Whispering Smith rode after Sinclair, Crawling Stone Ranch, in
common with the whole countryside, had but one interest in life, and
that was to hear of the meeting. Riders across the mountain valleys
met with but one question; mail-carriers brought nothing in their
pouches of interest equal to the last word concerning Sinclair or his
pursuer. It was commonly agreed through the mountains that it would be
a difficult matter to overhaul any good man riding Sinclair's
steel-dust horses, but with Sinclair himself in the saddle, unless it
pleased him to pull up, the chase was sure to be a stern one. Against
this to feed speculation stood one man's record--that of the man who
had ridden alone across Deep Creek and brought Chuck Williams out on a
buckboard.

Business in Medicine Bend, meantime, was practically suspended. As the
centre of all telephone lines the big railroad town was likewise the
centre of all rumors. Officers and soldiers to and from the Fort,
stage-drivers and cowmen, homesteaders and rustlers, discussed the
apprehension of Sinclair. Moreover, behind this effort to arrest one
man who had savagely defied the law were ranged all of the prejudices,
sympathies, and hatreds of the high country, and practically the whole
population tributary to Medicine Bend and the Crawling Stone Valley
were friends either to Sinclair or to his pursuer. Behind Sinclair
were nearly all the cattlemen, not alone because he was on good terms
with the rustlers and protected his friends, but because he warred
openly on the sheepmen. The big range interests, as a rule, were
openly or covertly friendly to Sinclair, while against him were the
homesteaders, the railroad men, the common people, and the men who
everywhere hate cruelty and outrage and the making of a lie.

Lance Dunning had never concealed his friendliness for Sinclair, even
after hard stories about him were known to be true, and it was this
confidence of fellowship that made Sinclair, twenty-four hours after
he had left Oroville, ride down the hill trail to Crawling Stone
ranch-house.

The morning had been cold, with a heavy wind and a dull sky. In the
afternoon the clouds lowered over the valley and a misting rain set
in. Dicksie had gone into Medicine Bend on the stage in the morning,
and, after a stolen half-hour with McCloud at Marion's, had ridden
home to escape the storm. Not less, but much more, than those about
her she was alive to the situation in which Sinclair s