--providing, of
course, that his leaving was not likely to menace the peace and
security of the Sawtooth. Lone had made it a point to mind his own
business, always. He had never asked questions, he had never surmised or
gossiped. So Hawkins gave him a check for his wages and let him go with
no more than a foreman's natural reluctance to lose a trustworthy man.

By hard riding along short cuts, Lone reached the Quirt ranch and
dropped reins at the doorstep, not much past mid-afternoon.

"I rode over to see if there's anything I can do," he said, when
Lorraine opened the door to him. He did not like to ask about her
father, fearing that the news would be bad.

"Why, thank you for coming." Lorraine stepped back, tacitly inviting him
to enter. "Dad knows us to-day, but of course he's terribly hurt and
can't talk much. We do need some one to go to town for things. Frank
helps me with dad, and Jim and Sorry are trying to keep things going on
the ranch. And Swan does what he can, of course, but----"

"I just thought you maybe needed somebody right bad," said Lone quietly,
meaning a great deal more than Lorraine dreamed that he meant. "I'm not
doing anything at all, right now, so I can just as well help out as
not. I can go to town right away, if I can borrow a horse. John Doe,
he's pretty tired. I been pushing him right through--not knowing there
was a town trip ahead of him."

Lorraine found her eyes going misty. He was so quiet, and so reassuring
in his quiet. Half her burden seemed to slip from her shoulders while
she looked at him. She turned away, groping for the door latch.

"You may see dad, if you like, while I get the list of things the doctor
ordered. He left only a little while ago, and I was waiting for one of
the boys to come back so I could send him to town."

It was on Lone's tongue to ask why the doctor had not taken in the order
himself and instructed some one to bring out the things; but he
remembered how very busy with its own affairs was Echo and decided that
the doctor was wise.

He tiptoed in to the bed and saw a sallow face covered with stubbly gray
whiskers and framed with white bandages. Brit opened his eyes and moved
his thin lips in some kind of greeting, and Lone sat down on the edge of
a chair, feeling as miserably guilty as if he himself had brought the
old man to this pass. It seemed to him that Brit must know more of the
accident than Swan had told, and the thought did not add to his com