surrounding country, and she was no longer lonesome. She stood on
the bank of the river, gazing long at the shadowy rims of the distant
mountains, at their peaks, rising majestically in the luminous mist of the
night; at the plains, stretching away and fading into the mysterious
shadows of the distance; watching the waters of the river, shimmering like
quicksilver--a band of glowing ribbon winding in and out and around the
moon-touched buttes of the canyons.

"Oh!" she said irrelevantly, "he isn't so bad, after all!"

Stooping over again to fill the pail, she heard a sharp clatter of hoofs
behind her. A horseman was racing toward the river--toward her--bending
low over his pony's mane, riding desperately. She placed the pail down and
watched him. Apparently he did not see her, for, swerving suddenly, he
made for the crossing without slackening speed. He had almost reached the
water's edge when there came a spurt of flame from the door of Doubler's
cabin, followed by the sharp whip like crack of a rifle!

In the doorway of the cabin, clearly outlined against the flickering light
of the interior, was a man. And as Sheila watched another streak of fire
burst from the door, and she heard the shrill sighing of the bullet, heard
the horseman curse. But he did not stop in his flight, and in an instant
he had crossed the river. She saw him for an instant as he was outlined
against the clear sky in the moonlight that bathed the crest of the slope,
and then he was gone.

Dropping the pail, Sheila ran toward the cabin, fearing that Doubler had
suddenly become delirious and had attacked Allen. But it seemed to her
that it had not been Allen who had raced away from the cabin, and she had
not gone more than half way toward it when she saw another horseman
coming. She halted to wait for him, and when he halted and drew up beside
her she saw that it was the sheriff.

"Who was it?" she demanded, breathlessly.

"Duncan!" Allen cursed picturesquely and profanely. "When I got to the
shack he was inside, standing over Doubler, strangling him. The damned
skunk! You was right," he added; "it was him who shot Doubler!" He
continued rapidly, grimly, taking a piece of paper from a pocket and
writing something on it.

"My men have got Dakota corraled in his cabin. If he tries to get away
they will do for him. I don't want that to happen; there's too few square
men in the country as it is. Take this"--he held out the paper to
her--"and get