out of his chair and standing
close to the wall, where the shadows swallowed him. Lee Haines sat with
his lips frozen on the next unspoken word. Two shadows, whose feet made
no sound, Black Bart and Dan glided to the door and peered into the
night--then Barry went back, step by step, until his back was once more
to the wall. Not until that instant did the others hear. It was a step
which approached behind the house; a loud rap at the back door.

It was the very loudness of the knock which made Kate draw a breath of
relief; if it had been a stealthy tap she would have screamed. He who
rapped did not wait for an answer; they heard the door creak open, the
sound of a heavy man's step.

"It's Vic," said Dan quietly, and then the door opened which led into
the kitchen and the tall form of Gregg entered. He paused there.

"Here I am again, ma'am."

"Good evening," she answered faintly.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed.

"Darned if I didn't play a fool game today--hello, Dan."

The other nodded.

"Rode in a plumb circle and come back where I started." He laughed, and
the laughter broke off a little shortly. He stepped to the wall and
hung up his bridle on its peg, which is the immemorial manner of asking
hospitality in the mountain-desert. "Hope I ain't puttin' you out, Kate.
I see you got company."

She started, recalled from her thoughts.

"Excuse me, Vic. Vic Gregg, Buck Daniels, Lee Haines."

They shook hands, and Vic detained Haines a moment.

"Seems to me I've heard of you, Haines."

"Maybe."

Gregg looked at the big man narrowly, and then swung back towards Dan.
He knew many things, now. Lee Haines--yes, that was the name. One of the
crew who followed Jim Silent; and Dan Barry? What a fool he had been not
to remember! It was Dan Barry who had gone on the trail of Silent's gang
and hounded it to death; Lee Haines alone had been spared. Yes, half a
dozen years before the mountain-folk had heard that story, a wild and
improbable one. It fitted in with what Pete Glass had told him of the
shooting of Harry Fisher; it explained a great deal which had mystified
him since he first met Barry; it made the thing he had come to do at
once easier and harder.

"I s'pose Molly showed a clean pair of heels to the whole lot of 'em?"
he said to Dan.

"She's dead."

"Dead?" His astonishment was well enough affected. "God amighty, Dan,
not Grey Molly--my hoss?"

"Dead. I shot her."

Vic gasped. "You?"

"They