appearance at the cabin at the
mouth of Deer Creek yesterday morning explained things, and they let you
go on without taking vengeance for the man Mr. Bigelow had shot in the
Dry Valley affray. They were willing to let the greater matter outweigh
the smaller."

Ballard said "Good heavens!" again, and leaned weakly against the
commissary counter. Then, suddenly, it came over him like a cool blast
of wind on a hot day that this clear-eyed, sweet-faced young woman's
intimate knowledge of the labyrinthine tangle was almost superhuman
enough to be uncanny. Would the nerve-shattering mysteries never be
cleared away?

"You know all this--as only an eye-witness could know," he stammered.
"How, in the name of all that is wonderful----"

"We are not without friends--even in your camps," she admitted. "Word
came to Castle 'Cadia of your night ride and its purpose. For the later
details there was little Dick. My father once had his father sent to the
penitentiary for cattle-stealing. In pity for the boy, I persuaded some
of our Denver friends to start a petition for a pardon. Dick has not
forgotten it; and last night he rode to Castle 'Cadia to tell me what I
have told you--the poor little lad being more loyal to me than he is to
his irreclaimable wretch of a father. Also, he told me another thing:
to-night, while the range cattle are entirely unguarded, there will be
another raid from Deer Creek. I thought you might like to know how hard
a blow you have struck us, this time. That is why I have made Jerry
drive me a hundred miles or so up and down the valley this afternoon."

The situation was well beyond speech, any exculpatory speech of
Ballard's, but there was still an opportunity for deeds. Going to the
door he called to Bigelow, and when the Forestry man came in, his part
in what was to be done was assigned abruptly.

"Mr. Bigelow, you can handle the runabout with one good arm, I'm sure:
drive Miss Craigmiles home, if you please, and let me have Blacklock."

"Certainly, if Miss Elsa is willing to exchange a good chauffeur for a
poor one," was the good-natured reply. And then to his hostess: "Are you
willing, Miss Craigmiles?"

"Mr. Ballard is the present tyrant of Arcadia. If he shows us the
door----"

Bigelow was already at the car step, waiting to help her in. There was
time only for a single sentence of caution, and Ballard got it in a
swift aside.

"Don't be rash again," she warned him. "You have plenty of men