statement that Kelso had been hired to kill
him, and by his inability to show evidence to prove it. A shiver of
repulsion, for him and his killings, ran over her.

"I believe you are lying, Randerson," she said, coldly.

He started, stiffened, and then stared, at her, his face slowly
whitening. She had said words that, spoken by a man, would have brought
about another of those killings that horrified her. She watched him,
sensing for the first time something of the terrible emotions that
sometimes beset men in tense situations but entirely unconscious of the
fact that she had hurt him far more than any bullet could have hurt him.

Yet, aside from the whiteness of his face, he took the fatal thrust
without a sign. His dreams, that had seemed to be so real to him while
riding over the plains toward the ranchhouse, had been bubbles that she
had burst with a breath. He saw the wrecks of them go sailing into the
dust at his feet.

He had gazed downward, and he did not look up at once. When he did, his
gaze rested, as though by prearrangement, on her. Her eyes were still
cold, still disbelieving, and he drew himself slowly erect.

"I reckon you've said enough, ma'am," he told her quietly, though his
voice was a trifle hoarse. "A man couldn't help but understand that." He
wheeled Patches and took off his hat to her. "I'll send Red Owen to see
you, ma'am," he added. "I can recommend Red."

She was on her feet, ready to turn to go into the house, for his manner
of receiving her insult had made her feel infinitely small and mean. But
at his words she halted and looked at him.

"Why should you send Red Owen to see me? What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Why, you've made it pretty plain, ma'am," he answered with a low laugh,
turning his head to look back at her. "I reckon you wouldn't expect me to
go on workin' for you, after you've got so you don't trust me any more.
Red will make you a good range boss."

He urged Patches on. But she called to him, a strange regret filling her,
whitening her cheeks, and Patches came again to a halt.

"I--I don't want Red Owen for a range boss," she declared with a gulp.
"If you are determined to quit, I--I suppose I cannot prevent it. But you
can stay a week or two, can't you--until I can get somebody I like?"

He smiled gravely. "Why, I reckon I can, ma'am," he answered
respectfully. "There won't be no awful hurry about it. I wouldn't want to
disconvenience you."

And then he was off