edge of the
bunk, covering her face with her hands.

During the silence that followed she could hear the parson outside--his
voice, and the yelping of the dog--evidently they had formed a friendship.
The sounds came nearer; Sheila heard the parson try the door. She became
aware that Dakota was standing over her and she looked up, shivering, to
see his face, still hard and unyielding.

"I am going to open the door," he said. "Is it you or the parson?"

At that word she was on her feet, standing before him, rigid with anger,
her eyes flaming with scorn and hatred.

"You wouldn't dare to do it!" she said hoarsely; "you--you----" She
snatched suddenly for the butt of the weapon that swung at his left hip,
but with a quick motion he evaded the hand and stepped back a pace,
smiling coldly.

"I reckon it's the parson," he said in a low voice, which carried an air
of finality. He started for the door, hesitated, and came back to the
bunk, standing in front of Sheila, looking down into her eyes.

"I am giving you one last chance," he told her. "I am going to open the
door. If you want the parson to die, don't look at me when he steps in. If
you want him to live, turn your back to him and walk to the fireplace."

He walked to the door, unlocked it, and stepped back, his gaze on Sheila.
Then the door opened slowly and the parson stood on the threshold,
smiling.

"It's sure some wet outside," he said.

Dakota was fingering the cylinder of his revolver, his gaze now riveted on
the parson.

"Why," said the latter, in surprise, seeing the attitudes of Dakota and
his guest, "what in the name of----"

There came a movement, and Sheila stood in front of Dakota, between him
and the parson. For an instant she stood, looking at Dakota with a
scornful, loathing gaze. Then with a dry sob, which caught in her throat,
she moved past him and went to the fireplace, where she stood looking down
at the flames.

CHAPTER IV

THIS PICTURE AND THAT

IT was a scene of wild, virgin beauty upon which Sheila Langford looked as
she sat on the edge of a grassy butte overlooking the Ute River, with
Duncan, the Double R manager stretched out, full length beside her, a
gigantic picture on Nature's canvas, glowing with colors which the gods
had spread with a generous touch.

A hundred feet below Sheila and Duncan the waters of the river swept
around the base of the butte, racing over a rocky bed toward a deep,
narrow canyon farther d