hitching his horse in its dilapidated shed
he set out on foot for the near-by place where Bas Rowlett dwelt alone.

Twenty-four hours had been all he could ask in reaching a decision on
such an issue, yet before he could make answer much remained to be
determined, and in that determination he must rely largely on chances
which he could not hope to regulate or force into a pattern of success.

He had, for example, no way of guessing how long it would be before Bas
returned to his farm or whether, when he came, he would be alone--and
to-morrow's answer depended upon an unwitnessed interview between them.

But he had arrived on foot and taken up his place of concealment at the
back of the log structure with only a half-hour of waiting when the
other man appeared, riding in leisurely unconcern and unaccompanied.

Thornton loosed his pistol and drew back into the lee of the square
stone chimney where he remained safe from discovery until the other had
passed into the stable and begun to ungirth his saddle.

The house stood remote from any neighbouring habitation, and the road at
its front was an infrequently used sledge trail. The stable was at its
side, while back of the buildings themselves, angling off behind the
screening shoulder of a steep spur of hillside, stretched a small
orchard where only gnarled apple trees and a few "bee-gums" broke a
small and level amphitheatre into which the possible passerby could not
see.

The lord of this manor stood bent, his fingers wrestling with the
stubbornness of a rusted buckle, when he heard at his back, low of tone
but startlingly staccato in its quality of imperativeness, the single
syllable, "Bas!"

Rowlett wheeled, leaping back with a hand sweeping instinctively to his
holster--but he arrested that belligerent gesture with a sudden
paralysis of caution because of the look in the eyes of the surprise
visitor who stood poised with forward-bending readiness of body, and a
revolver levelled in a hand of bronze steadiness.

"I'm on my feet now, Bas," came a quiet voice that chilled the hearer
with an inexplicable rigour, "I reckon ye hain't fergot my promise."

Rowlett gave way backward until the wall obstructed his retreat, and in
obedience to the unspoken command in the eyes of his visitor, he
extended both arms high above his head, but while he stood unmoving, his
adroit mind was racing.

He knew what he would do if the situation were reversed, and he
believed that th