l by strategy or violence.

* * * * *

With haggard countenance and inflamed eyes, Wade bore little resemblance
to his normal self when he again appeared before the Senator, who
received him in his dressing-gown, being just out of bed. Rexhill
listened with a show of sympathy to the cattleman's story, but evidently
he was in a different mood from the day before.

"My boy, your friendship for your foreman is leading you astray. Your
faith in him, which is natural and does you credit, is blinding you to
an impartial view of the case. Why not let the law take its course? If
Santry is innocent his trial will prove it. At any rate, what can I do?"

"Senator--" Wade spoke with intense weariness. "Only yesterday you
offered to help us. The situation, as I explained it then, is unchanged
now, except for the worse. Bill Santry is free of any complicity in
Jensen's death. I am positive of it. He sent me word that he had not
left the ranch, and he would not lie to save himself from hanging.
Besides, the men were shot in the back, and that is absolute proof that
Santry didn't do it."

"Mere sentiment, Gordon; mere sentiment. Proof? Pooh!"

Rexhill's slightly contemptuous tone worked upon Wade in his exhausted,
overwrought condition, and stung him. A strange look of cunning appeared
in his eyes, as he leaned across the table which separated them.

"Senator, Moran made me an offer the other day for my land. If--I accept
that offer, will you exert your influence in Santry's behalf?"

Coming so swiftly upon his planning, the prospect of such signal success
was so gratifying to Rexhill that only in halting speech could he
maintain a show of decorous restraint. His countenance expressed
exultant relief, as well it might, since he seemed to see himself
snatched out of the jaws of ruin.

"Why, Gordon, I--Of course, my boy, if you were to show such a generous
spirit as that, I--er--should feel bound...." The sense of his remarks
was lost in the crash of Wade's fist upon the table.

"Damn you!" The cattleman was beyond himself with fatigue, rage, and a
rankling sense of injustice. "They told me that was your game. I
believed it of Moran, but I thought you were square. So you're that
sort, too, eh? Well, may you rot in hell before you get my land, you
robber! Now listen to me." He waved his hand in the direction of the
street. "Out there's a hundred men--real men--who're waiting the word to
run you ou