ld always
be counted on to soothe Seth it was apple dumplings.

* * * * *

Meanwhile it was indeed a black day for Huntington. Fate was against
him. Tearing himself, mangled in spirit, out of one trap, he rode
blindly into another. Far up in the hills, riding savagely, he knew
not where, nor cared, vowing dark vengeance on Haig, his attention was
drawn at last by the weird and ominous bellowing of cattle. Following
the sound, he came to a little hollow where a hundred or more cattle
were gathered, like the rapt spectators in an amphitheater, around two
bulls engaged in mortal combat. One, as Seth quickly saw, was a red
Hereford, his best thoroughbred; the other, a black Angus, and even
more valuable, was Haig's. The red bull, bleeding from many wounds,
was plainly being worsted in the encounter. With a roar of rage,
Huntington drew his revolver, urged his unwilling horse down into the
arena where the turf was torn up for many yards around the combatants,
circled about until he could take sure aim, and emptied every chamber
of the gun into the head and neck of the Angus. The bull sank to the
ground, head first, in a lumbering mass that kicked once or twice,
shivered, and lay still.

But the Hereford, red-eyed with blood and fury, turned on Huntington,
and drove him, barely escaping being gored, into the thick timber. In
a place of safety Huntington jerked his horse around, and sat limp in
the saddle, staring down at the scene of his final humiliation.

"That's it! That's it!" he bellowed. "Even my own bull turns on me.
Haw! Haw!" His hollow, hoarse, and unmirthful laughter echoed among
the pines. "Great joke! Haig will like that. And the rest of them.
Hell!"

But Haig! And the Angus! Well, there'd got to be a show-down anyhow
pretty soon. He dismounted, and seated himself on a fallen tree trunk,
and gave himself up to reflections upon which it is only the most
obvious kindness and discretion to draw the curtain.

CHAPTER XV

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

The days dragged by under the burdens of doubt and torture, and out of
the Valley of the Shadow came Philip Haig, with some new and
disquieting thoughts to occupy him in his convalescence. Toiling up
out of the darkness, where foul fiends seemed to have torn and mangled
his body with their fiery claws, his fingers were still warm from the
pressure of a soft, guiding hand; there was a haunting memory of
kisses on hi