d
kept his promise--he had come back. The dream was coming true, and they
were to meet at last face to face. One of them was to strike a trail
more lonesome than the Trail of the Lonesome Pine, and that man would
not be John Hale. One detail of the dream was going to be left out, he
thought grimly, and very quietly he drew his pistol, cocked it, sighted
it on the opening--it was an easy shot--and waited. He would give that
enemy no more chance than he would a mad dog--or would he? The horse
stopped to browse. He waited so long that he began to suspect a trap.
He withdrew his head and looked about him on either side and
behind--listening intently for the cracking of a twig or a footfall. He
was about to push backward to avoid possible attack from the rear, when
a shadow shot from the opening. His face paled and looked sick of a
sudden, his clenched fingers relaxed about the handle of his pistol
and he drew it back, still cocked, turned on his knees, walked past
the Pine, and by the fallen oak stood upright, waiting. He heard a low
whistle calling to the horse below and a shudder ran through him. He
heard the horse coming up the path, he clenched his pistol convulsively,
and his eyes, lit by an unearthly fire and fixed on the edge of the
bowlder around which they must come, burned an instant later on--June.
At the cry she gave, he flashed a hunted look right and left, stepped
swiftly to one side and stared past her-still at the bowlder. She had
dropped the reins and started toward him, but at the Pine she stopped
short.

"Where is he?"

Her lips opened to answer, but no sound came. Hale pointed at the horse
behind her.

"That's his. He sent me word. He left that horse in the valley, to
ride over here, when he came back, to kill me. Are you with him?" For
a moment she thought from his wild face that he had gone crazy and she
stared silently. Then she seemed to understand, and with a moan she
covered her face with her hands and sank weeping in a heap at the foot
of the Pine.

The forgotten pistol dropped, full cocked to the soft earth, and Hale
with bewildered eyes went slowly to her.

"Don't cry,"--he said gently, starting to call her name. "Don't cry," he
repeated, and he waited helplessly.

"He's dead. Dave was shot--out--West," she sobbed. "I told him I was
coming back. He gave me his horse. Oh, how could you?"

"Why did you come back?" he asked, and she shrank as though he had
struck her--but her sobs stopped