--though this was by no means the only peephole in the cabin
walls--he watched without undue concern the scouting of the trio, who
beyond doubt had been hired to kill him and were only waiting their
chance.

After a long inspection of the ground--much of it out of sight of the
cabin--broken by frequent colloquies, the three rode from the creek
bottom out on the upper field and, halting, surveyed the distant cabin
with seeming doubt and suspicion. Two of them reined their horses
toward the creek. The third man spurred up the long slope straight for
the house.

This put a different aspect on things. Laramie tightened a little as
he watched the oncoming rider. If it should prove to be Stone--he
hesitated at the thought, deciding on nothing until sure who the man
might be. But watching the approach of the unwelcome visitor coldly,
Laramie put out his hand for his rifle. He thought of firing a warning
shot; but to this he was much averse since it would mean a fight and a
siege--neither of which he sought. As the man drew closer it was
apparent that it was not Stone and Laramie decided that milder measures
might answer. He held his rifle across his arm and waited. But the
man, as if conscious of the peril to which he was so coolly exposing
himself, galloped rapidly away, rejoined his companions and the trio
disappeared.

Laramie at the window watched the departing horsemen. It appeared,
from what he had seen, as if the watch had really been set on him. He
got out his little bottle of oil and a rag and ramrod to clean his
rifle. He made the preparations and sat down to his task in a brown
study.

The rifle had not been fired for some time, and it was a very long time
since it had been trained on a man. He took it apart slowly, thinking
less of what would next appear through the range of the sights than of
Kate, as she confronted him the night before in Carpy's office. He
realized with a sort of shame that he was trying to forgive her for
calling him a thief--which, in point of fact, he argued, she had not
actually done. And though she had certainly spoken careless-like, as
Bill Bradley might say, she had only credited the tales of his enemies
in her own household.

Laramie poked and squinted as he pondered his difficulties. He had
refused to give up Hawk to be merely murdered; he could not do less and
respect himself. It had made her father more than ever his enemy;
still he wanted Kate. Stone would as