ed an intersecting path and suddenly halted stock-still,
pointing at a big track in the dust.

"My God! ... Bostil, look at thet!"

One riving pang tore through Bostil--and then he was suddenly his old
self, facing the truth of danger to one he loved. He saw beside the big
track a faint imprint of Lucy's small foot. That was the last sign of
her progress and it told a story.

"Bostil, thet ain't Slone's track," said Holley, ringingly.

"Sure it ain't. Thet's the track of a big man," replied Bostil.

The other riders, circling round with bent heads, all said one way or
another that Slone could not have made the trail.

"An' whoever he was grabbed Lucy up--made off with her?" asked Bostil.

"Plain as if we seen it done!" exclaimed Holley. There was fire in the
clear, hawk eyes.

"Cordts!" cried Bostil, hoarsely.

"Mebbe--mebbe. But thet ain't my idee.... Come on."

Holley went so fast he almost ran, and he got ahead of Bostil. Finally
several hundred yards out in the sage he halted, and again dropped to
his knees. Bostil and the riders hurried on.

"Keep back; don't stamp round so close," ordered Holley. Then like a
man searching for lost gold in sand and grass he searched the ground.
To Bostil it seemed a long time before he got through. When he arose
there was a dark and deadly certainty in his face, by which Bostil knew
the worst had befallen Lucy.

"Four mustangs an' two men last night," said Holley, rapidly. "Here's
where Lucy was set down on her feet. Here's where she mounted.... An'
here's the tracks of a third man--tracks made this mornin'."

Bostil straightened up and faced Holley as if ready to take a
death-blow. "I'm reckonin' them last is Slone's tracks."

"Yes, I know them," replied Holley.

"An'--them--other tracks? Who made them?"

"CREECH AN' HIS SON!"

Bostil felt swept away by a dark, whirling flame. And when it passed he
lay in his barn, in the shade of the loft, prostrate on the fragrant
hay. His strength with his passion was spent. A dull ache remained. The
fight was gone from him. His spirit was broken. And he looked down into
that dark abyss which was his own soul.

By and by the riders came for him, got him up, and led him out. He
shook them off and stood breathing slowly. The air felt refreshing; it
cooled his hot, tired brain. It did not surprise him to see Joel Creech
there, cringing behind Holley.

Bostil lifted a hand for some one to speak. And Holley came a step
forwar