"I'm more
than sorry about the mistake this morning, old man. Will you forgive Bear
Chief and me?"

In all McArthur's studious, lonely life, no person ever had put his hand
upon his shoulder and called him "old man." The quick tears filled his
eyes, and a glow, tingling in its warmth, rushed over him. The simple,
manly act made him Ralston's slave for life, but he answered in his quiet
voice:

"The mistake was natural, my dear sir."

"Smith will be gettin' restless," Susie suggested, "for his breakfast must
have been pretty slim. We'd better be startin'.

"Now, I'll take straight across the hills in a bee-line, and the rest of
you keep me in sight, but follow the draws. When I drop into the canyon,
you cache yourselves until I come up and swing my hat. I'll do my best to
separate Smith from his gun, but if I can't, I'll throw you the sign to
jump him."

"I shall arm myself with a pistol, and, if the occasion demands, I shall
not hesitate to use it," said McArthur, closing his lips with great
firmness.

Bear Chief was given a rifle, and then there was a scurrying about for
cartridges. When they were saddled, each rode in a different direction, to
meet again when out of sight of the ranch. With varied emotions, they soon
were following Susie's lead, and it was no easy task to keep the flying
figure in sight.

McArthur, panting, perspiring, choking his saddle-horn to death, wondered
if any person of his acquaintance ever had participated in such a reckless
ride. The instructor in Dead Languages, it is true, frequently had
thrilled his colleagues with his recital of a night spent in a sapling,
owing to the proximity of a she-bear, and McArthur always had mildly
envied him the adventure, but now, he felt, if he lived to tell the tale,
he had no further cause for envy.

Bear Chief's eyes were gleaming with the fires of other days, while the
faded overalls and flannel shirt of civilization seemed to take on a look
of savagery.

Only Ralston's eyes were sombre. He had no thought of weakening, but he
had no feeling of elation; though, for the sake of his own self-respect,
he was glad to know that his suspicions of Smith were not inspired by
jealousy or malice. Now that the opportunity for which he had hoped and
waited had come, his strongest feeling was one of sorrow for Dora. With
the tenderness of real love, he shrank from hurting her, from mortifying
her by the expose of Smith.

In no other way were the natures