staring at the uptilted end of
Stratton's holster frayed a little at the end so that the glint of a blued
steel barrel showed through the leather.

"Just move your hand a mite," Buck suggested in a quiet, level tone, which
was nevertheless obeyed promptly. "Now, listen here. I want you to get
this. I ain't longing to stick around any outfit when the boss don't want
me. If the lady says I'm to go, I'll get out _pronto_; but I don't trust
you, and she's got to tell me that face to face before I move a step.
_Sabe?_"

His eyes narrowed slightly, and Lynch, crumpling the unheeded money in his
hand, stepped aside with an expression of baffled fury and watched him
stride along the side of the house and disappear around the corner.

He was far from lacking nerve, but he had suddenly remembered that letter
to Sheriff Hardenberg, regarding which he had long ago obtained
confirmation from Pop Daggett. If he could rely on the meaning of
Stratton's little anecdote--and he had an uncomfortable conviction that he
could--the letter would be opened in case Buck met his death by violence.
And once it was opened by the sheriff, only Tex Lynch how very much the
fat would be in the fire.

So, though his fingers twitched, he held his hand, and presently, hearing
voices in the living-room, he crept over to an open window and, standing
close to one side of it, bent his head to listen.

CHAPTER XVII

THE PRIMEVAL INSTINCT

On the other side of the house Buck found the mistress of the ranch and
her two guests standing in a little group beside one of the dusty,
discouraged-looking flower-beds. As he appeared they all glanced toward
him, and a troubled, almost frightened expression flashed across Mary
Thorne's face.

"Could I speak to you a moment, ma'am?" asked Stratton, doffing his
Stetson.

That expression, and her marked hesitation in coming forward, were both
significant, and Buck felt a sudden little stab of anger. Was she afraid
of him? he wondered; and tried to imagine what beastly lies Lynch must
have told her to bring about such an extraordinary state of mind.

But as she moved slowly toward him, the anger ebbed as swiftly as it had
come. She looked so slight and frail and girlish, and he observed that her
lips were pressed almost as tightly together as the fingers of those
small, brown hands hanging straight at her sides. At the edge of the porch
she paused and looked up at him, and though the startled look had gone