Juniper Ridge and
across Granite Creek near the Thurman ranch. Indeed, if he followed the
trail up Granite Creek and across the hilly country to Quirt Creek, he
must pass within fifty yards of the Thurman cabin. Lone's time was
limited, yet he took the direct route rather reluctantly. He did not
want to be reminded too sharply of Fred Thurman as a man who had lived
his life in his own way and had died so horribly.

"Well, he didn't have it coming to him--but it's done and over with,
now, so it's no use thinking about it," he reflected, when the roofs of
the Thurman ranch buildings began to show now and then through the thin
ranks of the cottonwoods along the creek.

But his face sobered as he rode along. It seemed to him that the sleepy
little meadows, the quiet murmuring of the creek, even the soft rustling
of the cottonwood leaves breathed a new loneliness, an emptiness where
the man who had called this place home, who had clung to it in the face
of opposition that was growing into open warfare, had lived and had left
life suddenly--unwarrantably, Lone knew in his heart. It might be of no
use to think about it, but the vivid memory of Fred Thurman was with him
when he rode up the trail to the stable and the small corrals. He had to
think, whether he would or no.

At the corral he came unexpectedly in sight of the Swede, who grinned a
guileless welcome and came toward him, so that Lone could not ride on
unless he would advertise his dislike of the place. John Doe, plainly
glad to find an excuse to stop, slowed and came to where Swan waited by
the gate.

"By golly, this is lonesome here," Swan complained, heaving a great
sigh. "That judge don't get busy pretty quick, I'm maybe jumping my job.
Lone, what you think? You believe in ghosts?"

"Naw. What's on your chest, Swan?" Lone slipped sidewise in the saddle,
resting his muscles. "You been seeing things?"

"No--I don't be seeing things, Lone. But sometimes I been--like I _feel_
something." He stared at Lone questioningly. "What you think, Lone, if
you be sitting down eating your supper, maybe, and you feel something
say words in your brain? Like you know something talks to you and then
quits."

Lone gave Swan a long, measuring look, and Swan laughed uneasily.

"That sounds crazy. But it's true, what something tells me in my brain.
I go and look, and by golly, it's there just like the words tell me."

Lone straightened in the saddle. "You better come clean, Swa