morning Duane spent an unhappy hour wrestling decision out of the
unstable condition of his mind. But at length he determined to create
interest in all that he came across and so forget himself as much as
possible. He had an opportunity now to see just what the outlaw's
life really was. He meant to force himself to be curious, sympathetic,
clear-sighted. And he would stay there in the valley until its
possibilities had been exhausted or until circumstances sent him out
upon his uncertain way.

When he returned to the shack Euchre was cooking dinner.

"Say, Buck, I've news for you," he said; and his tone conveyed either
pride in his possession of such news or pride in Duane. "Feller named
Bradley rode in this mornin'. He's heard some about you. Told about the
ace of spades they put over the bullet holes in thet cowpuncher Bain
you plugged. Then there was a rancher shot at a water-hole twenty miles
south of Wellston. Reckon you didn't do it?"

"No, I certainly did not," replied Duane.

"Wal, you get the blame. It ain't nothin' for a feller to be saddled
with gun-plays he never made. An', Buck, if you ever get famous, as
seems likely, you'll be blamed for many a crime. The border'll make an
outlaw an' murderer out of you. Wal, thet's enough of thet. I've more
news. You're goin' to be popular."

"Popular? What do you mean?"

"I met Bland's wife this mornin'. She seen you the other day when you
rode in. She shore wants to meet you, an' so do some of the other women
in camp. They always want to meet the new fellers who've just come
in. It's lonesome for women here, an' they like to hear news from the
towns."

"Well, Euchre, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not meet any
women," rejoined Duane.

"I was afraid you wouldn't. Don't blame you much. Women are hell. I was
hopin', though, you might talk a little to thet poor lonesome kid."

"What kid?" inquired Duane, in surprise.

"Didn't I tell you about Jennie--the girl Bland's holdin' here--the one
Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in stealin'?"

"You mentioned a girl. That's all. Tell me now," replied Duane,
abruptly.

"Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe it's straight, an' mebbe it ain't. Some
years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy mescal an' other
drinks. He'll sneak over there once in a while. An' as I get it he run
across a gang of greasers with some gringo prisoners. I don't know, but
I reckon there was some barterin', perhaps murderin'. Anyway, B