. But I don't guess that'll need to
worry us any. The man who 'passes in' to-night won't have any kick
comin'. It's better that way--with your duty done."

"Yes."

The simple monosyllable was strangely expressive, but Dug McFarlane had
no understanding of the thought that prompted it. It would have been
difficult indeed, even with understanding, to have probed the depths of
feeling prompting it. But Whitstone was incapable of seeing the
broader aspect of anything pertaining to himself. He saw only as his
feelings dictated, without logic or reason of any sort. He was of that
nature which leans for support upon prejudices absorbed in early youth.
Principles inculcated through early environment and teaching. He was
incapable of testing or questioning their verity. Robbed of them he
was left floundering. And Effie, the woman whom he had married only
out of hot, youthful human regard, had so robbed him.

Effie drew back. She pressed herself close into the bush as the
cavalcade sought the path at the edge of the valley. She watched the
burly leader vanish over the brink. Then, one by one, twenty-five
others passed her in review, and were swallowed up by the depths below.
She knew none of them personally, but she knew they were all ranchers
and ranchmen of varying degree. She knew that each individual had at
some time suffered at the hands of the rustlers. That deep in each
heart was the craving for a vengeance which possessed small enough
thought of justice in it. These men were Vigilantes. They were so
called not from any desire to enforce law and order, but purely for
their own self-defense, the defending of self-interests.

They impressed her not from any justice of motive, but from the
merciless purpose upon which they were bent.

The last to pass over the brink was her husband, a slight figure,
almost puny, amongst these hard prairie folk. Just for one weak moment
she was on the point of raising a protesting voice. Just for one
moment a womanly softening held her yielding. He was her husband, and
memories crowded. But almost as they were born they died. Their place
was once more taken by the recollection of the life she had been forced
to endure for the sake of her first youthful passion. Her heart
hardened. No impulse had driven her to her present actions. They were
the result of a craving she was powerless to resist. Her husband must
go his way. He must act as he saw fit. For herself sh