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ainā€™t growinā€™ no angelsā€™ wings, Patches, which would give us the right to go to criticizinā€™ others.ā€

Presently he began to ride with more caution, for he wanted to surprise Hagar. A quarter of a mile from the cabin he brought Patches to a halt on a little knoll and looked about him. He had a good view of the cabin in the clearing, and he watched it long, for signs of life. He saw no such signs.

ā€œAbeā€™s out putterinā€™ around, anā€™ Hagarā€™s nappinā€™, I reckonā€”or tryinā€™ on her new dresses,ā€ he added as an after-thought.

He was about to ride on, when a sound reached his ears, and he drew the reins tight on Patches and sat rigid, alert, listening.

The perfect silence of the timber was unbroken. He had almost decided that his ears had played him a trick when the sound came again, nearer than beforeā€”the sound of voices. Quickly and accurately he determined from which direction they came, and he faced that way, watching a narrow path that led through the timber to a grass plot not over a hundred feet from him, from which he was screened by some thick-growing brush at his side.

He grinned, fully expecting to see Abe and Hagar on the path presently. ā€œAbeā€™s behavinā€™ today,ā€ he told himself as he waited. ā€œIā€™ll sure surprise them, ifā€”ā€

Suddenly he drew his breath sharply, his teeth came together viciously, and his brows drew to a frown, his eyes gleaming coldly underneath. For he saw Willard Masten coming along the path, smiling and talking, and beside him, his arm around her waist, also smiling, but with her head bent forward a little, was Hagar Catherson.

The color slowly left Randersonā€™s face as he watched. He had no nice scruples about eavesdropping at this momentā€”here was no time for manners; the cold, contemptuous rage that fought within him was too deep and gripping to permit of any thought that would not center about the two figures on the path. He watched them, screened by the brush, with the deadly concentration of newly aroused murder-lust. Once, as he saw them halt at the edge of the grass plot, and he observed Masten draw Hagar close to him and kiss her, his right hand dropped to the butt of his pistol at his right hip, and he fingered it uncertainly. He drew the hand away at last, though, with a bitter, twisting smile.

Five minutes later, his face still stony and expressionless, he dismounted lightly and with infinite care and caution led Patches away from the knoll and far back into the timber. When he was certain there was no chance of his being seen or heard by Masten and Hagar, he mounted, urged Patches forward and made a wide detour which brought him at length to the path which had been followed by Masten and Hagar in reaching the grass plot. He loped the pony along this path, and presently he came upon themā€”Hagar standing directly in the path, watching him, red with embarrassment which she was trying hard to conceal; Masten standing on the grass plot near her, staring into the timber opposite; Randerson, trying to appear unconcerned and making a failure of it.

ā€œItā€™s Rex!ā€ ejaculated the girl. Her hands had been clasped in front of her; they dropped to her sides when she saw Randerson, and her fingers began to twist nervously into the edges of her apron. A deep breath, which was almost a sigh of relief, escaped her. ā€œI thought it was Dad!ā€ she said.

Evidently Masten had likewise expected the horseman to be her father, for at her exclamation he turned swiftly. His gaze met Randersonā€™s, his shoulders sagged a little, his eyes wavered and shifted from the steady ones that watched him.

His composure returned quickly, however, and he smiled blandly, but there was a trace of derision in his voice:

ā€œYouā€™ve strayed off your range, havenā€™t you, Randerson?ā€ he said smoothly.

ā€œWhy, I reckon I have.ā€ Randersonā€™s voice was low, almost gentle, and he smiled mildly at Hagar, who blushingly returned it but immediately looked downward.

ā€œI expect dad must be gone somewhereā€”that youā€™re lookinā€™ for him,ā€ Randerson said. ā€œI thought mebbe Iā€™d ketch him here.ā€

ā€œHe went to Red Rock this morninā€™,ā€ said the girl. She looked up, and this time met Randersonā€™s gaze with more confidence, for his pretense of casualness had set her fears at rest. ā€œMr. Masten come over to see him, too.ā€

The lie came hesitatingly through her lips. She looked at Masten as though for confirmation, and the latter nodded.

ā€œCatherson is hard to catch,ā€ he said. ā€œIā€™ve been over here a number of times, trying to see him.ā€ His voice was a note too high, and Randerson wondered whether, without the evidence of his eyes, he would have suspected Masten. He decided that he would, and his smile was a trifle grim.

ā€œI reckon Catherson is a regular dodger,ā€ he returned. ā€œHeā€™s always gallivantinā€™ around the country when somebody wants to see him.ā€ He smiled gently at Hagar, with perhaps just a little pity.

ā€œItā€™s getting along in the afternoon, Hagar,ā€ he said. ā€œDad ought to be amblinā€™ back here before long.ā€ His face grew grave at the frightened light in her eyes when he continued: ā€œI reckon me anā€™ Masten better wait for him, soā€™s he wonā€™t dodge us any more.ā€ He cast a glance around him. ā€œWhereā€™s your cayuse?ā€ he said to Masten.

ā€œI left him down near the ford,ā€ returned the other.

ā€œRight on your way back to the Flyinā€™ W,ā€ said Randerson, as though the discovery pleased him. ā€œIā€™m goinā€™ to the Flyinā€™ W, too, soon as I see Catherson. I reckon, if you two ainā€™t got no particular yearninā€™ to go prowlinā€™ around in the timber any longer, weā€™ll all go back to Cathersonā€™s shack anā€™ wait for him there. Threeā€™ll be company, while itā€™d be mighty lonesome for one.ā€

Masten cleared his throat and looked intently at Randersonā€™s imperturbable face. Did he know anything? A vague unrest seized Masten. Involuntarily he shivered, and his voice was a little hoarse when he spoke, though he attempted to affect carelessness:

ā€œI donā€™t think I will wait for Catherson,ā€ he said, ā€œI can see him tomorrow, just as well.ā€

ā€œWell, thatā€™s too bad,ā€ drawled Randerson. ā€œAfter waitinā€™ this long, too! But I reckon youā€™re right; it wouldnā€™t be no use waitinā€™. Iā€™ll go too, I reckon. Weā€™ll ride to the Flyinā€™ W together.ā€

ā€œI donā€™t want to force my company on you, Randerson,ā€ laughed Masten nervously. ā€œBesides, I had thought of taking the river trailā€”back toward Lazette, you know.ā€

Randerson looked at him with a cold smile. ā€œThe Lazette trail suits me too,ā€ he said; ā€œweā€™ll go that way.ā€

Masten looked at him again. The smile on Randersonā€™s face was inscrutable. And now the pallor left Mastenā€™s cheeks and was succeeded by a color that burned. For he now was convinced and frightened. He heard Randerson speaking to Hagar, and so gentle was his voice that it startled him, so great was the contrast between it and the slumbering threat in his eyes and manner:

ā€œMe anā€™ Masten is goinā€™ to make a short cut over to where his horse is, Hagar; weā€™ve changed our minds about goinā€™ to the shack with you. Weā€™ve decided that weā€™re goinā€™ to talk over that business that he come here aboutā€”not botherinā€™ your dad with it.ā€ His lips straightened at the startled, dreading look that sprang into her eyes. ā€œDad ainā€™t goinā€™ to know, girl,ā€ he assured her gravely. ā€œIā€™d never tell him. You go back to the shack anā€™ pitch into your work, sort of forgettinā€™ that you ever saw Mr. Masten. For heā€™s goinā€™ away tonight, anā€™ he ainā€™t cominā€™ back.ā€

Hagar covered her face with her hands and sank into the grass beside the path, crying.

ā€œBy God, Randerson!ā€ blustered Masten, ā€œwhat do you mean? This is going tooā€”ā€

A look silenced himā€”choked the words in his throat, and he turned without protest, at Randersonā€™s jerk of the head toward the ford, and walked without looking back, Randerson following on Patches.

When they reached the narrow path that led to the crossing, just before entering the brush Randerson looked back. Hagar was still lying in the grass near the path. A patch of sunlight shone on her, and so clear was the light that Randerson could plainly see the spasmodic movement of her shoulders. His teeth clenched tightly, and the muscles of his face corded as they had done in the Flying W ranchhouse the day that Aunt Martha had told him of Pickettā€™s attack on Ruth.

He watched silently while Masten got on his horse, and then, still silent, he followed as Masten rode down the path, across the river, through the break in the canyon wall and up the slope that led to the plains above. When they reached a level space in some timber that fringed the river, Masten attempted to urge his horse through it, but was brought to a halt by Randersonā€™s voice:

ā€œWeā€™ll get off here, Masten.ā€

Masten turned, his face red with wrath.

ā€œLook here, Randerson,ā€ he bellowed; ā€œthis ridiculous nonsense has gone far enough. I know, now, that you were spying on us. I donā€™t know why, unless youā€™d selected the girl yourselfā€”ā€

ā€œThatā€™s agā€™in you too,ā€ interrupted Randerson coldly. ā€œYouā€™re goinā€™ to pay.ā€

ā€œYouā€™re making a lot of fuss about the girl,ā€ sneered Masten. ā€œA manā€”ā€

ā€œYouā€™re a heap careless with words that you donā€™t know the meaninā€™ of,ā€ said Randerson. ā€œWe donā€™t raise men out here that do things like you do. Anā€™ I expect youā€™re one in a million. They all canā€™t be like you, back East; if they was, the East would go to hell plenty rapid. Get off your horse!ā€

Masten demurred, and Randersonā€™s big pistol leaped into his hand. His voice came at the same instant, intense and vibrant:

ā€œIt donā€™t make no difference to me how you get off!ā€

He watched Masten get down, and then he slid to the ground himself, the pistol still in hand, and faced Masten, with only three or four feet of space separating them.

Masten had been watching him with wide, fearing eyes, and at the menace of his face when he dismounted Masten shrank back a step.

ā€œGood Heavens, man, do you mean to shoot me?ā€ he said, the words faltering and scarcely audible.

ā€œI reckon shootinā€™ would be too good for you.ā€ Again Randersonā€™s face had taken on that peculiar stony expression. Inexorable purpose was written on it; what he was to do he was in no hurry to be about, but it would be done in good time.

ā€œI ainā€™t never claimed to be no angel,ā€ he said. ā€œI reckon Iā€™m about the average, anā€™ Iā€™ve fell before temptation same as other men. But Iā€™ve drawed the line where youā€™ve busted over it. Mebbe if it was some other girl, I wouldnā€™t feel it like I do about Hagar. But when I tell you that Iā€™ve knowed that girl for about five years, anā€™ that there wasnā€™t a mean thought in her head until you brought your dirty carcass to her fatherā€™s shack, anā€™ that to me sheā€™s a kid in spite of her long dresses and her newfangled furbelows, youā€™ll understand a heap about how I feel right now. Get your paws up, for Iā€™m goinā€™ to thrash you so bad that your own mother wonā€™t know youā€”if sheā€™s so misfortunate as to be alive to look at you! After that, youā€™re goinā€™ to hit the breeze out of this country, anā€™ if I ever lay eyes on you agā€™in Iā€™ll go gunninā€™ for you!ā€

While he had been speaking he had holstered the pistol, unstrapped his cartridge belt and let guns and belt fall to the ground. Then without warning he drove a fist at Mastenā€™s face.

The Easterner dodged the blow, evaded him, and danced off, his

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