ympathy with them. They
traveled the trail that Randerson had taken on the night he had found
Ruth on the rock; they negotiated the plain that spread between the
ranchhouse and the ford where Randerson had just missed meeting Ruth that
day; they went steadily over the hilly country and passed through the
section of broken land where Ruth's pony had thrown her. Reaching the
hills and ridges beyond, Catherson halted and scrutinized the country
around him. When he observed that there was no sign of life within range
of his vision, he spoke to the pony and they went forward.

Catherson's lips were set in a heavy, ugly pout. His shaggy brows were
contracted; somber, baleful flashes, that betrayed something of those
passions that he was subduing, showed in his eyes as the pony skirted the
timber where Randerson had tied Ruth's horse. When he reached the
declivity where Ruth had overheard Chavis and Kester, he dismounted and
led his pony down it, using the utmost care. He was conserving the pony's
strength. For he knew nothing of what might be required of the animal,
and this thing which he had determined to do must not be bungled.

He was still in no hurry, but he grew cautious now, and secretive. He
made a wide circuit of the basin, keeping out of sight as much as
possible, behind some nondescript brush, riding in depressions; going a
mile out of his way to follow the sandy bed of a washout. His objective
was Chavis' shack, and he wanted to come upon it unnoticed. Or, if that
failed, he desired to make his visit appear casual.

* * * * *

But in Chavis' shack was a man who of late had formed the habit of
furtive watchfulness. He wore a heavy six-shooter at his waist, but he
knew better than to try to place any dependence upon his ability as a
marksman. A certain meeting with a grim-faced man on the Lazette trail
the night before, a vivid recollection of the grim-faced man's uncanny
cleverness with a weapon, demonstrated upon two occasions, worried him,
as did also some words that kept running through his mind, asleep or
awake, and would not be banished. He could even hear the intonations of
the voice that had uttered them: "This country is too crowded for both of
us."

Masten was beginning to believe that. He had thought that very morning,
of leaving, of escaping, rather. But Chavis had reassured him, had
ridiculed him, in fact.

"Randerson's four-flushin'," Chavis had laughe