at do you mean?' countered Howard.

'Oh, nothing. Only from the way he grabbed on to you I fancied that he
had told you. I thought that if there were anything I could do for
him----'

'No. There's nothing. He did tell me, but he asked me not to say
anything about it. I'll tell you as soon as I can, John. To-night,
maybe, or to-morrow.'

'Oh,' said Carr. 'I didn't mean to stampede in on a secret.' He
turned to other matters and presently they fell silent, jogging along
together, their eyes for the most part upon the girl riding ahead of
them.

'Papa,' Helen was saying at her first opportunity, 'where has Mr.
Howard been?'

'I have no idea, my dear,' said her father placidly.

'What! You mean to tell me that you two have done all the talking you
have, and that he hasn't said a word about where he has been hiding
himself all this week?'

'Not a word.'

'H'm,' said Miss Helen, 'that's funny.' And then, 'Papa, do you know
if he has had trouble with anyone lately?'

'What makes you ask that?' he queried uneasily, and Helen sat
straighter in the saddle and looked him full in the face. For now she
was positive that Alan had had trouble and that her father knew about
it.

Longstreet hesitated. He had no desire to recount his experience at
Moraga's saloon in Big Run. He had judged himself fortunate since the
affair that Helen had been so absorbed in her new environment that she
had not thought to call upon him for an accounting of the family funds.
But even so, all along he had had a sort of fatalistic fear that in the
end she would know everything; she always did.

'Well,' said Helen commandingly, 'tell me all about it.'

'Eh?' He started guiltily. 'About what?'

'About Mr. Howard's trouble with another man.'

Then Longstreet told her what he must. How, while he was with Barbee,
a man named Jim Courtot had joined them. How Howard had happened
along, looking for him, and had said that Jim Courtot was no gentleman.
Ahem!--he had said it very emphatically, very. Longstreet did not
recall the exact terms employed, but their purport was that Courtot was
a crook and a--a man-killer. Courtot had whipped out a revolver,
Howard had hurled himself upon him and had knocked him down. Table and
chairs were overturned, and at first Longstreet thought that Courtot
was dead. He was still unconscious when they left.

'Table?' said Helen. 'And chairs? Where were you? In whose house?
For this didn't h