and when the thunderous diapason of the river permitted, they talked.

"How did they manage to move the sick man?" asked Ballard, when the
trail and the stream gave him leave.

"That is another of the things that I don't know; I'm a leather-bound
edition of an encyclopaedia when it comes to matters of real
information," was the ironical answer. "But your guess of this morning
was right; there was a sick man--sick or hurt some way. I took the
liberty of investigating a little when I awoke and found the ranch
deserted. The other room of the cabin was a perfect shambles."

"Blood?" queried the engineer; and Bigelow nodded.

"Blood everywhere."

"A falling-out among thieves, I suppose," said Ballard, half-absently;
and again Bigelow said: "I don't know."

"The boy knows," was Ballard's comment. "He knew before he left the
ranch this morning. I haven't been able to get a dozen words out of him
all day."

Just here both stream-noise and trail-narrowing cut in to forbid further
talk, and Bigelow drew back to let Ballard lead in the single-file
progress along the edge of the torrent.

It was in this order that they came finally into the Arcadian
grass-lands, through a portal as abrupt as a gigantic doorway. It was
the hour of sunset for the high peaks of the Elk range, and the purple
shadows were already gathering among the rounded hills of the hogback.
Off to the left the two advanced riders of the posse cavalcade saw the
evening kitchen-smoke of Riley's ditch-camp. On the hills to the right a
few cattle were grazing unherded.

But two things in the prospect conspired to make Ballard draw rein so
suddenly as to bring him awkwardly into collision with his follower. One
was a glimpse of the Castle 'Cadia touring car trundling swiftly away to
the eastward on the river road; and the other was a slight barrier of
tree branches piled across the trail fairly under his horse's nose.
Stuck upon a broken twig of the barrier was a sheet of paper; and there
was still sufficient light to enable the chief engineer to read the
type-written lines upon it when he dropped from the saddle.

"Mr. Ballard:" it ran. "You are about to commit an act of the crudest
injustice. Take the advice of an anxious friend, and quench the fire of
enmity before it gets beyond control."

There was no signature; and Ballard was still staring after the
disappearing automobile when he mechanically passed the sheet of paper
up to Bigelow. The Forestry ma