the death of Horrocks the police had withdrawn to report and to
receive augmentation. No one felt alarm at their absence. The
inhabitants of Foss River were a self-reliant people--accustomed to look
to themselves for the remedy of a grievance. Besides, Horrocks, they
said, had shown himself to be a duffer--merely a tracker, a prairie-man
and not the man to bring Retief to justice. Already the younger members
of the settlement and district were forming themselves into a vigilance
committee. The elders--those to whom the younger looked for a lead in
such matters--had chosen to go to the police; now the younger of the
settlement decided to act for themselves.

This was the condition and feeling in Foss River at the time of the
death of Horrocks; this was the state of affairs when the _insouciant_
Bill leisurely strolled into the sitting-room at the Foss River Ranch,
about the time that Joaquina Allandale had finished her tea. With the
familiarity of the West, Bill entered by the French window. His lazy
smile was undisturbed. He might have been paying an ordinary call
instead of answering a summons which he knew must be a matter of
emergency, for it was understood between these two that private meetings
were tabooed, except when necessity demanded them.

Jacky's greeting was not reassuring, but her lover's expression remained
unchanged, except that his weary eyelids further unclosed.

"Guess we're side-tracked, Bill," she said meaningly. "The line's
blocked. Signals dead against us."

Bill looked into her eyes; then he turned and closed the window,
latching it securely. The door was closed. His keen eyes noted this.

"What do you mean?"

The girl shrugged.

"The next twelve hours must finish our game."

"Ah!"

"Yes," the girl went on, "it is Lablache's doing. We must settle our
reckoning with him to-night."

Bill flung himself into a chair.

"Will you explain?--I don't understand. May I smoke?"

Jacky smiled. The request was so unnecessary. She always liked Bill's
nonchalance. It conveyed such a suggestion of latent power.

"Yes, smoke, Bill; smoke and get your thinking box in order. My yarn
won't take a deal of time to tell. But it'll take a deal of thought to
upset Lablache's last move, without--shootin'."

"Um--shooting's an evil, but sometimes--necessary. What's his racket?"

The girl told her story quickly. She forgot nothing. She never allowed
herself to fall into the womanly mistake of omitting det