deeply embedded staple and
the great hasp in place. The key safely in Judith's possession, Shorty
was left to his own thoughts while Judith, and Hampton went to the
house.

In answer to Judith's call, Doc Tripp came without delay, left brief,
disconcerting word that without the shadow of a doubt the hogs were
stricken with cholera, and went on with his little bag to see what his
skill could do for Bill Crowdy.

"Ought to give him sulphur fumes," grunted Tripp. But his hands were
very gentle with the wounded man for all that.

Pollock Hampton had no thought of sleep that night; didn't so much as
go to bed. He lay on a couch in the living-room and Marcia Langworthy,
tremendously moved at the recital Judith gave of Hampton's heroism,
fluttered about him, playing nurse to her heart's delight. The major
suggested that Hampton have something and Hampton was glad to accept.
Mrs. Langworthy complacently looked into the future and to the maturity
of her own plans. In truth, good had come out of evil, and Marcia and
Hampton held hands quite unblushingly.

Before daylight Carson, with half a dozen men, had breakfasted, saddled
and was ready to ride to the Upper End to begin the search for
Quinnion. But before he rode, Carson made the discovery that during
the night the staple and hasp on the grain-house door had been wrenched
away and that Shorty was gone, leaving behind him no sign of the way of
his going. Carson's face was a dull, brick red. Not yet had he
brought himself to accept the full significance of events. A hold-up,
such as Charlie Miller had experienced, is one thing; a continued
series of incidents like these happening upon the confines of the Blue
Lake Ranch, was quite another. Hampton, knowing nothing of conditions
in the mountains, had been quick to imagine the predicament in which he
had found Judith and Bud Lee. To Carson that had been a thing not to
be thought of. Now, only too plainly he realized that Shorty had had
an accomplice at the ranch headquarters who had come to his assistance.

Carson blamed himself for the escape. And yet, he growled to himself,
in a mingling of shame and anger, it would have looked like plumb
foolishness to sit out in front of that heavy door all night, when he
himself had tied Shorty's hands.

"Quinnion might have let him loose," he mused as he went slowly to the
house to tell Judith what had happened. "An' then he mightn't. If he,
didn't, then who the devil