o light a fresh cigarette. The flash of
the match showed his face white, hat pulled down on his brows, his
thin, long gamester's fingers cupped round the blaze.

There fell a moment of silence, no sound of word, no movement of horse
or foot upon the ground. Insects among the trees were grinding their
scythes for tomorrow's reaping, it seemed, whirring in loud, harsh
chorus such as one never heard out on the grazing lands.

Now the sound of footsteps approaching the door. Reid came back into
the room, where he stood drawing a deep breath of smoke like a man
drinking to store against a coming thirst. He dropped the cigarette,
set his foot on it, crushed it to sparks on the floor.

Swan Carlson was in the door, the light dim on his stern, handsome
face. Behind him stood his woman, a white wimple bound on her forehead
like a nun.

CHAPTER XXVIII

SWAN CARLSON LAUGHS

"So, you are here?" said Swan, standing in the door, looking about him
as if he had entered an unfamiliar place.

"Didn't you look for me?" Reid returned. He stood between Carlson and
the closed inner door, foot on a rung of the chair in which he lately
had sat, his attitude careless, easy.

"A man never knows," Carlson replied, coming into the room.

Hertha Carlson lingered just outside the door, as if repelled by the
recollection of old sufferings there. Swan reached out, grasped her
wrist, drew her roughly inside, pointed to a chair. The woman sat
down, her eyes distended in fright, her feet drawn close to the chair
as if to hide them from the galling chain that she had dragged so many
weary months across the floor of her lonely prison.

Swan pulled a chair to the table and sat down, elbows on the board,
facing Reid, a question in his attitude, his face, to which he at once
gave words:

"Where's your woman?"

"Where's the money?" Reid countered, putting out his hand. "You threw
me down after I delivered you three hundred sheep--you didn't come
across with a cent--on the plea that one thief couldn't collect from
another. All right, Swan; we'll forget the sheep deal, but this is
another matter. Put your money in my hand; then we'll talk."

"Is she in there?" Swan pointed to the door behind Reid, half rising
from his chair.

Reid put his hand to his empty holster, his body turned from Carlson
to conceal his want of a weapon. Carlson jerked his head in high
disdain, resumed his chair, his great hand spread on the table.

Mackenzie ste