ll-thumbed Bible like a weapon in his pocket, when he heard a voice
call him. It was full of the devil's laughter. It was the voice of
Burlingame, the lawyer, on his horse. Burlingame had had a weary day and
was refreshing himself by a canter on the prairie.

"Where are you going?" asked Burlingame, as he cantered up to Mazarine's
wagon.

"To Slow Down Ranch?"

He saw the look of the drowned man in the face of Mazarine, over whom
the flood of disaster had passed, and he guessed at once the cause of
it; for Burlingame had the philosophy of a Satanic mind, and he knew the
things that happen to human nature.

"So, she's gone again, has she?" he added deliberately, with intent to
put a knife into the old man's feelings and to turn it in the thick of
them. He wanted to hurt, because Mazarine had only a short time before
dispensed with his services as a lawyer, and had blocked the way to that
intimacy which he had hoped to establish with Tralee and its mistress.
Besides, his pride as a professional man had been hurt, and he had been
deprived of income which now went to his most hated professional rival.
Mazarine's jealous soul had cut him off, on coming to know Burlingame's
dark reputation. He had not liked the look Burlingame had given Louise
when they met.

"Gone again, has she?" Burlingame repeated sarcastically. "Well, you
needn't go to Slow Down Ranch to find her. She isn't there, and you
won't find him there either, for I saw him come by the Lark River Trail
into Askatoon as I left, and a lady was with him. He booked this morning
for the sleeper of the express going East to-night; so, if I were you,
I'd turn my horse's nose to Askatoon, Mr. Mazarine. I don't know why
I tell you this, as you're not my client now, but I go about the world
doing good, Mr. Mazarine--only doing good."

There was a look in Burlingame's face which Heaven would not have
accepted as goodness, and there was that in his voice which did not
belong to the Courts of the Lord. Malice, though veiled, showed in face
and sounded in voice. Even as he spoke, Joel Mazarine turned his horse's
head towards Askatoon.

"You're sure a woman was with him? You're sure she was with him?" he
asked in chaos of passion.

"I couldn't see her face; it was too far away," answered Burlingame
suggestively, "but you can form your own conclusions--and the express is
due in thirty minutes!"

He looked at his watch complacently. "What's the good, Mazarine? Why
don'