to London."

"I'm not likely to go, either," he retorted.

Her red lips curled in a way that seemed to indicate that she thought he
would go. Already, she was planning to get him out of Crawling Water and
beyond the influence of Dorothy Purnell.

As they turned into the main street again, a man leaving a group near
the livery stable, and mounting a horse, rode toward them.

"I wonder what's up now?" Wade muttered, recognizing the horseman as one
of the Trowbridge outfit.

"Mr. Wade. Just a minute." With the grace of a Centaur, the rider swung
his mount in beside them and doffed his hat. "Two of Jensen's herders
have been shot. I thought you ought to know about it."

"What?" The ranch owner's jaw dropped at the news.

"It's true, sir. Word just came in."

"Thanks, Barker." Wade pulled himself together, as the restless pony
raced back to the barn. "I must go, Helen," he went on, turning to the
girl at his side. "There's been fighting--murder, perhaps--out near the
ranch. Santry will need me." He was uneasy lest the old plainsman should
have been concerned in the shooting.

"You'll take me to the hotel?"

"Of course, yes! Would you mind walking a little faster?" They quickened
their pace. "I'm sorry, Helen; but I must hurry to the ranch." Even at
that moment he could not but reflect that there would have been no need
to take Dorothy home. Somehow, the ways of the East seemed to fit less
and less aptly into the life of Crawling Water.

On his way to the livery stable after his horse, Wade did some rapid
thinking. Santry might have been concerned in the shooting, but his
employer thought not. The old fellow had promised to stay at home, and
his word was as good as another man's bond. It was too bad, certainly,
that the thing should have happened just when Senator Rexhill's promised
aid had seemed in a fair way to settle the controversy. Now, the whole
thing was more upset than ever, for Moran and Rexhill could hardly be
blamed if they backed up their own men, especially if the herders had
been blameless, as was probably the case. Yet if the Senator did this,
Wade knew that a bloody little war would be the outcome.

"Where's Trowbridge, Barker?" he asked of the cowpuncher, whom he found
waiting at the stable.

"At the ranch, I think."

Wade nodded. Ten minutes later he was in the saddle and headed for the
mountains, just as dusk began to fall. The cool night air, blowing
against his face as he reached the hi