red and went listlessly about their tasks. He
returned to the house, heard Riley grinding coffee, and dressed for
riding while he waited for breakfast. He was drinking his first cup of
coffee when Belle appeared in a thin blue kimono and a lacey breakfast
cap which Lance knew had been ordered from the big, dog-eared
catalogue on the living room table. He roused himself from scowling
meditation and gave her a smile.

"Sleep any?"

"Not much," sighed Belle. "Tom--" she stopped and looked at Lance
hesitatingly. "Tom had to push the cattle back from Lava Bed way--he
says this weather's drying up Lava Creek and the stock'll suffer if
they're left drifting up and down the mud-holes where they've watered
all summer. He took the boys and started about two in the morning--to
get out of the heat. I--I didn't think you'd want to go, honey--"

"You thought right. I didn't want to go; it's too hot," Lance assured
her, and refrained from looking at her face and the pathetic
cheerfulness she was trying so hard to make real.

"It's sultry. I thought yesterday I couldn't stand another hour of
that wind--but now I wish it would blow. It's going to storm--"

"Yes. It's going to storm." Lance set down his empty cup. "I may go
fishing, Belle. Don't look for me back--I may ride over and see how
the AJ is making out. The little Boyle girl is not married yet, I
hope?"

"Oh--no. No, she isn't. Lance, honey--"

Lance waited beside her chair, but Belle seemed to forget that she had
anything to say. She sat leaning her head on one hand, the other
stirring her coffee absent-mindedly. "Don't get caught out," she said
apathetically.

"I won't." Lance lifted the lace frill of the cap and kissed her
temple lightly. "Go back to bed. It's too early for you to be up."

At the stable Sam Pretty Cow looked a question, grunted and went on
with his stall cleaning. Lance saddled Coaley, tied on an emergency
ration of grub.

"Fishin's good t'day. Storm's coming. Uh-huh--you bet," Sam Pretty
Cow observed as Lance mounted.

"Maybe," Lance assented non-committally and rode away.

There were no horse tracks in the trail, yet Lance followed it
doggedly, the new-risen sun burning his back through two thin shirts.
He seemed in no doubt this morning as to the course he should take. He
scarcely gave a glance at the trail. His eyes were staring straight
before him at a sullen row of blue-black "thunder heads" that showed
above the gray skyline. Yet he did