wed him into the trailless maze of the bad lands, her
fists clenched tight, "Oh, I hope he won't find Purdy. They'll kill
him."

She turned the mare into the corral, and entering the cabin, prepared
her solitary luncheon, and as she ate it her thoughts retraced the
events of the morning. She remembered how he had looked when she had
mentioned Purdy's name--the horrified tone with which he had repeated
the name--and how he had recoiled from it as though from a blow. "What
does he know of Purdy?" she asked herself, "and why should the fact that
Purdy had ridden away with his friend have affected him so? Purdy
wouldn't kill his friend--there had been no sign of a struggle there on
the river bank. If the man went with Purdy, he went of his own free
will--even a horse-thief couldn't steal a full grown cowpuncher without
a struggle." She gave it up, and busied herself with the preparation of
a pack of food for the morrow. "It seems as though I had known him for
years," she murmured, "and I never laid eyes on him till this morning.
But--Mr. Colston would never have made him foreman, if he wasn't all
right. Anyway, anybody with half sense can see that by just looking into
his eyes, and he's really handsome, too--I'll never forget how he looked
when I first saw him--standing there beside the haystack with his hat in
his hand and his bandaged head--" she paused and frowned at the thought
of that bandage, "I'll dress his wound tonight," she murmured "but--I
wonder."

From time to time during the afternoon, she stepped to the door and
glanced anxiously up and down the creek. At last, just at sundown, she
saw a rider pause before the gate of the corral. She flew to the door,
and drew back hurriedly: "It's that horrid Long Bill Kearney," she
muttered, in disappointment, "disreputable old coot! He ought to be in
jail along with other denizens of the bad lands. Dad sure picked a fine
bunch of neighbours--all except the Cinnabar Joes--and they say he used
to be a bartender--but he's a nice man--I like him."

Long Bill rode on, and glancing out the window Janet saw a fragment of
paper flapping in the wind. She hurried to the corral and removing the
paper that had been secured to a post by means of a sliver of wood, read
it hurriedly. The blood receded slowly from her face, and a great weight
seemed pressing upon her heart. She reread the paper carefully word for
word. This Texan, then, was a man with a price on his head. He was no
bet