d to try on him the love-charm of the
Sioux women. It might soften his heart toward her. She would have
sacrificed anything and all to bring him back.

Smith was glad to get away into the hills for a time. He was filled with a
feverish impatience to bring about that which he so much desired. The
picture of the ranch-house with the white curtains at the windows became
more and more attractive to him as he dwelt upon it. He looked upon it as
a certainty, one which could not be too quickly realized to please him.
Then, too, the atmosphere of the MacDonald ranch had grown distasteful to
him. With that sudden revulsion of feeling which was characteristic, he
had grown tired of the place, he wanted a change, to be on the move again;
but, of more importance than these things, he sensed hostility in the air.
There was something significant in the absence of the Indians at the
ranch. There was an ominous quiet hanging over the place that chilled him.
He had a feeling that he was being followed, without being able to detect
so much as a shadow. He felt as if the world were full of eyes--glued upon
him. Sudden sounds startled him, and he had found himself peering into
dark stable corners and stooping to look where the shadows lay black in
the thick creek-brush.

He told himself that the trip through the Bad Lands had unnerved him, but
the explanation was not satisfying. Through it all, he had an underlying
feeling that something was wrong; yet he had no thought of altering his
plans. He wanted money, and he wanted Dora. The combination was sufficient
to nerve him to take chances.

Tubbs was waiting in the gulch. Smith looked at the spot where White
Antelope's body had lain, and reflected that it was curious how long the
black stain of blood would stay on sand and gravel. He had been lucky to
get out of that scrape so easily, he told himself as he rode by.

"I guess you know what you're up against, feller," he said bluntly, as he
and Tubbs met.

"I inclines to the opinion that it's a little cattle deal," Tubbs replied
facetiously.

"You inclines right. Now, here's our play--listen. The Bar C outfit is
workin' up in the mountains, so they won't interfere with us none, and
about three or three and a half days' drive from here there's some fellers
what'll take 'em off our hands. We gets our wad and divvies."

"What for a hand do I take?"

"By rights, maybe, we ought to do our work at night, but I've rode over
the country, and