I'll go see if she's home," Lone explained, and reined John Doe toward
the house.

"I'll go with you," Senator Warfield offered suavely and kept alongside.
"Frank Johnson was killed, you say? How did it happen?"

"Fell off his wagon and broke his neck," Lone told him laconically.
"Brit's pretty sick yet; I don't guess you'd better go inside. There's
been a lot of excitement already for the old man. He only sees folks
he's used to having around."

With that he dismounted and went into the house, leaving Senator
Warfield without an excuse for following. Swan and Hawkins came up and
waited with him, and Jim opened the door of the bunk-house and looked
out at them without showing enough interest to come forward and speak to
them.

In a few minutes Lone returned, to find Senator Warfield trying to
glean information from Swan, who seemed willing enough to give it if
only he could find enough English words to form a complete sentence.
Swan, then, had availed himself of Lone's belittlement of him and was
living down to it. But Lone gave him scant attention just then.

"She hasn't come back. Brit's worked himself up into a fever, and I
didn't dare tell him she wasn't with me. I said she's all tired out and
sick and wanted to stay up by the spring awhile, where it's cool. I said
she was with me, and the sun was too much for her, and she sent him word
that Jim would take care of him awhile longer. So you better move down
this way, or he'll hear us talking and want to know what's up."

"You're sure she isn't here?" Senator Warfield's voice held suspicion.

"You can ask Jim, over here. He's been on hand right along. And if you
can't take his word for it, you can go look in the shack--but in that
case Brit's liable to take a shot at yuh, Senator. He's on the warpath
right, and he's got his gun right handy."

"It is not necessary to search the cabin," Senator Warfield answered
stiffly. "Unless she is in a stupor we'd have heard her yelling long
ago. The girl was a raving maniac when she appeared at the Sawtooth.
It's for her good that I'm thinking."

Jim stepped out of the doorway and came slowly toward them, eyeing the
two from the Sawtooth curiously while he chewed tobacco. His hands
rested on his hips, his thumbs hooked inside his overalls; a gawky pose
that fitted well his colorless personality,--and left his right hand
close to his six-shooter.

"Cor'ner comin'?" he asked, nodding at the two who were almost strangers