ed with the effect of a dash of water in
Catherson's face. He started, his big hand trembling, for though he had
come to kill, he unknowingly wanted to hear some word from Randerson's
lips in proof of his innocence. Had Randerson flinched, he would have
taken that as a sign of guilt, as he now took the man's sternness as an
indication of his innocence. He stepped forward until he was no more than
a foot from Randerson, and searched his face with wild intentness. And
then, suddenly, the weapon in his hand sank down, his legs wavered, he
leaned against the wall while his chin dropped to his chest.

"You didn't do it, Rex, you couldn't do it!" he muttered hoarsely. "No
man who'd done a thing like that could look back at me like you looked.
But I'm goin' to git--" He stopped, for there was a rapid patter of feet
on the stairs, and a breathless voice, crying wildly:

"Dad! _Dad! Dad!_"

And while both men stood, their muscles tensed to leap into action in
response to the voice, Hagar burst into the room, looked at them both;
saw Catherson's drawn pistol, and then threw herself upon her father, hid
her face on his breast and sobbed: "It wasn't Rex, dad; it was Masten!"

Catherson's excitement was over. The first terrible rage had expended
itself on Randerson, and after a violent start at Hagar's words he grew
cold and deliberate. Also, the confession seemed to make his resentment
against his child less poignant, for he rested his hand on her head and
spoke gently to her:

"It's all right, Hagar--it's all right. Your old dad ain't goin' to hold
it ag'in you too hard. We all make mistakes. Why, I was just goin' to
make a mighty whopper myself, by killing Rex, here. You leave this to
me." He pushed her toward Randerson. "You take her back to the shack,
Rex. I reckon it won't take me long to do what I'm goin' to do. I'll be
back afore dark, mebbe."

The girl clung to him for an instant. "Dad," she said. "What _are_ you
goin' to do?"

"If you was a good guesser--" said Catherson coldly. And then he grinned
felinely at Randerson and went out. They could hear him going down the
stairs. They followed presently, Hagar shrinking and shuddering under
Randerson's arm on her shoulders, and from the porch they saw Catherson,
on his pony, riding the trail that Ruth had taken on the day she had gone
to see Chavis' shack.

Randerson got Hagar into the saddle, recognizing the pony and speaking
about it. When she told him that Ruth was