t. He was not sure that it might not rebound
and--but his was the nature which makes for success or disaster
without a second thought. For him there was no middle course. His
temperament was volcanic and his actions were largely governed by the
passionate nature which was his. Iredale had not turned from the
window, or he would have seen the evil working of that face. His own
great, broad shoulders were set squarely before Hervey's gaze, and
the uncompromising attitude only added fuel to the latter's already
superheated feelings. "Perhaps you might find it interesting to know
that they are hot upon the trail of the man who shot Leslie Grey."

Iredale swung round like a flash. Nor were the storm-clouds which but
now frowned in the heavens more black than the expression of his
face.

"You miserable hound!" he cried, his eyes sparkling, and his jaw
muscles fairly quivering with the force of his clenching teeth. "What
hellish crime would you attempt to fix on me now?"

Hervey grinned with all the ferocity of a tiger.

"I wish to fix no crime on you. I merely mention a fact. Leslie Grey
was the only accuser of his murderer. He stated before he died that
the man who inserted the notice in the paper which ran, 'Yellow
booming--slump in Grey,' was the man who murdered him. I suppose you
don't happen to know who was responsible for that enigmatical line?
You did not inspire it?"

The look that accompanied the man's words was fiendish. The great eyes
shone with a savage light They expressed a hatred which no words could
describe. Iredale's hands clenched and unclenched. His fingers seemed
as though they were clutching at something which they longed to tear
to atoms, and his thoughts centred upon the man before him.

Twice that day he had heard this challenge. Once uttered in all
unconsciousness of its significance, but now with hideous meaning. His
powers of self-restraint were great, but he had reached their limit.
This man had accused him of a dastardly murder. Suddenly his voice
rang out through the room like the bellow of a maddened bull. His
great figure quivered with the fury of his passion. Hervey had done
his worst; now he shrank before the storm he had provoked.

"Out of my house, you scum!" Iredale roared.

"God! but if you stay here an instant longer, I'll smash you as I
would a louse."

The rancher stood panting at the door. His flashing eyes never left
the face of the man before him. Hervey moved; he hesit