urs truly,
"ROBB CHILLINGWOOD."

Iredale smiled as he read the letter over.

"Comes at an opportune moment," he said to himself. "Surplus stock,
eh? Well, I think I can offer him all the stock he needs at a price
which will meet with the approval of even a canny Scot. I'll write him
at once."

He seated himself at his table and wrote a long letter asking
Chillingwood to come out and see him, and, at the same time, offering
to dispose of the stock of Lonely Ranch. He sealed the letter, and
then returned his account-books to their hiding-place behind the
bookcase. Then he went to the door and summoned his head man.

In spite of the habit of years, Iredale was not without a strong sense
of relief as he reviewed the progress of the disestablishment of the
ranch. He remembered how narrowly he had escaped from Leslie Grey less
than a year ago, and now that he had begun to burn his boats he was
eager to get through with the process.

The ferret-faced Chintz framed himself in the doorway.

"My horse!" demanded his master. "And, Chintz, I want you to take this
letter to Lakeville and post it with your own hands. You understand?"

The little man nodded his head.

"Good!" Iredale paused thoughtfully. "Chintz," he went on a moment
later, "we've finished with opium. We retire into private life from
now out--you and I. We are going to leave Owl Hoot. How does that suit
you?"

The little man cheerfully nodded, and twisted his face into a
squinting grimace intended for a pleasant smile. Then his eyebrows
went up inquiringly. Iredale took his meaning at once.

"I don't know where we are going as yet. But you'll go with me. I want
you to remain my 'head man.'"

Chintz nodded. There could be no doubt from his expression that he was
devoted to his master.

"Right. Send my horse round at once. I am going to Loon Dyke, and
shall be back for supper."

The man departed, and the rancher prepared for his ride.

When George Iredale set out for Loon Dyke the valley was shrouded in
the gloom of coming storm. But he knew the peculiarities of the
climate too well to be alarmed. The storm, he judged, would not break
until nearly sundown, and then it would only be short and sharp. In
the meantime he would have reached the farm. There was a curious,
unconscious rapidity in his way of settling up his affairs. It was as
though some strange power were urging him to haste. This may have been
t