the ground better than you lads. Make
camp here to-night and he'll join you before you start. To-morrow
evening I'll have a messenger meet you on the flats. We're trying to
keep in touch with each other, you understand."

Rutherford left them making camp. They were so far up in the mountains
that the night was cool, even though the season was midsummer. Unused
to sleeping outdoors as yet, Roy lay awake far into the night. His
nerves were jumpy. The noises of the grazing horses and of the
four-footed inhabitants of the night startled him more than once from a
cat-nap. His thoughts were full of Beulah Rutherford. Was she alive
or dead to-night, in peril or in safety?

At last, in the fag end of the night, he fell into sound sleep that was
untroubled. From this he was wakened in the first dim dawn by the
sound of his companions stirring. A fire was already blazing and
breakfast in process of making. He rose and stretched his stiff limbs.
Every bone seemed to ache from contact with the hard ground.

While they were eating breakfast, a man rode up and dismounted. A
long, fresh zigzag scar stretched across his forehead. It was as plain
to be seen as the scowl which drew his heavy eyebrows together.

"'Lo, Charlton. Come to boss this round-up for us?" asked Dingwell
cheerily.

The young man nodded sulkily. "Hal sent me. The boys weren't with
him." He looked across the fire at Beaudry, and there was smouldering
rage in his narrowed eyes.

Roy murmured "Good-morning" in a rather stifled voice. This was the
first time he had met Charlton since they had clashed in the arcade of
the Silver Dollar. That long deep scar fascinated him. He felt an
impulse to apologize humbly for having hit him so hard. To put such a
mark on a man for life was a liberty that might well be taken as a
personal affront. No wonder Charlton hated him--and as their eyes met
now, Roy had no doubt about that. The man was his enemy. Some day he
would even the score. Again Beaudry's heart felt the familiar drench
of an icy wave.

Charlton did not answer his greeting. He flushed to his throat, turned
abruptly on his heel, and began to talk with Ryan. The hillman wanted
it clearly understood that the feud he cherished was only temporarily
abandoned. But even Roy noticed that the young Admirable Crichton had
lost some of his debonair aplomb.

The little Irishman explained this with a grin to Dave as they were
riding together ha