her.

When he came down to the trees he found Isobel and Ashton alone. The
girl's manner was constrained and her color higher than usual. Ashton,
comfortably outstretched on a blanket with her saddle for pillow,
frowned petulantly at the intruder. But Isobel sprang up and came to
meet Blake, unable to conceal her relief.

"I was so glad to see Genevieve," she said. "You came back just in
time."

"How's that?" asked Blake, his eyes twinkling.

She blushed, but quickly recovered from her confusion to dimple and
cast a teasing glance at Ashton. "Baby woke up," she answered. "You
may not know it, but babies cry when they fail to get what they
want."

"He's getting what he wants--I'm not!" complained Ashton.

"I--I must see if Genevieve needs anything," murmured the girl, and
she fled to the tent.

"I need you!" Ashton called after her without avail.

"How're you feeling?" inquired Blake.

Ashton's frown deepened to a scowl.

"Didn't mean how you feel towards me," added Blake. "I can guess that.
My reference was to your head."

"I'm all right," snapped Ashton. "Needn't worry. I'm still weak and
dizzy, but I shall be quite able to do my work tomorrow."

"That's fine," said the engineer, with insistent good humor. "However,
if you feel at all shaky in the morning, I can perhaps get Gowan, or
maybe Miss Chuckie would like to--"

"No!" broke in Ashton. "She shall not! I will do it, I tell you."

"Very well," said Blake. He put down the level and rod, but retained
the rifle. "Tell the ladies I shall be back before long. I am going
to look for something I forgot this morning."

Without waiting for the other's reply, he returned up the dike slope
and around the bend of the hill to where Ashton had been shot. That
for which he was looking was not here, for he at once turned and
started up the hill. He climbed direct to the place where the assassin
had lain in wait.

The bare ledge told Blake nothing, but from a crevice nearby he picked
out two long thirty-eight caliber rifle shells. He put them into his
pocket and went over to scan the mesa from the top of his lookout
crag. He could see no sign of the fugitive murderer. Down below the
mesa side of the hill, however, he saw a man riding up the bank of Dry
Fork, and recognized him as Knowles.

Trained to alert observation by years of life on the range, the cowman
had already perceived Blake. He wheeled aside and rode towards the
hill when the engineer waved his