his murder," she said.

"Yes."

"Tell me about it. What bearing did your trip have on it?"

Lowell was surprised at the intensity of her question.

"Well, you see," he said, "I had to bring in a couple of men who are
suspected of committing the crime. But, frankly, I thought that in this
quiet place you had not so much as heard of the murder."

The girl smiled, but there was no mirth in her eyes.

"Of course it isn't as if one had newsboys shouting at the door," she
replied, "but we couldn't escape hearing of it, even here. Tell me, who
are these men you have arrested?"

"An Indian and a half-breed. Their tracks were found at the scene of the
murder."

"But that evidence is so slight! Surely they cannot--they may not be
guilty."

"If not, they will have to clear themselves at the trial."

"Will they--will they be hanged if found guilty?"

"They may be lynched before the trial. There is talk of it now."

Helen made a despairing gesture.

"Don't let anything of that sort happen!" she cried. "Use all your
influence. Get the men out of the country if you can. But don't let
innocent men be slain."

Lowell attempted to divert her mind to other things. He spoke of the
changed appearance of the ranch.

"Your coming has made a great difference here," he said. "This doesn't
look like the place where I left you not many days ago."

Helen closed her eyes involuntarily, as if to blot out some vision in
her memory.

"That terrible night!" she exclaimed. "I--"

She paused, and Lowell looked at her in surprise and alarm.

"What is it?" he asked. "Is there anything wrong--anything I can do to
help you?"

"No," she said. "Truly there is not, now. But there was. It was only the
recollection of my coming here that made me act so queerly."

"Look here," said Lowell bluntly, "is that stepfather of yours treating
you all right? To put it frankly, he hasn't a very good reputation
around here. I've often regretted not telling you more when I brought
you over here. But you know how people feel about minding their own
affairs. It's a foolish sort of reserve that keeps us quiet when we feel
that we should speak."

"No, I'm treated all right," said the girl. "It was just homesickness
for my school, I guess, that worked on me when I first came here. But I
can't get over the recollection of that night you brought me to this
place. Everything seemed so chilling and desolate--and dead! And then
those few days that followed!