aw somebody on the trail the other side of
Harte's this afternoon. Mistook him for me until I told her. A big man
about my size riding a sorrel. Know who it was?"

Again Smith shook his head.

"Can't call him to mind, Buck. It might be Huston for size, but he
hasn't got a sorrel in his string, an' then he's took on too much fat
lately to be mistook for you. Go on inside. You'll want to eat, I
guess. I'll put up the lady's horse an' be with you in two shakes."

"Thanks, John. But I had supper back at Harte's. Can you let me have a
horse in the morning? I'll send him back by one of the boys."

"Sure. Take the big roan. An' you don't have to send him back, either.
I'm ridin' that way myself tomorrow, an' I'll drop by an' get him."

"Which way are you ridin'?"

"To the Bar X. I got word last week three or four of my steers was over
there. I want to see about 'em. Before," he added drily, "they get any
closer to Dead Man's."

Thornton's nod indicated that he understood. And then, suddenly, he
said,

"If you're going that way you can see Miss Waverly through, can't you?
She's going to the Corners."

Smith whistled softly.

"Now what the devil is the like of her goin' to that town for?" he
demanded.

"I don't know the answer. But she's going there." And as partial
explanation, he added, "She's Henry Pollard's niece."

For a moment Smith pondered the information in silence. Then his only
reference to it was a short spoken, "Well, she don't look it! Anyway,
that's her look-out, an' I'll see her within half a dozen miles of the
border. You'll turn off this side the Poison Hole, huh?"

"I'll turn off right here, and right now. I've got a curiosity, John,"
and his voice was harder than Winifred Waverly had ever heard it, "to
know a thing or two about the way my horse went lame. I'm going to sling
my saddle on your roan and take a little ride back to Harte's. Maybe I
can pick up that other jasper's trail in the canon back there."

The two men went down to the stable, and while the rancher watered and
fed the pony Thornton roped the big roan in the fenced-in pasture. Ten
minutes after he had come to the Smith place he had saddled and ridden
back along the trail toward Harte's.

The two women in the cabin looked up as Smith came in.

"Where's Mr. Thornton?" his wife asked.

"He's gone back," Smith told her. He drew out his chair, sat down and
filled his pipe. Before Mrs. Smith's surprise could find words the girl