n
she attempted to open the conversation he had replied with crushing
monosyllables, and there was an end. For the rest, he was always
swinging down the trail ahead of her at a steady, unchanging, rapid
stride. Uphill and down it never varied. And so they came out upon the
shoulder of the hill and saw the storm center of The Corner. They were
in the hills behind the town; two miles would bring them into it. And
now Donnegan came back to her from the mule. He took off his hat and
shook the dust away; he brushed a hand across his face. He was still
unshaven. The red stubble made him hideous, and the dust and
perspiration covered his face as with a mask. Only his eyes were rimmed
with white skin.

"You'd better get off the horse, here," said Donnegan.

He held her stirrup, and she obeyed without a word.

"Sit down."

She sat down on the flat-topped boulder which he designated, and,
looking up, observed the first sign of emotion in his face. He was
frowning, and his face was drawn a little.

"You are tired," he stated.

"A little."

"You are tired," said the wanderer in a tone that implied dislike of any
denial. Therefore she made no answer. "I'm going down into the town to
look things over. I don't want to parade you through the streets until I
know where Landis is to be found and how he'll receive you. The Corner
is a wild town; you understand?"

"Yes," she said blankly, and noted nervously that the reply did not
please him. He actually scowled at her.

"You'll be all right here. I'll leave the pack mule with you; if
anything should happen--but nothing is going to happen, I'll be back in
an hour or so. There's a pool of water. You can get a cold drink there
and wash up if you want to while I'm gone. But don't go to sleep!"

"Why not?"

"A place like this is sure to have a lot of stragglers hunting around
it. Bad characters. You understand?"

She could not understand why he should make a mystery of it; but then,
he was almost as strange as her father. His careful English and his
ragged clothes were typical of him inside and out.

"You have a gun there in your holster. Can you use it?"

"Yes."

"Try it."

It was a thirty-two, a woman's light weapon. She took it out and
balanced it in her hand.

"The blue rock down the hillside. Let me see you chip it."

Her hand went up, and without pausing to sight along the barrel, she
fired; fire flew from the rock, and there appeared a white, small scar.
Donneg