the trailing was a
delight always, but the actual kill was a matter of slaughter rather
than a game of hazard. Only the rider of the black stallion had given
him the sense of equal power, and his whole soul had risen for the
great chance of All. That chance was gone; he pushed the thought of it
away--for the time--and turned back to the business at hand.

"They's only one thing," he went on. "Sliver! Ronicky! Step along,
gents, and we'll have a look at the insides of that house."

"Steady!" broke in Haines. He barred the path to the front door.
"Sheriff, you don't know me, but I'm going to ask you to take my word
for what's in that house."

Glass swept him with a look of a new nature.

"I got an idea your word might do. Well, what's in the house?"

"A little five-year-old girl and her mother; nothing else worth seeing."

"Nothing else," considered the sheriff, "but that's quite a lot. Maybe
his wife could tell me where he's going? Give me an idea where I might
call on him?"

"Partner, you can't see her."

"Can't?"

"No, by God!"

"H-m-m!" murmured the sheriff. He watched the big man plant himself,
swaying a little on his feet as though poising for action, and beside
him a slightly smaller figure not less determined.

"That girl in there is old man Cumberlan's daughter," said Daniels,
"and no matter what her--what Dan Barry may be, Kate Cumberland is white
folks."

The sheriff remembered what Vic had said of yellow hair and soft blue
eyes.

"Leastways," he said, "she seems to have a sort of way with the men."

"Sheriff you're on a cold trail," said Haines. "Inside that house is
just a heart-broken girl and her baby. If you want to see them--go
ahead!"

"She might know something," mused the sheriff, "and I s'pose I'd ought
to pry it out of her right now: but I don't care for that sort of
pickin's." He repeated softly: "A girl and a baby!" and turned on his
heel. "All right, boys, climb your hosses. Two of you take Mat. We'll
bury him where we put Harry. I guess we can pack him that far."

"How's that?" This from Haines. "One of your gang dropped?"

"He is."

They followed him and stood presently beside the body. Aside from the
red mark in the forehead he seemed asleep, and smiling at some pleasant
dream; a handsome fellow in the strength of first manhood, this man who
was the second to die for Grey Molly.

"It's the end of Dan Barry," said Buck. "Lee, we'll never have Whistlin'
Dan for a friend a