."

"What can a girl be wanting at Doubleday's?"

"D'no. Came off the train tonight."

"The Double-draw is out."

"Jing!" exclaimed Bradley, "it was there an hour ago."

"The ford is your only chance to get her over."

"Can I make it?"

"You've got good horses; you ought to make it by daylight."

"Hear they got a new foreman over at Doubleday's," Bradley said.

There was no comment, unless the silence could be so construed.

"Tom Stone," added Bradley, as if bound to finish.

There was an instant and angry exclamation, none the less ferocious
because of the restrained feeling in its sudden utterance.

"Doubleday sets a good deal by what Van Horn says; I reckon he put him
in there," suggested Bradley.

There was a further silence. Then she heard the stranger dryly say: "I
expect so." It seemed as if behind everything he did say there was so
much left unsaid.

"I never got rightly, Jim," Bradley went on, "how you 'n' Van Horn's
related."

"I hope you never will," returned the man saluted as "Jim," in the same
low, cold tone. "We're not related. He was my partner--once."

"Stone will change things at the ranch."

"He can't hurt them much."

"I guess they're full bad," said Bradley, and then, lowering his voice:
"The gal's asleep there in the stage. How'd the land contest they made
on y' at Medicine Bend come off?"

"The cattlemen own that Land Office. I'll beat the bunch at
Washington."

"Doubleday wanted me to go down to swear. I wouldn't do it--wasn't
even at the trial----"

"No honest man was, from Doubleday's."

"Was it Stone cut your wire, Jim?"

"You know as much about it as I do."

"Got it up again?"

"All I could find."

"Meaner 'n' hell over there, ain't they?"

There was no comment.

"How long you goin' to stand it, Jim?" persisted Bradley. And after
the odd pause, the slow answer: "Till I get tired."

"That'll be about the time they rip it off again."

"About that time, Bill."

"Well," hazarded the old driver, meditatively, "the boys are waitin'.
They say you're slow to start anything, Jim; but they look f'r hell t'
pay when y' do."

To the stranger--it seemed to Kate--words must be worth their weight in
gold, he parted with them so sparingly.

"What's this talk 'bout Farrell Kennedy makin' a depity marshal, Jim?"

"Mostly talk, Bill. Good night."

"Farrel offered it to y', didn't he?"'

"So Lefever says."

"Where y' headin' f'r now?" persisted Bradley