ard and glittering with suspicion
that had driven the smile from his eyes.

"If Bedloe...." began Dalton sharply, his great fist clenched. But he
stopped short. He saw and understood the warning glance Broderick shot
at him; Winifred saw, too, but did not understand.

"Let's go into the other room," the miner said carelessly, "and see what
Henry's cigars are made out of."

They rose and went back to Pollard's office. And Ben Broderick, who had
suggested cigars, was the only one of the three men who rolled his own
cigarette, rolled it slowly and with deep thoughtfulness.

CHAPTER XVII

SUSPICION

After all it seemed that for some reason the time was not yet ripe for
Cole Dalton to put his rope on "Mr. Badman". For the days ran on
smoothly for Buck Thornton, the weeks grew out of them and he rode,
unmolested, unsuspicious of any threatened interference, about his own
business.

He had gone a second time to the dugout at Poison Hole, carrying
provisions enough to last Jimmie Clayton several days. Clayton seemed
assured that Bedloe would look out for him now and insisted that there
was danger of some of the range hands learning of Thornton's trips here.
So, for a week he did not ride near the man's hiding place, and when one
day he did visit the dugout again there was nothing to show that Clayton
had been there and no hint of how or where he had gone. Thornton felt a
deep sense of relief, believing that the episode, so far as he was
concerned, was closed.

Another week and he was close to forgetting Jimmie Clayton altogether.
The demands of the routine of range work kept him busy every day, early
and late, and as though that were not enough to tax his endurance there
came a fresh call upon him.

The stage had not been robbed that day he had seen it leaving Dry Town,
and he had begun to persuade himself that the epidemic of crime from one
end of the county to the other was at an end; that the highwayman had
left the country while he could. But now came news of fresh outlawry,
news that ran from tongue to tongue of the angered cattle men and miners
who demanded more and more loudly that Cole Dalton "get busy".

Rumour flew back and forth, indignant, voluble, accusatory. It stacked
crime upon crime; it mouthed the names of many men whom the county would
be glad to entertain in its empty jail, the names of the three Bedloe
boys, of Black Dan, of Long Phil Granger, of certain newcomers to Hill's
Corners who,