at they were going. It was because Tom had named that
as his destination that Lance had ridden elsewhere to find him; good
reasoning, but so far unproductive of results.

Four days, and he had not heard from Mary Hope, had learned nothing
conclusive, either for or against the Devil's Tooth. Some clues he had
gleaned, some evidence that strengthened his suspicions, but nothing
to make him feel that the trip had been worth the hardship.

Without knowing just why, he had ridden out expecting to learn the
best or the worst and have done with nagging suspicion. It had seemed
to him that Fate meant to be kind, that his destiny and Mary Hope's
pointed the way to happiness. Now he was beginning to doubt. How was
happiness possible, if the outlaw blood of the Lorrigans ran at high
pressure through the veins of his family? He did not know to a
certainty that it did, but until he knew that it did not he could
never marry Mary Hope. He had to know. It had been pure madness, going
to her as he had gone. While his horse plodded up the hill to where
the lava outcroppings began, Lance meditated gloomily on the madness
that had driven him to her. He had felt so sure of himself and his
future, so much the master of his destiny and hers! Yet, even while he
wooed her tempestuously he had known that it was madness, that Trouble
was reaching even then to pluck him by the sleeve. Mary Hope and her
stern, Scotch integrity linked to the blackened Lorrigan name that
might soon stand on the roster of the State's prison? It was
impossible, inconceivable. He had been a hound to say to her what he
had said.

True, when her mother was stricken he had been there to help her, to
comfort her. But it would be small comfort to Mary Hope when the storm
broke over the Devil's Tooth.

"And I said Fate was with us--I said nothing could hurt her! And it
will hurt her all her life."

His sweaty horse paused to breathe, heaving a great sigh, looking
discouragedly at the climb yet before him. Lance came to himself and
swung off, giving the horse an apologetic slap on the shoulder. "You
ought to kick me cold, Sorry, for making you pack my hulking carcase
up this hill. Why didn't you stop at the bottom?"

Sorry looked at him, waited for Lance to take the lead, and climbed
after him more briskly. He was a big-boned, well-muscled animal, but
two hundred pounds had been a heavy load to carry up hill, and he was
glad to be rid of it.

At the top Lance did not