uddered, and paused as the bartender's next words reached his
ears: "If he's drownded the river'll take him farther than what them
hand bills will git to. An' if he hain't, I want them damages."

Endicott hurried toward the two who stood slightly apart from the crowd:
"If you are offering a reward," he said, "I will add a thousand for
information concerning my wife."

"A thousand!" exclaimed the marshal, "dead or alive?"

Endicott nodded: "Yes," he answered, "dead or alive," and turning
abruptly, walked slowly up the street entirely unheeding the shadowy
form that kept pace with him in the darkness.

The storm ceased as suddenly as it had broken, and at the outskirts of
the town the man paused and sank onto a boulder with his head in his
arms. Minutes passed as he sat thus, too dazed to think. He was
conscious of a dull pain in his heart, and his brain felt numb and
pinched as though an iron band were being drawn tighter and tighter
about his skull. Gradually his mind began to function. The words of Ike
Stork recurred to him: "They're floatin'. If anyone kin make 'er
through, them two will." Very possibly his wife was alive--but, where?
Why had she ridden after this Texan, and why was she on the river with
him? Methodically, step by step, the man retraced the events of their
year of married life. They had been wondrously happy together. They had
often spoken of the Texan--had wondered what had become of him. They had
both written to him, addressing their letters to Wolf River, but all the
letters had come back stamped "Return to writer." He remembered that she
had been disappointed, but so had he. Was it possible that _all_ the
letters had not been returned? He remembered how eager she had been to
spend their anniversary in Timber City. She had talked of it for months.
And he remembered how she had urged him to buy a ranch and live at least
part of the time in the West. And when he had got in touch with Colston
through a real estate broker, he remembered how enthusiastic she had
been over the prospect. How they had planned and planned, until she had
imparted to him a goodly share of her enthusiasm. Was her love all for
the West? Could it be that the Texan--? Surely, her previous experience
had hardly been one that should have engendered any great love for the
cattle country. He thought with a shudder of Purdy, of the flight in the
night, and the subsequent trip through the bad lands. The one pleasant
memory in the wh