abduction, and he was too cool for such

headlong action, unless driven b

necessity. She wondered what he wahinking about as he rode. Not about her

she guessed, except when some bad plac

n the trail made it necessary for him t

stop, tie Snake to the nearest bush, lea

his own horse past the obstruction an

come back after her. Several times thi

was necessary. Once he took the time toexamine the thongs on her ankles

apparently wishing to make sure that sh

was not uncomfortable. Once he looked up

nto her sullenly distressed face and said



"Tired?" in a humanly sympathetic ton

hat made her blink back the tears. Sh

shook her head and would not look at him

Al regarded her in silence for a minuteed Snake to his own horse, mounted an

rode on.

He was a murderer; he had undoubtedlkilled many men. He would kill her if sh

attempted to escape—"and he could no

catch me," Lorraine was just enough t

add. Yet she felt baffled; cheated of thefull horror of being kidnapped.

She had no knowledge of a bad man wh

was human in spots without bein

repentant. For love of a girl, she had bee

aught to believe, the worst outlaw woul

weep over his past misdeeds, straighte



his shoulders, look to heaven for help an

become a self-sacrificing hero for who

audiences might be counted upon to she

furtive tears.

Al Woodruff, however, did not love her

His eyes had once or twice softened t

friendliness, but love was not thereeither was repentance there. He seeme

quite satisfied with himself, quite ready t

commit further crimes for sake of his ow

safety or desire. He was hard, shdecided, but he was not unnecessaril

harsh; cruel, without being wantonl

brutal. He was, in short, the strangest ma

she had ever seen.



CHAPTER XXI

"OH, I COULD KILL YOU!"

Before sundown they reached thimber-land on Bear Top. The horse

slipped on the pine needles when Al lef

he trail and rode up a gentle inclin

where the trees grew large and there waittle underbrush. It was very beautifu

with the slanting sun-rays painting broa

yellow bars across the gloom of the forest

n a little while they reached the crest o

hat slope, and Lorraine, looking back

could only guess at where the trail woun

on among the trees lower down.



Birds called companionably from th

high branches above them. A nesting

grouse flew chuttering out from under

uniper bush, alighted a short distancaway and went limping and dragging on

wing before them, cheeping piteously.

While Lorraine was wondering if thpoor thing had hurt a leg in lighting, A

clipped its head off neatly with a bulle

from his six-shooter, though Lorraine had

not seen him pull the gun and did not knowhe meant to shoot. The bird's mate whirre

up and away through the trees, an

Lorraine was glad that it had escaped.

Al slid the gun back into his holster

eaned from his saddle and picked up th

dead grouse as unconcernedly as he woul



have dismounted, pulled his knife from hi

boot and drew the bird neatly, flinging th

crop and entrails from him.

"Them juniper berries tastes the meat i

you don't clean 'em out right away," h

remarked casually to Lorraine, as h

wiped the knife on his trousers and thrust back into the boot-scabbard before h

ied the grouse to the saddle by its blue

scaley little feet.

When he was ready to go on, Snak

refused to budge. Tough as he was, he had

at last reached the limit of his energy an

ambition. Al yanked hard on the bridl

reins, then rode back and struck hi

sharply with his quirt before Snake woul

rouse himself enough to move forward. H



went stiffly, reluctantly, pulling back unti

his head was held straight out before him

Al dragged him so for a rod or two, los

patience and returned to whip hiforward again.

"What a brute you are!" Lorrain

exclaimed indignantly. "Can't you see howired he is?"

Al glanced at her from under hi

eyebrows. "He's all in, but he's got tmake it," he said. "I've been that wa

myself—and made it. What I can do,

horse can do. Come on, you yella-livere

bonehead!"

Snake went on, urged now and then b

Al's quirt. Every blow made Lorrain



wince, and she made the wincing perfectl

apparent to Al, in the hope that he would

ake some notice of it and give her

chance to tell him what she thought of hiwithout opening the conversation herself.

But Al did not say anything. When th

ime came—as even Lorraine saw that imust—when Snake refused to attempt

steep slope, Al still said nothing. H

untied her ankles from the stirrups and he

hands from the saddle horn, carried her ihis arms to his own horse and compelle

her to mount. Then he retied her exactly a

she had been tied on Snake.

"Skinner knows this trail," he tol

Lorraine. "And I'm behind yuh with a gun

Don't forget that, Miss Spitfire. You le



Skinner go to suit himself—and if he goe

wrong, you pay, because it'll be yo

reining him wrong. Get along there

Skinner!"

Skinner got along in a businesslike wa

hat told why Al Woodruff had chosen to

ride him on this trip. He seemed to be perfectly dependable saddle horse for

bandit to own. He wound in and ou

among the trees and boulders, steppin

carefully over fallen logs; he thrust hinose out straight and laid back his ear

and pushed his way through thickets o

young pines; he went circumspectly alon

he edge of a deep gulch, climbed over

ridge and worked his way down th

precipitous slope on the farther side, mad

his way around a thick clump of spruce



and stopped in a little, grassy glade n

bigger than a city lot, but with a sprin

gurgling somewhere near. Then he swun

his head around and looked over hishoulder inquiringly at Al, who wa

coming behind, leading Snake.

Lorraine looked at him also, but Al didnot say anything to her or to the horse. H

et them stand there and wait while h

unsaddled Snake, put a drag rope on hi

and led him to the best grazing. Thencoming back, he very matter-of-factl

untied Lorraine and helped her off th

horse. Lorraine was all prepared to fight

but she did not quite know how to struggl

with a man who did not take hold of her o

ouch her, except to steady her i

dismounting. Unconsciously she waite



for a cue, and the cue was not given.

Al's mind seemed intent upon makin

Skinner comfortable. Still, he kept an eyon Lorraine, and he did not turn his bac

o her. Lorraine looked over to wher

Snake, too exhausted to eat, stood wit

drooping head and all four legs braceike sticks under him. It flashed across he

mind that not even her old director woul

order her to make a run for that horse an

ry to get away on him. Snake looked as ihe would never move from that positio

until he toppled over.

Al pulled the bridle off Skinner, gav

him a half-affectionate slap on the rump

and watched him go off, switching his tai

and nosing the ground for a likeable plac



o roll. Al's glance went on to Snake, and

from him to Lorraine.

"You sure do know how to ride hell ouof a horse," he remarked. "Now he'll b

stiff and sore to-morrow—and we've go

quite a ride to make."

His tone of disapproval sent a guilt

feeling through Lorraine, until sh

remembered that a slow horse might sav

her from this man who was all bad,—except, perhaps, just on the surface whic

was not altogether repellent. She looke

around at the tiny basin set like a sauce

among the pines. Already the dusk wa

painting deep shadows in the wood

across the opening, and turning the sky

darker blue. Skinner rolled over twice



got up and shook himself with a satisfie

snort and went away to feed. She might, i

she were patient, run to the horse whe

Al's back was turned, she thought. Once ihe woods she might have some chance o

eluding him, and perhaps Skinner woul

show as much wisdom going as he had i

coming, and take her down to thsageland.

But Skinner walked to the farther edge o

he meadow before he stopped, and AWoodruff never turned his back to a foe

An owl hooted unexpectedly, and Lorrain

edged closer to her captor, who wa

gathering dead branches one by one an

hrowing them toward a certain spo

which he had evidently selected for

campfire. He looked at her keenly, eve



suspiciously, and pointed with the stick i

his left hand.

"You might go over there by the saddleand set down till I get a fire going," h

said. "Don't go wandering around aimless

ike a hen turkey, watching a chance to

duck into the brush. There's bear in therand lion and lynx, and I'd hate to see yo

chawed. They never clean their toe-nails

and blood poison generally sets in wher

hey leave a scratch. Go and set down."

Lorraine did not know how much of hi

alk was truth, but she went and sat dow

by his saddle and began braiding her hai

n two tight braids like a squaw. If she did

get a chance to run, she thought, she di

not want her hair flying loose to catch o



bushes and briars. She had once fle

hrough a brush patch in Griffith Park wit

her hair flowing loose, and she had no

iked the experience, though it had lookevery nice on the screen.

Before she had finished the braiding, A

came over to the saddle and untied hislicker roll and the grouse.

"Come on over to the fire," he said. "I'l

earn yuh a trick or two about campcooking. If I'm goin' to keep yuh with me

you might just as well learn how to cook

We'll be on the trail the biggest part of ou

ime, I expect."

He took her by the arm, just as any ma

might have done, and led her to the fir



hat was beginning to crackle cheerfully

He set her down on the side where th

smoke would be least likely to blow he

way and proceeded to dress the grousestripping off skin and feathers together. H

unrolled the slicker and laid out a piece o

bacon, a package of coffee, a smal

coffeepot, bannock and salt. The coffeepoand the grouse he took in one hand—hi

eft, Lorraine observed—and starte

oward the spring which she could hea

gurgling in the shadows amongst the trees

Lorraine watched him sidelong. H

seemed to take it for granted now that sh

would stay where she was. The wood

were dark, the firelight and the warmt

enticed her. The sight of the suppe

preparations made her hungrier than sh



had ever been in her life before. When on

has breakfasted on one cup of coffee a

dawn and has ridden all day with nothin

o eat, running away from food, evehough that food is in the hands of one'

captor, requires courage. Lorraine wa

erribly tempted to stay, at least until sh

had eaten. But Al might not give heanother chance like this. She crept on he

knees to the slicker and seized one piec

of bannock, crawled out of the fireligh

stealthily, then sprang to her feet and

began running straight across the meadow

oward Skinner.

Twenty yards she covered when a bulle

sang over her head. Lorraine ducked

stumbled and fell head-first over

hummock, not quite sure that she had no



been shot.

"Thought maybe I could trust yuh to pla

square," Al said disgustedly, pulling heo her feet, the gun still smoking in hi

hands. "You little fool, what do you think

you'd do in these hills alone? You sure

enough belittle me, if you think you'd hava chance in a million of getting away fro

me!"

She fought him, then, with a great, innerelief that the situation was at las

swinging around to a normal kidnapping

Still, Al Woodruff seemed unable to play

his part realistically. He failed to fill he

with fear and repulsion. She had to thin

back, to remember that he had killed men

n order to realise her own danger. Now



for instance, he merely forced her back t

he campfire, pulled the saddle string

from his pocket and tied her feet together

using a complicated knot which he tolher she might work on all she dar

pleased, for all he cared. Then he wen

calmly to work cooking their supper.

This was simple. He divided the grous

so that one part had the meaty breast an

egs, and the other the back and wings

The meaty part he larded neatly witstrips of bacon, using his hunting knife,—

which Lorraine watched fascinatedly

wondering if it had ever taken the life of

man. He skewered the meat on a green

forked stick and gave it to her to broil fo

herself over the hottest coals of the fire

while he made the coffee and prepared hi



own portion of the grouse.

Lorraine was hungry. She broiled th

grouse carefully and ate it, with thexception of one leg, which she surprise

herself by offering to Al, who was pickin

he bones of his own share down to th

ast shred of meat. She drank a cup ocoffee, black, and returned the cup to th

killer, who unconcernedly drank from i

without any previous rinsing. She at

bannock with her meat and secretlhought what an adventure it would be i

only it were not real,—if only she wer

not threatened with a forced marriage t

his man. The primitive camp appealed t

her; she who had prided herself upo

being an outdoor girl saw how she ha

always played at being primitive. Thi



was real. She would have loved it if onl

he man opposite were Lone, or Swan, o

some one else whom she knew an

rusted.

She watched the firelight dancing on Al'

sombre face, softening its hardness

making it almost wistful when he gazehoughtfully into the coals. She thrille

when she saw how watchful he was, how

he lifted his head and listened to ever

ittle night sound. She was afraid of him ashe feared the lightning; she feared hi

pitiless attitude toward human life. Sh

would find some way to outwit him whe

t came to the point of marrying him, sh

hought. She would escape him if sh

could without too great a risk of bein

shot. She felt absolutely certain that h



would shoot her with as little compunctio

as he would marry her by force,—and i

seemed to Lorraine that he would no

greatly care which he did.

"I guess you're tired," Al said suddenly

rousing himself from deep study an

ooking at her imperturbably. "I'll fix yuso you can sleep—and that's about all yu

can do."

He went over to his saddle, took thblanket and unfolded it until Lorraine saw

hat it was a full-size bed blanket of heav

gray wool. The man's ingenuity seeme

endless. Without seeming to have an

extra luggage, he had nevertheless carrie

a very efficient camp outfit with him. H

ook his hunting knife, went to the spruc



grove and cut many small, green branches

returning with all he could hold in hi

arms. She watched him lay them tips up

for a mattress, and was secretly glad thashe knew this much at least of cam

comfort. He spread the blanket over the

and then, without a word, came over t

her and untied her feet.

"Go and lay down on the blanket," h

commanded.

"I'll do nothing of the kind!" Lorraine se

her mouth stubbornly.

"Well, then I'll have to lay you down,said Al, lifting her to her feet. "If you ge

balky, I'm liable to get rough."



Lorraine drew away from him as far a

she could and looked at him for a ful

minute. Al stared back into her eyes. "Oh

could kill you!" cried Lorraine for thsecond time that day and threw hersel

down on the bed, sobbing like an angr

child.

Al said nothing. The man's capacity fo

keeping still was amazing. He knelt besid

her, folded the blanket over her from th

wo sides, and tied the corners around heneck snugly, the knot at the back. In th

same way he tied her ankles. Lorrain

found herself in a sleeping bag from whic

she had small hope of extricating herself

He took his coat, folded it compactly an

pushed it under her head for a pillow; the

he brought her own saddle blanket an



spread it over her for extra warmth.

"Now stop your bawling and go t

sleep," he advised her calmly. "You ain'hurt, and you ain't going to be as long a

you gentle down and behave yourself."

She saw him draw the slicker over hishoulders and move back where th

shadows were deep and she could not se

him. She heard some animal squall in th

woods behind them. She looked up at thstars,—millions of them, and brighter tha

she had ever seen them before. Insensibl

she quieted, watching the stars, listenin

o the night noises, catching now and the

a whiff of smoke from Al Woodruff'

cigarette. Before she knew that she wa

sleepy, she slept.



CHAPTER XXII

"YACK, I LICK YOU GOOD IF YOUBARK"

Swan cooked himself a hasty meal whil

he studied the various possibilities of thcase and waited for further word fro

headquarters. He wanted to be sure tha

help had started and to be able to estimat

within an hour or two the probable time o

ts arrival, before he left the wireless

Jack he fed and left on watch outside th

cabin, so that he could without risk kee



open the door to the dugout.

His instrument was not a large one, an

he dugout door was thick,—as precaution against discovery if he shoul

be called when some visitor chanced to b

n the cabin. Not often did a man ride tha

way, though occasionally some onstopped for a meal if he knew that th

cabin was there and had ever taste

Swan's sour-dough biscuits. His aeria

was cleverly camouflaged between thwo pine trees, and he had no fear o

discovery there; Jack was a faithfu

guardian and would give warning if an

one approached the place. Swan coul

herefore give his whole attention to th

business at hand.



He was not yet supplied with evidenc

enough to warrant arresting Warfield and

Hawkins, but he hoped to get it when th

real crisis came. They could not havknown of Al Woodruff's intention

owards Lorraine, else they would hav

kept themselves in the background an

would not have risked the failure of theiown plan.

On the other hand, Al must have bee

wholly ignorant of Warfield's scheme tory and prove Lorraine crazy. It looked to

Swan very much like a muddling of th

Sawtooth affairs through over-anxiety t

avoid trouble. They were afraid of wha

Lorraine knew. They wanted to eliminat

her, and they had made the blunder o

working independently to that end.



Lone's anxiety he did not even consider

He believed that Lone would be equal t

any immediate emergency and would d

whatever the circumstances seemed trequire of him. Warfield counted him a

Sawtooth man. Al Woodruff, if the fou

men met unexpectedly, would also take i

for granted that he was one of them. Thewould probably talk to Lone withou

reserve,—Swan counted on that. Whereas

f he were present, they would be on thei

guard, at least.

Swan's plan was to wait at the cabi

until he knew that deputies were heade

oward the Pass. Then, with Jack, it woul

be a simple matter to follow Warfield to

where he overtook Al,—supposing he did

overtake him. If he did not, then Swa



meant to be present when the meetin

occurred. The dog would trail A

anywhere, since the scent would be les

han twenty-four hours old. Swan woulocate Warfield and lead him straight to

Al Woodruff, and then make his arrests

But he wanted to have the deputies there.

At dusk he got his call. He learned tha

four picked men had started for the Pass

and that they would reach the divide b

daybreak. Others were on their way tntercept Al Woodruff if he crossed

before then.

It was all that Swan could have hope

for,—more than he had dared to expect on

such short notice. He notified the operato

hat he would not be there to receiv



anything else, until he returned to repor

hat he had got his men.

"Don't count your chickens till they'rhatched," came facetiously out of the blue

"By golly, I can hear them holler in th

shell," Swan sent back, grinning to himselas he rattled the key. "That irrigation graf

s killed now. You tell the boss Swan says

so. He's right. The way to catch a fox is t

watch his den."

He switched off the current, closed th

case and went out, making sure that th

cupboard-camouflaged door lookeperfectly innocent on the outside. With

bannock stuffed into one pocket, a chun

of bacon in the other, he left the cabin and



swung off again in that long, tireless strid

of his, Jack following contentedly at hi

heels.

At the farther end of Skyline Meadow h

stopped, took a tough leather leash fro

his pocket and fastened it to Jack's collar.

"We don't go running to paw nobody'

stomach and say, 'Wow-wow! Here we

are back again!'" he told the dog, pullin

ts ears affectionately. "Maybe we get shoor something like that. We trail, and we

keep our mouth still, Yack. One bark, and

lick you good!"

Jack flashed out a pink tongue and licke

his master's chin to show how little h

was worried over the threat, and wen



racing along at the end of the leash, takin

Swan's trail and his own back to wher

hey had climbed out of the canyon.

At the bottom Swan spoke to the dog i

an undertone, and Jack obediently starte

up the canyon on the trail of the fiv

horses who had passed that way sincnoon. It was starlight now, and Swan did

not hurry. He was taking it for granted tha

Warfield and Hawkins would stop when i

became too dark to follow the hoofprintsand without Jack to show them the wa

hey would perforce remain where the

were until daybreak.

They would do that, he reasoned, if the

were sincere in wanting to overtak

Lorraine and in their ignorance that the



were also following Al Woodruff. And try

as he would, he could not see the object o

so foolish a plan as this abduction carrie

out in collusion with two men of unknowsentiments in the party. They had show

no suspicion of Al's part in the affair, and

Swan grinned when he thought of th

mutual surprise when they met.

He was not disappointed. They reache

imber line, following the seldom use

rail that wound over the divide to BeaTop Pass and so, by a difficult route

which he did not believe Al would

attempt after dark, to the country beyon

he mountain. Where dark overtook them

hey stopped in a sheltered nook to wait

ust as Swan had expected they would

They were close to the trail, where no on



could pass without their knowledge.

In the belief that it was only Lorrain

hey were following, and that she woulbe frightened and would come to the chee

of a campfire, they had a fine, invitin

blaze. Swan made his way as close as h

dared, without being discovered, and sadown to wait. He could see nothing of th

men until Lone appeared and fed th

flames more wood, and sat down wher

he light shone on his face. Swan grinneagain. Warfield had probably decided tha

Lorraine would be less afraid of Lon

han of them and had ordered him into th

firelight as a sort of decoy. And Lone

knowing that Al Woodruff might be within

shooting distance, was probably muc

more uncomfortable than he looked.



He sat with his legs crossed in tru

range fashion and stared into the fir

while he smoked. He was a fair mark fo

an enemy who might be lurking out thern the dark, but he gave no sign that h

realised the danger of his position

either did he wear any air of expectancy

Warfield and Hawkins might wait andisten and hope that Lorraine, wide-eye

and weary, would steal up to the warmth

of the fire; but not Lone.

Swan, sitting on a rotting log, becam

uneasy at the fine target which Lone mad

by the fire, and drew Al Woodruff's blue

bandanna from his pocket. He held it t

Jack's nose and whispered, "You find him

Yack—and I lick you good if you bark.

Jack sniffed, dropped his nose to th



ground and began tugging at the leash

Swan got up and, moving stealthily

followed the dog.

CHAPTER XXIII

"I COULDA LOVED THIS LITTLEGIRL"

A chill wind that hurried over Bear Top

ahead of the dawn brought Swan and Jacclattering up the trail that dipped int

Spirit Canyon. Warfield rose stiffly from

he one-sided warmth of the fire an



walked a few paces to meet him

shrugging his wide shoulders at the col

and rubbing his thigh muscles tha

protested against movement. Much ridinupon upholstered cushions had not helpe

Senator Warfield to retain the tough

muscles of hard-riding Bill Warfield. The

Senator was saddle-sore as well ahungry, and his temper showed in hi

blood-shot eyes. He would hav

quarrelled with his best-loved woman tha

morning, and he began on Swan.

Why hadn't he come back down the gulc

yesterday and helped track the girl, as h

was told to do? (The senator had quit

unpleasant opinions of Swedes, and craz

women, and dogs that were never aroun

when they were wanted, and he expresse



hem fluently.)

Swan explained with a great deal o

abour that he had not thought he wawanted, and that he had to sleep on hi

claim sometimes or the law would take i

from him, maybe. Also he virtuousl

pointed out that he had come with Yackbefore daylight to the canyon to see if the

had found Miss Hunter and gone home, o

f they were still hunting for her.

"If you like to find that jong lady, I pu

Yack on the trail quick," he offered

placatingly. "I bet you Yack finds her in

one-half an hour."

With much unnecessary language

Senator Warfield told him to get to work



and the three tightened cinches, mounte

heir horses and prepared to follow

Swan's lead. Swan watched his chanc

and gave Lone a chunk of bannock as substitute for breakfast, and Lone, I ma

add, dropped behind his companions an

ate every crumb of it, in spite of his worr

over Lorraine.

Indeed, Swan eased that worry too

when they were climbing the pine slop

where Al had killed the grouse. Lone hadforged ahead on John Doe, and Swa

stopped suddenly, pointing to the spo

where a few bloody feathers and a boot

print showed. The other evidence Jac

had eaten in the night.

"Raine's all right, Lone. Got me



coming. Keep your gun handy," h

murmured and turned away as the other

rode up, eager for whatever news Swa

had to offer.

"Something killed a bird," Swa

explained politely, planting one of hi

own big feet over the track, which did non the least resemble Lorraine's. "Yack

you find that jong lady quick!"

From there on Swan walked carefullyputting his foot wherever a print of Al'

boot was visible. Since he was muc

bigger than Al, with a correspondingl

onger stride, his gait puzzled Lone unti

he saw just what Swan was doing. The

his eyes lightened with amuse

appreciation of the Swede's cunning.



"We ought to have some hot drink, o

whisky when we find that girl," Hawkin

muttered unexpectedly, riding up besid

Lone as they crossed an open space"She'll be half-dead with cold—if we fin

her alive."

Before Lone could answer, Swan lookedback at the two and raised his hand fo

hem to stop.

"Better if you leave the horses here," hsuggested. "From Yack I know we ge

close pretty quick. That jong lady's hors

maybe smells these horse and makes

noise, and crazy folks run from noise."

Without objection the three dismounted

and tied their horses securely to trees



Then, with Swan and Jack leading th

way, they climbed over the ridge and

descended into the hollow by way of th

edge which Skinner had negotiated scarefully the night before. Without the do

hey never would have guessed that an

one had passed this way, but as it wa

hey made good progress and reached thnearest edge of the spruce thicket just a

he sun was making ready to push up ove

he skyline.

Jack stopped and looked up at his maste

nquiringly, lifting his lip at the sides and

showing his teeth. But he made no sound

nor did Swan, when he dropped hi

fingers to the dog's head and patted hi

approvingly.



They heard a horse sneeze, beyond th

spruce grove, and Warfield stepped

forward authoritatively, waving Swa

back. This, his manner said plainly, wafirst and foremost his affair, and from now

on he would take charge of the situation

At his heels went Hawkins, and Swan sen

an oblique glance of satisfaction towarLone, who answered it with his half

smile. Swan himself could not hav

planned the approach more to his liking.

The smell of bacon cooking watere

heir mouths and made Warfield and

Hawkins look at one another inquiringly

Crazy young women would hardly b

expected to carry a camping outfit. Bu

Swan and Lone were treading close o

heir heels, and their own curiosity pulle



hem forward. They went carefully aroun

he thicket, guided by the pungent odour o

burning pine wood, and halted so abruptl

hat Swan and Lone bumped into thefrom behind. A man had risen up from the

campfire and faced them, his hands risin

slowly, palms outward.

"Warfield, by——!" Al blurted in hi

outraged astonishment. "Trailing me wit

a bunch, are yuh? I knew you'd double

cross your own father—but I never thoughyou had it in you to do it in the open

Damn yuh, what d'yuh want that yo

expect to get?"

Warfield stared at him, slack-jawed. He

glanced furtively behind him at Swan, an

found that guileless youth ready to pok



him in the back with the muzzle of a gun

Lone, he observed, had another. H

ooked back at Al, whose eyes wer

ablaze with resentment. With an effort hsmiled his disarming, senatorial smile, bu

Al's next words froze it on his face.

"I think I know the play you're makingbut it won't get you anything, Bil

Warfield. You think I slipped up—and

you told me not to let my foot slip; sai

you'd hate to lose me. Well, you're the onehat slipped, you damned, rotten coward.

was watching out for leaks. I stopped two

and this one——"

He glanced down at Lorraine, who sa

beside the fire, a blanket tied tightl

around her waist and her ankles, so that



"Hawkins knows that's a fact. He'

foreman of the Sawtooth, and he know

he agreement. I've got to say for Hawkin

hat aside from stealing cattle off thnesters and helping make evidence agains

some that's in jail, Hawkins never don

any dirty work. He didn't have to. The

paid me for that end of the business.

"I killed Fred Thurman—this girl, here

saw me shoot him. And it was when I told

Warfield I was afraid she might set folkalking that he began to get cold feet. Up t

hen everything was lovely, but Warfield

began to crawfish a little. We figured— w

figured, emphasise the we, folks,—that th

Quirt would have to be put outa business

We knew if the girl told Brit and Frank

hey'd maybe get the nerve to try and pi



something on us. We've stole 'em blind fo

years, and they wouldn't cry if we go

hung. Besides, they was friendly wit

Fred.

"The girl and the Swede got in the wa

when I tried to bump Brit off. I'd hav

gone into the canyon and finished him wita rock, but they beat me to it. The gir

herself I couldn't get at very well an

make it look accidental—and anyway,

never did kill a woman, and I'd hate it likhell. I figured if her dad got killed, she'

eave.

"And let me tell you, folks, Warfield

raised hell with me because Brit Hunte

wasn't killed when he pitched over th

grade. He held out on me for that job—s



'm collecting five hundred dollars' wort

of fun right now. He did say he'd pay m

after Brit was dead, but it looks like he'

going to pull through, so I ain't countinmuch on getting my money outa Warfield.

"Frank I got, and made a clean job of i

And yesterday morning the girl played intmy hands. She rode over to the Sawtooth

and I got her at Thurman's place, on he

way home, and figured I'd marry her an

ake a chance on keeping her quieafterwards. I'd have been down the Pas

n another two hours and heading for th

nearest county seat. She'd have marrie

me, too. She knows I'd have killed her i

she didn't—which I would. I've bee

square with her—she'll tell you that. I tol

her, when I took her, just what I was going



o do with her. So that's all straight. She'

been scared, I guess, but she ain't gon

hungry, and she ain't suffered, except i

her mind. I don't fight women, and I'll saright now, to her and to you, that I've go

all the respect in the world for this littl

girl, and if I'd married her I'd have been a

good to her as I know how, and as she'det me be.

"Now I want to tell you folks a few mor

hings about Bill Warfield. If you want tostop the damnest steal in the country, tie

can onto that irrigation scheme of his. He'

out to hold up the State for all he can get

and bleed the poor devils of farmer

white, that buys land under that canal. I

may look good, but it ain't good—not by

damn sight.



"Yuh know what he's figuring on doing?

Get water in the canal, sell land under

contract that lets him out if the ditc

breaks, or something so he can't supplwater at any time. And when them poo

suckers gets their crops all in, and at th

point where they've got to have water o

ose out, something'll happen to thsupply. Folks, I know! I'm a reliable man

and I've rode with a rope around my nec

for over five years, and Warfield offered

me the same old five hundred every time

monkeyed with the water supply a

ordered. He'd have done it slick; don

worry none about that. The biggest band ohieves he could get together is tha

company. So if you folks have got an

sense, you'll bust it up right now.



"Bill Warfield, what I've got to say to

you won't take long. You thought you'd

make a grand-stand play with the law, and

at the same time put me outa the way. Youfigured I'd resist arrest, and you'd have

chance to shoot me down. I know you

rotten mind better than you do. You

wanted to bump me off, but you wanted tdo it in a way that'd put you in right wit

he public. Killing me for kidnapping thi

girl would sound damn romantic in th

newspapers, and it wouldn't have a thin

o do with Thurman or Frank Johnson, o

any of the rest that I've sent over the trai

for you.

"Right now you're figuring how you'l

get around this bawling-out I'm giving you

There's nobody to take down what I say



and I'm just a mean, ornery outlaw an

killer, talking for spite. With your pull you

expect to get this smoothed over an

hushed up, and have me at a hanging beeand everything all right for Bill! Wel

——"

His eyes left Warfield's face and wenbeyond the staring group. His fac

darkened, a sneer twisted his lips.

"Who're them others?" he cried harshly"Was you afraid four wouldn't be enough

o take me?"

The four turned heads to look. BilWarfield never looked back, for Al's gun

spoke, and Warfield sagged at the knee

and the shoulders, and he slumped to th



ground at the instant when Al's gun spok

again.

"That's for you, Lone Morgan," Al criedas he fired again. "She talked about you i

her sleep last night. She called you Loney

and she wanted you to come and get her.

was going to kill you first chance I got. coulda loved this little girl. I—coul

——"

He was down, bleeding and coughinand trying to talk. Swan had shot him, an

wo of the deputies who had been ther

hrough half of Al's bitter talk. Lorraine

unable to get up and run, too sturdy of sou

o faint, had rolled over and away fro

him, her lips held tightly together, her eye

wide with horror. Al crawled after her



his eyes pleading.

"Little Spitfire—I shot your Loney—bu

'd have been good to you, girl. I watcheyuh all night—and I couldn't help lovin

yuh. I—couldn't——" That was al

Within three feet of her, his face toward

her and his eyes agonising to meet hers, hdied.

CHAPTER XXIV

ANOTHER STORY BEGINS



This chapter is very much like a preface

t is not absolutely necessary, althoug

many persons will read it and a few wil

be glad that it was written.

The story itself is ended. To go on

would be to begin another story; to tell o

he building up of the Quirt outfit, witLone and Lone's savings playing a ver

mportant part, and with Brit a semi

nvalided, retired stockman who smoke

his pipe and told the young couple whahey should do and how they should do it.

Frank he mourned for and seldo

mentioned. The Sawtooth, under th

management of a greatly chastened youn

Bob Warfield, was slowly winning it

way back to the respect of its neighbours.



For certain personal reasons there wa

no real neighbourliness between the Quir

and the Sawtooth. There could not be, s

ong as Brit's memory remained clear, andBob was every day reminded of th

crimes his father had paid a man t

commit. Moreover, Southerners ar

ealous of their women,—it is theiespecial prerogative. And Lone suspected

hat, given the opportunity, Bob Warfield

would have fallen in love with Lorraine

ndeed, he suspected that any man in th

country would have done that. A

Woodruff had, and he was noted for hi

ndifference to women and his implacablhardness toward men.

But you are not to accuse Lone of bein

a jealous husband. He was not, and I a



merely pointing out the fact that he migh

have been, had he been given any cause.

Oh, by the way, Swan "proved up" asoon as possible on his homestead an

sold out to the Quirt. Lone managed to bu

he Thurman ranch also, and the TJ up

and-down is on its feet again as a cattlranch. Sorry and Jim will ride for th

Quirt, I suppose, as long as they can craw

nto a saddle, but there are younger me

now to ride the Skyline Meadow range.

Some one asked about Yellowjacket

having, I suppose, a sneaking regard fo

his infirmities. He hasn't been peeled ye

—or he hadn't, the last I heard of him

Lone and Lorraine told me they wer

rying to save him for the "Little Feller" t



practise on when he is able to sit u

without a cushion behind his back, and t

hold something besides a rubber rattle

And—oh, do you know how Lone ieaching the Little Feller to sit up on th

floor? He took a horse collar an

scrubbed it until he nearly wore out th

eather. Then he brought it to the cabin, put on the floor and set the Little Felle

nside it.

They sent me a snap-shot of the eventbut it is not very good. The film wa

under-exposed, and nothing was to b

seen of the Little Feller except a hazy spo

which I judged was a hand, holding

black object I guessed was the ridgy

rubber rattle with the whistle gone out o

he end,—down the Little Feller's throat



hey are afraid. And there was his smile

and a glimpse of his eyes.

Aren't you envious as sin, and glahey're so happy?

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook o

Sawtooth Ranch, by B. M. Bower

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