grim?"

Janet shrugged: "Oh, he don't count. He's merely the wronged husband."

Cinnabar looked straight into her eyes: "Know Tex?" he asked, drily.

"I've seen him. He borrowed Blue, and he spent last night at the ranch."

"Well, then, believe me, you've seen some man! An' don't you go makin'
no more mistakes like you jest made. If them two was together they had a
right to be. An' they'll come clean with a good reason. They's some
things a _man_ won't do--an' runnin' off with another man's wife is one
of 'em."

"Do you know him?" There was more than a trace of eagerness in the
girl's voice.

"I'll say I know him! An' I'm tellin' it to you, sister, if he's on
Purdy's trail, I'd rather be in hell with my back broke than be in
Purdy's shoes right now."

The girl turned abruptly and walked toward the house, and as Cinnabar
followed her with his eyes, he smiled: "If them two could only hit it
out--she'd make a fine woman fer him. By Gosh! With a woman like that to
kind of steady him down, Tex could be a big man in these parts--he's got
the guts, an' he's got the aggucation, an' so's she. I misdoubt he'd
marry into no sheep outfit though, at that."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE OTHER WOMAN

At the door of the cabin Jennie greeted her caller effusively. Alice
Endicott, who had insisted upon dressing, had finished her breakfast and
was sitting propped up among the pillows on the bed.

"This is Janet McWhorter, our neighbour," introduced Jennie, taking the
girl by the hand and leading her to the side of the bed, "an' this is
Mrs.--Mrs.--why, do you know I can't call your married name to save me.
I never seen yer husban'--an' he's always spoke of in these parts as
'the pilgrim.'"

"Endicott," smiled Alice, as her glance noted with swift approval the
girl's riding boots, her corduroy skirt, her grey flannel shirt, the
scarf of burnt orange, and the roll-brim Stetson--noted, too, the
six-gun and the belt of yellow cartridges. Each well-appointed detail
bespoke the girl of the open range. But the Eastern woman perceived
instantly that the gliding grace of her walk was never acquired in the
saddle, nor were the well modulated tones of the full, throaty voice
with which she acknowledged the introduction, a product of the cattle
range.

"I am very glad to meet you--Mrs. Endicott." Their hands met, and as
Alice looked into the girl's eyes, she wondered at the peculiar glance
that flashed from their blue-black depths. It w