nly do something! She must do something. But what? If
Broderick were the guilty man, and from a score of little things, she
knew that he was, then Henry Pollard was no less guilty. If Pollard were
a part of the horrible scheme, how about Cole Dalton, the sheriff? She
began to think that she saw why the months had gone by and Dalton had
made no arrests! If he was one of them, if the man paid by the county to
defend the county against outlawry were hand and glove with the outlaws,
to whom then could she turn?

But at last, upon the evening of the fourth day, when her spirit was
ready for some desperate measure unless fate came to help her, fate did
help and young Bud King called. He had spent the day in Hill's Corners
upon the quest of any information which might tell him who the man was
who had run off his father's cattle. Having learned nothing, and being a
wise young man after his fashion, he had determined not to go home
entirely profitless, and so came to see Pollard's niece.

She saw him as he rode slowly down the street. In a flash she guessed
that he came to see her, divined too that Pollard would give her little
opportunity of talking to young King or any other man, alone. She was at
her window where she sat so often. Before Bud King's horse had been tied
at the gate she had written a hasty note, had thrust it into an
envelope, and had scrawled on the outside:

"Please carry this right away to Buck Thornton. Don't let any one see.
It is very important."

Then she ran down stairs, slipping the note into the bosom of her dress,
hastening to be at the door when the Bar X man knocked lest Henry
Pollard turn him away, saying that she was not at home.

As she opened the door, and Bud entered, hat in hand and flushed of
face, Pollard came to the door of his office. Winifred, shaking hands
warmly, asked King in, and remarking that her uncle was only reading,
invited him into the office. Pollard, she knew, had no reason to suspect
what she had in mind, and she would give him no reason. Before Bud left
she would find a way to give him the note.

The three sat down, and Bud, never letting his wide hat out of his
hands, sat twirling it and shifting his boots and looking and talking
for the most of the time at Pollard. He was a young man, was Bud; girls
had been few in his life, and this calling upon a young woman in broad
daylight was a daring if not quite a devilish thing.

Winifred found room here for smiling amusem