dly passion rising out
of a gentle and sad heart.

Joe Lake drew up the blanket and shut from Shefford's fascinated gaze
that spare form, that accusing knife, that face of strange, cruel power.

"Anybody been sent for?" asked Lake of Beal.

"Yes. An Indian boy went for the Piute. We'll send him to Stonebridge,"
replied the Mormon.

"How soon do you expect any one here from Stonebridge?"

"To-morrow, mebbe by noon."

"Meantime what's to be done with--this?"

"Elder Smith thinks the body should stay right here where it fell till
they come from Stonebridge."

"Waggoner was found here, then?"

"Right here."

"Who found him?"

"Mother Smith. She came over early. An' the sight made her scream. The
women all came runnin'. Mother Smith had to be put to bed."

"Who found--Mary?"

"See here, Joe, I told you all I knowed once before," replied the
Mormon, testily.

"I've forgotten. Was sort of bewildered. Tell me again.... Who
found--her?"

"The women folks. She laid right inside the door, in a dead faint. She
hadn't undressed. There was blood on her hands an' a cut or scratch. The
women fetched her to. But she wouldn't talk. Then Elder Smith come an'
took her. They've got her locked up."

Then Joe led Shefford away from the cabin farther on into the village.
When they were halted by the somber, grieving women it was Joe who did
the talking. They passed the school-house, and here Shefford quickened
his step. He could scarcely bear the feeling that rushed over him. And
the Mormon gripped his arm as if he understood.

"Shefford, which one of these younger women do you reckon your best
friend? Ruth?" asked Lake, earnestly.

"Ruth, by all means. Just lately I haven't seen her often. But we've
been close friends. I think she'd do much for me."

"Maybe there'll be a chance to find out. Maybe we'll need Ruth. Let's
have a word with her. I haven't seen her out among the women."

They stopped at the door of Ruth's cabin. It was closed. When Joe
knocked there came a sound of footsteps inside, a hand drew aside the
window-blind, and presently the door opened. Ruth stood there, dressed
in somber hue. She was a pretty, slender, blue-eyed, brown-haired young
woman.

Shefford imagined from her pallor and the set look of shock upon her
face, that the tragedy had affected her more powerfully than it had the
other women. When he remembered that she had been more friendly with
Fay Larkin than any other neighbor, he made s