ant you as a witness to the assault Busby made on me; and then, you
see, you're all housebreakers"--he waved his hand toward the front
window, from which the screen had been torn and the glass broken--"and
housebreaking is pretty serious business even in this country.
Furthermore, you were all concerned in that raid, and I'm going to see
that you all feel the full weight of the law."

All the time he was talking so easily and so confidently he was really
saying to himself: "To take you three to jail will be like driving so
many wolves to market--but it's got to be done."

He was tired, irritable, and eager to be clear of it all. His own cabin
at the moment seemed an ideally peaceful retreat. Only his belief that
in this girl's small shoe lay the absolute proof of Helen's innocence
nerved him to go on with his self-imposed duty. His chief desire was to
place these shoes in the coroner's hands and so end all dispute
concerning the footprints in the flour.

The girl, whose name was Rita, sullenly made coffee, and as she brought
it to him, he continued his interrogation:

"How did you get here?"

"I rode."

"Over the trail? Across the divide?"

"Yes."

"Were you in the raid this morning?"

"What raid? I don't know of any raid."

He knew she was lying, but he only said, "When did you leave home?"

"Three days ago."

"Where have you been?"

"In camp."

"Where?"

She pointed up the stream.

"How long have you been acquainted with this man Busby?"

Here he struck upon something stubborn and hard in the girl's nature.
She refused to reply.

"When were you over here last?"

A warning word from Busby denoted that he understood the course of the
ranger's questioning and was anxious to strengthen her resistance.

Hanscom had several hours in which to ponder, and soon arrived at a
fairly accurate understanding of the whole situation. He remembered
vaguely the report of a row between Watson and Busby, and he was aware
of the reckless cruelty of the dead man. It might be that in revenge for
some savagery on his part, some graceless act toward Rita, this moody,
half-insane youth had crept upon the rancher and killed him.

He turned to young Kitsong. "I haven't seen you lately. Where have you
been?"

"Over on the Porcupine."

"Working on Gonzales's ranch?"

"Yes, part of the time."

"Does your father know you are back in the valley?"

"No--yes, he does, too!"

"You fired that shot that killed the hor