ion. You've a great opportunity. I needn't say use
your eyes and ears as never before."

"I hope Sampson turns out to be on the square," I replied. "He might be
a lax mayor, too good-natured to uphold law in a wild country. And his
Southern pride would fire at interference. I don't like him, but for his
daughter's sake I hope we're wrong."

Steele's eyes, deep and gleaming in the moonlight, searched my face.

"Son, sure you're not in love with her--you'll not fall in love with
her?"

"No. I am positive. Why?"

"Because in either case I'd likely have need of a new man in your
place," he said.

"Steele, you know something about Sampson--something more!" I exclaimed
swiftly.

"No more than you. When I meet him face to face I may know more. Russ,
when a fellow has been years at this game he has a sixth sense. Mine
seldom fails me. I never yet faced the criminal who didn't somehow
betray fear--not so much fear of me, but fear of himself--his life, his
deeds. That's conscience, or if not, just realization of fate."

Had that been the thing I imagined I had seen in Sampson's face?

"I'm sorry Diane Sampson came out here," I said impulsively.

Steele did not say he shared that feeling. He was looking out upon the
moon-blanched level.

Some subtle thing in his face made me divine that he was thinking of the
beautiful girl to whom he might bring disgrace and unhappiness.

Chapter 2

A KISS AND AN ARREST

A month had passed, a swift-flying time full of new life. Wonderful it
was for me to think I was still in Diane Sampson's employ.

It was the early morning hour of a day in May. The sun had not yet grown
hot. Dew like diamond drops sparkled on the leaves and grass. The gentle
breeze was clear, sweet, with the song of larks upon it.

And the range, a sea of gray-green growing greener, swept away westward
in rolling ridges and hollows, like waves to meet the dark, low hills
that notched the horizon line of blue.

I was sitting on the top bar of the corral fence and before me stood
three saddled horses that would have gladdened any eye. I was waiting
to take the young ladies on their usual morning ride.

Once upon a time, in what seemed the distant past to this eventful
month, I had flattered myself there had been occasions for thought, but
scornfully I soliloquized that in those days I had no cue for thought
such as I had now.

This was one of the moments when my real self seemed to stand off and
sk