to keep from falling, his breath coming in
terrific heaves.

An instant after his arrival Ben Nyland was in side the Double A
ranchhouse, pistol in hand. He tore through the rooms in the darkness,
stumbling over the furniture, knocking it hither and there as it
interfered with his progress.

He found no one. Accidentally colliding with the table in the kitchen,
he searched its top and discovered thereon a kerosene lamp. Lighting
it with fingers that trembled, he looked around him.

There were signs of the confusion that had reigned during the day. He
saw on the floor the rope that had encircled Dale's neck--one end of it
was tied to the fastenings of the kitchen door.

The tied rope was a mystery to Nyland, but it suggested hanging to his
thoughts, already lurid, and he leaped for the pantry. There he grimly
viewed the wreck and turned away, muttering.

"He's been here an' gone," he said, meaning Dale; "them's his
marks--ruin."

Blowing out the light he went to the front door, paused in it and then
went out upon the porch, from where he could look northeastward at the
edge of the mesa surmounting the big slope that merged into the floor
of the basin.

Faintly outlined against the luminous dark blue of the sky, he caught
the leaping silhouette of a horse and rider. He grinned coldly, and
stepped back into the shadow of the doorway.

"That's him, damn him!" he said. "He's comin' back!"

He had not long to wait. He saw the leaping silhouette disappear,
seeming to sink into the earth, but he knew that horse and rider were
descending the slope; that it would not be long before they would
thunder up to the ranchhouse--and he gripped the butt of his gun until
his fingers ached.

He saw a blot appear from the dark shadows of the slope and come
rushing toward him. He could hear the heave and sob of the horse's
breath as it ran, and in another instant the animal came to a sliding
halt near the edge of the porch, the rider threw himself out of the
saddle and ran forward.

At the first step taken by the man after he reached the porch edge, he
was halted by Nyland's sharp:

"Hands up!"

And at the sound of the other's voice the newcomer cried out in
astonishment:

"Ben Nyland! What in hell are you doin' here?"

"Lookin' for Dale," said the other, hoarsely. "Thought you was him,
an' come pretty near borin' you. What saved you was a notion I had of
wantin' Dale to know what I was killin' him for! Pret