own side of the street,
and each watched the other as a bulldog about to spring watches its
antagonist.

A man, whose manner and well-groomed appearance betokened city
residence, mingled with the groups about the cattle company's office,
listening with interest to everything that was said. He himself did
not often speak, but when he did every one listened with attention. He
was of medium stature, of compact, wiry build, had large eyes of a
pale, brilliant gray, and a thin face with prominent features. He
joined Miss Delarue when she came down the street on her way home.

"You get up very sudden storms in your quiet town, Miss Delarue," he
said. "An hour ago Las Plumas was as sleepy and decorous--and dead--as
the graveyard on the hill over yonder. But a man rides up and says ten
words and, br-r-r, the whole population is agog and ready to spring at
one another's throats."

"Yes," she assented, "when I went up town a little while ago
everything was as quiet as usual. What is the excitement all about?"

"Why, they are saying that Emerson Mead has killed Will Whittaker!"

"What!"

Her face suddenly went white, and she stared at him with wide,
horrified eyes.

"It may not be true."

"Oh, I don't believe it can be true!"

He swept her face with a sudden, curious glance.

"Nobody seems to know, certainly, that Will is dead. He and Mead had a
quarrel a week ago and Mead threatened to kill him. Will left the
ranch that day to come to town, and he hasn't been seen since. Of
course, he may have changed his mind and gone off to some other part
of the range."

"Of course," she assented eagerly. "At this time of year he is very
likely to have been needed somewhere else on the range. I don't
believe he has--he is dead."

"There is much feeling about it on the street. And it seems to be
quite as much a matter of politics as a personal quarrel."

"Oh, everything is politics here, Mr. Wellesly!" said the girl. "If
the people all over the United States take as much interest in
politics as they do here, I don't see how they have found time to
build railroads and cities."

Wellesly laughed. "They don't take it the same way, Miss Delarue. Las
Plumas politics is a thing apart and of its own kind. Except in party
names, it has no connection with the politics of the states. Here it
is merely a case of 'follow your leader,' of personal loyalty to some
man who has run, or who expects to run, for office. Being so
personal, of