LITMIR.BIZ

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the meal he was in the saddle, riding slowly toward the river.

      Before very long he was riding through Bear Flat, and after a time he came to the hill where only two short days before he had reveled in the supreme happiness that had followed months of hope and doubt. It did not seem as though it had been only two days. It seemed that time was playing him a trick. Yet he knew that to-day was like yesterday—each day like its predecessor—that if the hours dragged it was because in the bitterness of his soul he realized that today could not be—for him—like the day before yesterday; and that succeeding days gave no promise of restoring to him the happiness that he had lost.

      He saw the sun rising above the rim of hills that surrounded the flat; he climbed to the rock upon which he had sat—with her—watching the shadows retreat to the mountains, watching the sun stream down into the clearing and upon the Radford cabin. But there was no longer beauty in the picture—for him. Hereafter he would return to that life that he had led of old; the old hard life that he had known before his brief romance had given him a fleeting glimpse of what might have been.

      Many times, when his hopes had been high, he had felt a chilling fear that he would never be able to reach the pinnacle of promise; that in the end fate would place before him a barrier—the barrier in the shape of his contract with Stafford, that he had regretted many times.

      Mary Radford would never believe his protest that he had not been hired to kill her brother. Fate, in the shape of Leviatt, had forestalled him there. Many times, when she had questioned him regarding the hero in her story, he had been on the point of taking her into his confidence as to the reason of his presence at the Two Diamond, but he had always put it off, hoping that things would be righted in the end and that he would be able to prove to her the honesty of his intentions.

      But now that time was past. Whatever happened now she would believe him the creature that she despised—that all men despised; the man who strikes in the dark.

      This, then, was to be the end. He could not say that he had been entirely blameless. He should have told her. But it was not the end that he was now contemplating. There could be no end until there had been an accounting between him and Leviatt. Perhaps the men who had shot Ben Radford in the back would never be known. He had his suspicions, but they availed nothing. In the light of present circumstances Miss Radford would never hold him guiltless.

      Until near noon he sat on the rock on the crest of the hill, the lines of his face growing more grim, his anger slowly giving way to the satisfying calmness that comes when the mind has reached a conclusion. There would be a final scene with Leviatt, and then——

      He rose from the rock, made his way deliberately down the hillside, mounted his pony, and struck the trail leading to the Two Diamond ranchhouse.

      About noon Leviatt and Tucson rode in to the Two Diamond corral gate, dismounted from their ponies, and proceeded to the bunkhouse for dinner. The men of the outfit were already at the table, and after washing their faces from the tin wash basin on the bench outside the door, Leviatt and Tucson entered the bunkhouse and took their places. Greetings were given and returned through the medium of short nods—with several of the men even this was omitted. Leviatt was not a popular range boss, and there were some of the men who had whispered their suspicions that the death of Rope Jones had not been brought about in the regular way. Many of them remembered the incident that had occurred between Rope, the range boss, Tucson, and the new stray-man, and though opinions differed, there were some who held that the death of Rope might have resulted from the ill-feeling engendered by the incident. But in the absence of proof there was nothing to be done. So those men who held suspicions wisely refrained from talking in public.

      Before the meal was finished the blacksmith poked his head in through the open doorway, calling: "Ol' Man wants to see Leviatt up in the office!"

      The blacksmith's head was withdrawn before Leviatt, who had heard the voice but had not seen the speaker, could raise his voice in reply. He did not hasten, however, and remained at the table with Tucson for five minutes after the other men had left. Then, with a final word to Tucson, he rose and strode carelessly to the door of Stafford's office. The latter had been waiting with some impatience, and at the appearance of the range boss he shoved his chair back from his desk and arose.

      "Just come in?" he questioned.

      "Just come in," repeated Leviatt drawling. "Plum starved. Had to eat before I came down here."

      He entered and dropped lazily into a chair near the desk, stretching his legs comfortably. He had observed in Stafford's manner certain signs of a subdued excitement, and while he affected not to notice this, there was a glint of feline humor in his eyes.

      "Somebody said you wanted me," he said. "Anything doin'?"

      Stafford had held in as long as he could. Now he exploded.

      "What in hell do you suppose I sent for you for?" he demanded, as, walking to and fro in the room, he paused and glared down at the range boss. "Where you been? We're twenty calves an' a dozen cows short on the tally!"

      Leviatt looked up, his eyes suddenly flashing. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "They're hittin' them pretty heavy lately. When was they missed?"

      Stafford spluttered impotently. "Night before last," he flared. "An' not a damned sign of where they went!"

      Leviatt grinned coldly. "Them rustlers is gettin' to be pretty slick, ain't they?" he drawled.

      Stafford's face swelled with a rage that threatened to bring on apoplexy. He brought a tense fist heavily down upon his desk top.

      "Slick!" he sneered. "I don't reckon they're any slick. It's that I've got a no good outfit. There ain't a man in the bunch could see a rustler if he'd hobbled a cow and was runnin' her calf off before their eyes!" He hesitated to gain breath before continuing. "What have I got an outfit for? What have I got a range boss for? What have I got——!"

      Leviatt grinned wickedly and Stafford hesitated, his hand upraised.

      "Your stray-man doin' anything these days?" questioned Leviatt significantly. "Because if he is," resumed Leviatt, before the manager could reply, "he ought to manage to be around where them thieves are workin'."

      Stafford stiffened. He had developed a liking for the stray-man and he caught a note of venom in Leviatt's voice.

      "I reckon the stray-man knows what he's doin'," he replied. He returned to his chair beside the desk and sat in it, facing Leviatt, and speaking with heavy sarcasm. "The stray-man's the only one of the whole bunch that's doin' anything," he said.

      "Sure," sneered Leviatt; "he's gettin' paid for sparkin' Mary Radford."

      "Mebbe he is," returned Stafford. "I don't know as I'd blame him any for that. But he's been doin' somethin' else now an' then, too."

      "Findin' the man that's been rustlin' your stock, for instance," mocked Leviatt.

      Stafford leaned back in his chair, frowning.

      "Look here, Leviatt," he said steadily. "I might have spoke a little strong to you about them missin' cattle. But I reckon you're partly to blame. If you'd been minded to help Ferguson a little, instead of actin' like a fool because you've thought he's took a shine to Mary Radford, we might have been further along with them rustlers. As it is, Ferguson's been playin' a lone hand. But he claims to have been doin' somethin'. He ain't been in the habit of blowin' his own horn, an' I reckon we can rely on what he says. I'm wantin' you to keep the boys together this afternoon, for we might need them to help Ferguson out. He's promised to ride in to-day an' show me the man who's been rustlin' my cattle."

      Leviatt's lips slowly straightened. He sat more erect, and when he spoke the mockery had entirely gone from his voice and from his manner.

      "He's goin' to do what?" he questioned coldly.

      "Show me the man who's been rustlin' my cattle," repeated Stafford.

      For a brief space neither man spoke—nor moved. Stafford's face wore the smile of a man who has just communicated some unexpected and astonishing news and was watching its effect with suppressed enjoyment. He knew

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