ey had walked to a far corner of the pasture, talking
confidentially and laughing a little, he halted and drew her close to
him.

"Ruth," he said, gently, "the world is going very well for you now. You
are settled here, you like it, and things are running smoothly. Why not
take a ride over to Lazette one of these days. There is a justice of the
peace over there. It won't need to be a formal affair, you know. Just on
the quiet--a sort of a lark. I have waited a long time," he coaxed.

She smiled at his earnestness. But that spark which he had tried in vain
to fan into flame still smoldered. She felt no responsive impulse; a
strange reluctance dragged at her.

"Wait, Willard," she said, "until after the fall round-up. There is no
hurry. We are sure of each other."

They went on toward the ranchhouse. When they passed the bunkhouse, and
through the open door saw Randerson and Uncle Jepson sitting on a bench
smoking, Ruth quickened her step, and Masten made a grimace of hatred.

* * * * *

Inside the bunkhouse, Uncle Jepson, who had been speaking, paused long
enough to wrinkle his nose at Masten. Randerson's expression did not
change; it was one of grave expectancy.

"You was sayin'--" he prompted, looking at Uncle Jepson.

"That the whole darned deal was a frame-up," declared Uncle Jepson. "I
was settin' in the messhouse along in the afternoon of the day of the
killin'--smokin' an' thinkin', but most of the time just settin', I
cal'late, when I heard Chavis an' Pickett talkin' low an' easy outside.
They was a crack in the wall, an' I plastered one ear up ag'in it, an'
took in all they was sayin'. First, they was talkin' about the bad
feelin' between you an' Pickett. Pickett said he wanted to 'git' you, an'
that Masten wanted to get you out of the way because of what you'd done
to him at Calamity. But I reckon that ain't the real reason; he's got
some idea that you an' Ruth--"

"Shucks," said Randerson impatiently.

"Anyway," grinned Uncle Jepson, "for some reason, he don't want you
hangin' around. Far as I could gather, Pickett wanted some excuse to have
you fire him, so's he could shoot you. He talked some to Masten about it,
an' Masten told him to tackle Ruth, but not to get too rough about it,
an' not to go too far."

"Great guns! The low-down, mean, sneakin'--" said Randerson. His eyes
were glowing; his words came with difficulty through his straightened
lips.