ed first the Casa Blanca, Crook Galloway's old place of
sinister reputation. Some day he must meet Jim Courtot; might not that
time have arrived? God knew he had waited long enough. But Jim
Courtot was not to be found here; nor anywhere in San Juan, though
Howard sought him out everywhere. No, men told him; they had not laid
eyes upon Courtot since Howard had last sought him here.

Finally the delivery was made at the local stock pens; the cattle
crowded through the narrow defile, were counted and weighed and paid
for. The purchasing agent looked at Howard curiously.

'You had higher grade stuff last time,' he said. 'This bunch isn't in
the same class with the other shipment.'

'Don't I know it?' Howard flared out at him, grown irritable here of
late.

He took his cheque, banked it and left town, advancing his men a little
money and telling them to cut their holiday short. Then he saddled his
best horse and headed back for Desert Valley the shortest way. His
expenses had been far heavier than they should have been; his receipts
lower. He knew that look he would see in Sanchia's eyes when again
they met; he prayed that the time might come when he could come close
enough to Jim Courtot to read and answer his look. He thought of Kish
Taka, and for the first time with anger; Kish Taka should keep his
hands off.

Chapter XXIV

The Shadow

There was something awaiting Alan Howard at his ranch house that for a
little at least made him forget Sanchia and Courtot and hard climbs
ahead in the road he must travel. Tired as he was and dispirited when
he got home late that night he went to bed glowing with content. At
dawn he was in the saddle. The Longstreets, early risers as they had
grown to be, had only finished breakfast when he came racing into Bear
Valley, waving his hat to them and calling cheerily. A first frown
came when he saw that Sanchia Murray was breakfasting with them, but
the frown did not linger.

'Good morning, everybody,' he greeted them. Helen, sitting in the sun
on the doorstep, got to her feet; her father came smiling out to shake
hands; even Sanchia, pushing her plate back, rose. She looked at him
searchingly, appearing to note and wonder at his gay mood.

'No, I won't light down and have coffee with you,' he laughed at the
invitation. 'And I won't stop to eat, having devoured a day's rations
before I hit the saddle. No, there's nothing you can do for me, Mr.
Longstreet; th