now was waste of time; and gradually, as he stood
there, the unevolved fury of the man transformed. His tongue became
silent; not a human being had heard the outburst. The physical paroxysm
relaxed. As he returned to the ranch-house no observer would have
detected in him other than the usual matter-of-fact rancher; yet beneath
that calm was a purpose infinitely more terrible than the animal blaze
of a few minutes before, a tenacity more relentless than a tiger on the
trail of its quarry, than an Indian stalking his enemy; a formulated
purpose which could patiently wait, but eventually and inevitably would
grind its object to powder.

Meanwhile, back at the scene of the tragedy, there had been feverish
action. Many of the cowboys were already about the barns, and lanterns
gleamed in the horse corral. Within the house, in the nearest bunk where
they had laid him, stretched the proprietor of the ranch. About him
were grouped Grannis, Graham, and Ma Graham. The latter was weeping
hysterically--her head buried in her big checked apron, the great mass
of her body vibrating with the effort. As Ben approached, her husband
glanced up. Upon his face was the dull unreasoning indecision of a steer
which had lost its leader; an animal passivity which awaited command.

"Rankin's dead," he announced dully. "He's hit here." A withered hand
indicated a spot on the left breast. "He went quick."

Grannis said nothing, and walking up Ben Blair stopped beside the bunk.
He took a long look at the kindly heavy face of the only man he had ever
called friend; but not a feature of his own face relaxed, not a muscle
quivered. Grannis watched him fixedly, almost with fascination.
Gray-haired gambler and man of fortune that he was, he realized as
Graham could never do the emotions which so often lie just back of the
locked countenance of a human being; realized it, and with the grim
carelessness of a frontiersman admired it.

Of a sudden there was a grinding of frosty snow in the outer yard, a
confused medley of human voices, a snorting of horses; and, turning, Ben
went to the door. One glance told him the meaning of the cluster of
cowboys. He walked out toward them deliberately.

"Boys," he said steadily, "put up your horses. You couldn't find a
mountain in the darkness to-night." A pause. "Besides," slowly, "this is
my affair. Put them up and go to bed."

For a moment there was silence. The hearers could scarcely believe their
ears.

"Yo