the house in a little sheltered hollow her father,
twenty years ago, had planted an orchard. She could see the white and
delicate pink of the blossoms, could catch the hint of perfume that a
little frolicking breeze brought to her.

She heard voices out there and saw two men coming toward the house.
There came to her ears, too, the sound of cool, contemptuous laughter.
She knew who it was insolently jeering at the other, knew before she
saw them that it was the big, splendidly big fellow, as tall as Red
Reckless and heavier, who was known to her only as "Sledge" Hume. She
had heard her father say last night that both Hume and Arthur Shandon
were coming to-day upon some matter of business in which the three men
were interested.

"You're a little fool, anyway, Conway," the deep voice said with that
frank impudence which was a part of Hume.

Garth Conway, not a small man by two inches or fifty pounds, although
he appeared so beside his companion, made a reply which Wanda did not
hear in full, but which reached her sufficiently to tell her that the
two men were talking about some trifling matter of range management and
that his theory had provoked Sledge Hume's blunt comment. The two men
came on, Hume striding a couple of paces in front of Conway, until they
caught sight of her. Conway lifted his hat, his sullen eyes
brightening. Hume, staring at her with the keen eye of appraisal, did
not trouble himself to touch his hat and gave her no greeting beyond
one of his curt nods.

"They have not heard," Wanda thought with a little thrill of pity for
Garth Conway who was so soon to learn of the death of the man who had
been more like a brother than cousin to him. "Mamma will tell them."

She hurried down the veranda to her room which was at the far end, at
the southeast corner of the house. But she paused at the door as she
heard her mother's voice, shaken and tearful, and the reply that one of
the men made.

It was Garth Conway. As though the utterance were drawn from him by
the shock of the surprise, jerked from him involuntarily, he cried:

"Dead? Murdered? My God! And he and Wayne quarrelled. . . ."

"Go on!" It was Sledge Hume's heavy, colourless voice. "Just because
two men quarrel it doesn't mean that one kills the other, does it?"

"Garth!" cried Mrs. Leland. "You mustn't . . ."

"I didn't say that," cried Conway. "I didn't mean . . ."

Wanda waited to hear no more. She hurried into her room, t