for all
her baby face, is back of all Huntington's violence--thinks she's a
wonderful inspiration to him, with a special genius for the cattle
business! And when she gets him killed--with your assistance--she'll
flop down, and weep--and you too, both of you--and wail that you
didn't mean it!"

She recoiled from him, and leaned helplessly against the wall of the
stable.

"So you let the men ride on to Paradise," he went on with relentless
mockery, "and you let Huntington plunge into that business when you
knew, from me, exactly what it meant. And you rode over here to-day--I
wonder, now, if your foot's really hurt, or if that also is some
trick!"

It was the merest chance shot. He had no suspicion that she had been
shamming, for he had been too much annoyed by the whole incident to be
critical of her demeanor. But the shot went home. The girl, without a
word or cry, suddenly sank down on the box, with her face buried in
her hands.

There ensued a moment of tense silence. For all the bitterness that
surged under his railing speech, Haig was not untouched by the sight
of the girl, bent and cowering before him. But at the same time he was
exasperated anew by the scene that was being enacted under the eyes of
his two men.

"Come!" he said presently, not without reluctant gentleness. "It's
growing late. We must start at once."

The words increased her terror. Through the hands that covered her
eyes she could see Haig and Huntington--with revolvers drawn; and
Claire's white face--She rose impulsively, dropping her hands from her
hot and tear-stained cheeks. She would confess all to him, though it
should betray the inmost secret of her heart; and would beseech him
not to go--

"Don't say it--here!" he commanded sharply, lowering his voice as he
bent toward her. "They think there's something queer about all this.
Come!"

She obeyed him silently, her resolution vanishing before his
authority. Besides, there was yet time, somewhere on the road.

CHAPTER VIII

THE END OF HER STRATAGEM

For some minutes there was no speech, no sound except the swift beat
of the horses' hoofs on the hard roadway, and the crisp crunching of
wheels in the sand. Marion sat rigid, staring straight in front of
her, yet seeing nothing. Dazed and benumbed, her thoughts were in a
hopeless tangle, without beginnings, without ends. How she had bungled
the whole thing! And she might have been so happy, there at his side.

Twilight was