gain. He's wild for good."

The sheriff turned and eyed him closely.

"He's got to come back," said Haines. "He's got to come back for the
sake of Kate."

"He'd better be dead for the sake of Kate," answered Buck.

"Why, partner, this isn't the first time he's gone wild."

"Don't you see, Lee?"

"Well?"

"He's fighting to kill. He's shooting to kill, and he ain't ever done
that before. He crippled his men; he put 'em out of the way with a
busted leg or a plugged shoulder; but now he's out to finish 'em. Lee,
he'll never come back."

He looked to the white face of Vic Gregg, standing by, and he said
without anger; "Maybe it ain't your fault, but you've started a pile of
harm. Look at these gents around you, the sheriff and all--they're no
better'n dead, Gregg, and that's all along of you. Barry has started on
the trail of all of you. Look at that house back there. It's packed full
of hell, and all along of you. Lee, let's get back. I'm feelin' sick
inside."

Chapter XVIII. Concerning The Strength Of Women

There were three things discussed by Lee Haines and Buck Daniels in the
dreary days which followed. The first was to keep on their way across
the mountains and cut themselves away from the sorrow of that cabin. The
second was to strike the trail of Barry and hunt until they found his
refuge and attempt to lead him back to his family. The third was
simply to stay on and where they found the opportunity, help Kate. They
discarded the first idea without much talk; it would be yellow, they
decided, and the debt they owed to the Dan Barry of the old days was too
great to be shouldered off so easily: they cast away the second thought
still more quickly, for the trail which baffled the shrewd sheriff, as
they knew, would be too much for them. It remained to stay with Kate,
making excursions through the mountains from day to day to maintain the
pretence of carrying on their own business, and always at hand in time
of need.

It was no easy part to play, for in the house they found Kate more and
more silent, more and more thoughtful, never speaking of her trouble,
but behind her eyes a ghost of waiting that haunted them. If the wind
shrilled down the pass, if a horse neighed from the corral, there was
always the start in her, the thrill of hope, and afterwards the pitiful
deadening of her smile. She was not less beautiful they thought, as she
grew paler, but the terrible silence of the place drove them away tim