.

Kate sat down in the dining-room and looked suspiciously back at the
portieres. She was already sorry she had come into the house, for the
silence and her aloneness added to the conviction fast stealing over
her that someone must be in the dark living-room.

Once entertained, the suspicion became insupportable. Her ears were
pitched to a painful intensity of listening and her eyes were fastened
immovably on the motionless curtains.

She carried a ranchwoman's revolver and, putting her hand on it, she
rose, stepped close to the door of Belle's room--into which she could
retreat--and, with one hand on the knob, called sharply toward the
living-room: "Who's there?"

Not a sound answered her.

"Who is in the living-room?" she demanded again. This time, after a
moment's delay, she heard something move in the darkness, then a man's
step and Laramie stood out between the portieres.

Except for a fatigued look as he rested one hand on the portiere and
the other on his hip, he appeared quite as she had last seen him. "Are
you calling me?" he asked.

"Yes," she responded tartly. "Why didn't you answer?"

"I didn't know who you were speaking to at first. I've been here all
the evening. I didn't know you were in town till I saw your hat on the
table a few minutes ago."

"Where is Belle?" asked Kate, still on edge.

"She went over to Mrs. Kitchen's."

"When will she be back?"

He seemed to take no offense at her peremptory tone. "She said she
wouldn't be gone a great while. But," he added, with his customary
deliberation, "all the same, I wouldn't be surprised if she stayed over
pretty late--or even all night."

This was not just what Kate wanted to hear. "Why didn't you say
something when I first came in?" she asked, her suspicion reflected in
her voice.

He did not seem nonplused but he answered slowly: "I heard someone come
in. I didn't pay much attention, that's about the truth."

"What are you doing in there in the dark?"

He was provokingly deliberate in answering. "You probably haven't
heard about Abe Hawk?"

Her manner changed instantly and her voice sank. "Is it true that he
is dead?"

"Yes."

"He didn't drown that morning, did he?" she asked eagerly anxious.
"You thought he could get out--what happened?"

"He got out of the creek. But he strained his wounds--they opened. I
wasn't much of a surgeon. I got him to the hospital--he died there. I
had no place to take him then. I