you care for me--you won't kill
him?"

"No. That I promise you."

With a low moan she dropped her head upon the bed.

Duane opened the door and stealthily stole out through the corridor to
the court.

When Duane got out into the dark, where his hot face cooled in the wind,
his relief equaled his other feelings.

The night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was no rain. Duane hoped as
soon as he got clear of the ranch to lose something of the pain he felt.
But long after he had tramped out into the open there was a lump in his
throat and an ache in his breast. All his thought centered around Ray
Longstreth. What a woman she had turned out to be! He seemed to have
a vague, hopeless hope that there might be, there must be, some way he
could save her.

CHAPTER XXI

Before going to sleep that night Duane had decided to go to Ord and try
to find the rendezvous where Longstreth was to meet his men. These men
Duane wanted even more than their leader. If Longstreth, or Cheseldine,
was the brains of that gang, Poggin was the executor. It was Poggin who
needed to be found and stopped. Poggin and his right-hand men! Duane
experienced a strange, tigerish thrill. It was thought of Poggin more
than thought of success for MacNelly's plan. Duane felt dubious over
this emotion.

Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad to get away from Fairdale
for a while. But the hours and the miles in no wise changed the new pain
in his heart. The only way he could forget Miss Longstreth was to let
his mind dwell upon Poggin, and even this was not always effective.

He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of the day and a half he arrived at
Bradford.

The night of the day before he reached Bradford, No. 6, the mail and
express train going east, was held up by train-robbers, the Wells-Fargo
messenger killed over his safe, the mail-clerk wounded, the bags carried
away. The engine of No. 6 came into town minus even a tender, and
engineer and fireman told conflicting stories. A posse of railroad men
and citizens, led by a sheriff Duane suspected was crooked, was made up
before the engine steamed back to pick up the rest of the train. Duane
had the sudden inspiration that he had been cudgeling his mind to
find; and, acting upon it, he mounted his horse again and left Bradford
unobserved. As he rode out into the night, over a dark trail in the
direction of Ord, he uttered a short, grim, sardonic laugh at the hope
that he might be taken