rk Thorn," she whispered.

Chadron's face displayed no surprise, shadowed no deeper concern. Only
there was a flitting look of perplexity in it as he sat upright in his
saddle again.

"Who is he?" he asked.

"Don't you know?" She watched him closely, baffled by his unmoved
countenance.

"I never heard of anybody in this country by that name," he returned,
shaking his head with a show of entire sincerity. "Who was tellin' you
about him--who said he was the man?"

A little confused, and more than a little disappointed over the
apparent failure of her news to surprise from Chadron a betrayal of
his guilty connection with Mark Thorn, she related the adventure of
the morning, the finding of the cap, the meeting with Macdonald and
his neighbors. She reserved nothing but what Lassiter had told her of
Thorn's employers and his bloody work in that valley.

Chadron shook his head with an air of serious concern. There was a
look of commiseration in his eyes for her credulity, and shameful
duping by the cunning word of Alan Macdonald.

"That's one of Macdonald's lies," he said, something so hard and
bitter in his voice when he pronounced that name that she shuddered.
"I never heard of anybody named Thorn, here or anywheres else. That
rustler captain he's a deep one, Miss Frances, and he was only
throwin' dust in your eyes. But I'm glad you told me."

"But they said--the man he called Lassiter said--that Macdonald would
find Nola, and bring her home," she persisted, unwilling yet to accept
Chadron's word against that old man's, remembering the paper with the
list of names.

"He's bald-faced enough to try even a trick like that!" he said.

Chadron looked impatiently toward the house, muttering something about
the slowness of "them women," avoiding Frances' eyes. For she did not
believe Saul Chadron, and her distrust was eloquent in her face.

"You mean that he'd pretend a rescue and bring her back, just to make
sympathy for himself and his side of this trouble?"

"That's about the size of it," Chadron nodded, frowning sternly.

"Oh, it seems impossible that anybody could be so heartless and low!"

"A man that'd burn brands is low enough to go past anything you could
imagine in that little head of yours, Miss Frances. Do you mind
runnin' in and tellin'--no, here she comes."

"Couldn't this trouble between you and the homesteaders--"

"Homesteaders! They're cattle thieves, born in 'em and bred in 'em,
and set in t