. Livingstone, perhaps Annette has a word or two she wishes to
speak to Payne. Shall we ride on and give them a moment alone?"

"I am sure Annette can have nothing to say to this Mr. Payne," replied
Mrs. Livingstone quickly.

"Don't you be so sure of that," said Garman curtly. "Youth calls to
youth!"

Annette's riding crop fell suddenly upon her mount and she went past
Roger on the gallop out onto the prairie.

"Youth calls to youth!" repeated Garman staring after her with angry
eyes. "Mrs. Livingstone, don't you remember when you were young; when
you had ideals and hopes of realizing them, and you could love, nobly
and purely, without thinking of money?--ha, ha, ha! Must you really
follow Annette? Really!"

He pulled his horse close to Roger.

"Well, Payne, how do you like my rat pit? Hard to get out of, eh?
Don't waste your time trying; I've made sure you're going to stay put."

"I've been thinking," said Roger calmly, "that perhaps the best act of
my life would be to pull the gun inside my shirt and shoot you through
the head right here."

"Don't talk nonsense; you can't; you're too civilized. Besides--Hi,
there!--Look behind you, Payne."

Roger laughed without turning.

"No, you don't get the drop on me with that old trick, Garman."

"Speak, you back there--what's your name--Harney?"

"Yes, sir," said a muffled voice in the shadows behind Roger. "Ed
Harney--Joe Harney's brother. I've got him covered."

"Ho hum!" yawned Garman. "I must follow the ladies. Especially,
Annette--magnificent, tender, fiery little Annette!--Damn her!
Something has happened; she's bold, defiant! She needs taming. Great
sport, woman taming--in the swamp. Good night, Payne. Pleasant
dreams!"

A cloud bank floated across the moon, plunging the woods into Stygian
darkness. Out on the sand of the prairie the thud, thud, thud of
Garman's galloping horse grew fainter and died away. A rift in the
clouds revealed the moon for an instant. Roger whirled round, seeking
to see the man who had called himself Harney. The clouds closed up
again, the woods were black; and a Southern whippoorwill chuckled
foolishly. Ahead, on the trail which he must follow to reach the
Devil's Playground, Roger heard the footsteps of three men, and knew
that Garman had taken all precautions to make good his assertion that
the Devil's Playground was closed to traffic.

The anger which was in his heart craved an outlet. He moved toward