ld need to show the stuff that was in
him. He only hoped he would have time, and that luck would be with him.

"If they get me, it'll be all off with her," he worried, as he followed
the two up the canyon. "Swan would have been a help. But he thinks more
of catching Al than he does of helping Raine."

He looked up and saw that already Swan was halfway up the canyon's steep
side, making his way through the brush with more speed than Lone could
have shown on foot in the open, unless he ran. The sight heartened Lone
a little. Swan might have some plan of his own,--an ambush, possibly. If
he would only keep along within rifle shot and remain hidden, he would
show real brains, Lone thought. But Swan, when Lone looked up again, was
climbing straight away from the little searching party; and even though
he seemed tireless on foot, he could not perform miracles.

Swan, however, was not troubling himself over what Lone would think, or
even what Warfield was thinking. Contrary to Lone's idea of him, Swan
was tired, and he was thinking a great deal about Lorraine, and very
little about Al Woodruff, except as Al was concerned with Lorraine's
welfare. Swan had made a mistake, and he was humiliated over his
blunder. Al had kept himself so successfully in the background while
Lone's peculiar actions had held his attention, that Swan had never
considered Al Woodruff as the killer. Now he blamed himself for Frank's
death. He had been watching Lone, had been baffled by Lone's consistent
kindness toward the Quirt, by the force of his personality which held
none of the elements of cold-blooded murder. He had believed that he had
the Sawtooth killer under observation, and he had been watching and
waiting for evidence that would impress a grand jury. And all the while
he had let Al Woodruff ride free and unsuspected.

The one stupid thing, in Swan's opinion, which he had not done was to
let Lone go on holding his tongue. He had forced the issue that
morning. He had wanted to make Lone talk, had hoped for a weakening
and a confession. Instead he had learned a good deal which he should
have known before.

As he forged up the slope across the ridged lip of the canyon, his one
immediate object was speed. Up the canyon and over the divide on the
west shoulder of Bear Top was a trail to the open country beyond. It was
perfectly passable, as Swan knew; he had packed in by that trail when he
located his homestead on Bear Top. That is why he had