ttle-ground.
Ford did not go "by-low." Instead, he rolled over and lay with his face
upon his folded arms, alive to the finger-tips; alive and fighting. For
there are times when the soul of a man awakes and demands a reckoning,
and reviews pitilessly the past and faces the future with the veil of
illusion torn quite away--and does it whether the man will or no.

CHAPTER VIII

"I Wish You'd Quit Believing in Me!"

A distant screaming roused Ford from his bitter mood of introspection.
He raised his head and listened, his heavy-lidded eyes staring blankly
at the wall opposite, before he sprang off the bunk, pulled on his
boots, and rushed from the room. Outside, he hesitated long enough to
discover which direction he must take to reach the woman who was
screaming inarticulately, her voice vibrant with sheer terror. The sound
came from the little, brown cottage that seemed trying modestly to hide
behind a dispirited row of young cottonwoods across a deep, narrow
gully, and he ran headlong toward it. He crossed the plank footbridge in
a couple of long leaps, vaulted over the gate which barred his way, and
so reached the house just as a woman whom he knew must be Mason's
"Kate," jerked open the door and screamed "Chester!" almost in his
face. Behind her rolled a puff of slaty blue smoke.

Ford pushed past her in the doorway without speaking; the smoke told its
own urgent tale and made words superfluous. She turned and followed him,
choking over the pungent smoke.

"Oh, where's Chester?" she wailed. "The whole garret's on fire--and I
can't carry Phenie--and she's asleep and can't walk anyway!" She rushed
half across the room and stopped, pointing toward a closed door, with
Ford at her heels.

"She's in there!" she cried tragically. "Save her, quick--and I'll find
Chester. You'd think, with all the men there are on this ranch, there'd
be some one around--oh, and my new piano!"

She ran out of the house, scolding hysterically because the men were
gone, and Ford laughed a little as he went to the door she had
indicated. When his fingers touched the knob, it turned fumblingly under
another hand than his own; the door opened, and he confronted the girl
whom he had tried to befriend the day before. She had evidently just
gotten out of bed, and into a flimsy blue kimono, which she was holding
together at the throat with one hand, while with the other she steadied
herself against the wall. She stared blankly into his e