"Masten wouldn't take it up, he told Pickett," went on Uncle Jepson.
"He'd put it up to you. An' when you'd tackle Pickett about it, Pickett
would shoot you. If they was any chance for Chavis to help along, he'd do
it. But mostly, Pickett was to do the job. I cal'late that's about
all--except that I layed for you an' told you to look out."

"You heard this talk after--after Pickett had--"

"Of course," growled Uncle Jepson, a venomous flash in his eyes, slightly
reproachful.

"Sure--of course," agreed Randerson. He was grim-eyed; there was cold
contempt in the twist of his lips. He sat for a long time, silent,
staring out through the door, Uncle Jepson watching him, subdued by the
look in his eyes.

When he spoke at last, there was a cold, bitter humor in his voice.

"So that's Willard's measure!" he said. "He grades up like a side-winder
slidin' under the sagebrush. There's nothin' clean about him but his
clothes. But he's playin' a game--him an' Chavis. An' I'm the guy they're
after!" He laughed, and Uncle Jepson shivered. "She's seen one killin',
an' I reckon, if she stays here a while longer, she'll see another:
Chavis'." He stopped and then went on: "Why, I reckon Chavis dyin'
wouldn't make no more impression on her than Pickett dyin'. But I reckon
she thinks a heap of Willard, don't she, Uncle Jep?" "If a girl
promises--" began Uncle Jepson.

"I reckon--" interrupted Randerson. And then he shut his lips and looked
grimly out at the horses in the corral.

"Do you reckon she'd--" Randerson began again, after a short silence.
"No," he answered the question himself, "I reckon if you'd tell her she
wouldn't believe you. No good woman will believe anything bad about the
man she loves--or thinks she loves. But Willard--"

He got up, walked out the door, mounted Patches and rode away. Going to
the door, Uncle Jepson watched him until he faded into the shimmering
sunshine of the plains.

"I cal'late that Willard--"

But he, too, left his speech unfinished, as though thought had suddenly
ceased, or speculation had become futile and ridiculous.

CHAPTER IX

"SOMETHIN'S GONE OUT OF THEM"

As Randerson rode Patches through the break in the canyon wall in the
afternoon of a day about a week after his talk with Uncle Jepson in the
bunkhouse, he was thinking of the visit he intended to make. He had
delayed it long. He had not seen Abe Catherson since tak