light.

They did not see Ruth, and something in their attitudes kept her from
revealing herself; she stood silent, listening, fascinated.

"So he done that!" It was Randerson's voice, and it made Ruth's heart
feel heavy and cold within her, for in it was contempt, intolerance, rage
suppressed--she felt that the words had come through clenched teeth. "I
reckon I'll be seein' Pickett, aunty."

And then he patted Aunt Martha's shoulders and started for the back door.
Ruth heard him open it; he must have been standing on the threshold when
he spoke again. And this time he spoke in a drawl--slow, gentle:

"I reckon I'll go wash. It was mighty dusty ridin' today. I passed
Calamity, aunty. There ain't no mud there any more; Willard wouldn't get
mussed up, now. The suck-hole ain't a foot deep any more."

"You're a scapegrace," said Aunt Martha severely. Ruth felt that she was
shaking a deprecatory finger at him. "Your manners have been neglected."
But Aunt Martha's voice gave the words an exactly opposite meaning, and
Ruth blushed.

There had been a dread fear in Ruth's heart. For she had seen warning of
impending tragedy in Randerson's face when she had looked at him. It
seemed to have passed. His, "I reckon I'll be seein' Pickett," meant,
perhaps, that he would discharge the man. Relieved, she went upstairs
again and sat in a chair, looking out of a window.

A little later she saw several of the cowboys come in. She saw Pickett
standing near a corner of the bunkhouse. She watched him closely, for
there was something strange in his actions. He seemed to be waiting for
something, or somebody. Occasionally he leaned against the corner of the
bunkhouse, but she noted that he kept turning his head, keeping a lookout
in all directions. Again a premonition of imminent trouble oppressed her.

And then she saw Randerson going from the ranchhouse toward the men who
were congregated in front of the bunkhouse; saw Pickett's right hand fall
to his side as though it rested on a holster, and she started out of her
chair, for illumination now came to her.

Half way to the bunkhouse, Randerson was met by Uncle Jepson. She saw
Randerson stop, observed that Uncle Jepson seemed to say something to
him. She could not, of course, hear the words, "Look out, Randerson;
Pickett's layin' for you," but she saw Randerson lay a hand on Uncle
Jepson's shoulder.

And then he continued on his way.

She saw Randerson go close to Pickett, noted t