llivan was bewildered between doubt
and suspicion as they rode toward Carlson's ranch, which the sheepman
said was about seven miles away. But he betrayed nothing of his
thoughts in words, riding in silence mainly, looking at the ground
like a man who had troubles on his mind.

The silence of abandonment was over Carlson's house as they rode up. A
few chickens retreated from the yard to the cover of the barn in the
haste of panic, their going being the only sound of life about the
place. The door through which Mackenzie had left was shut; he
approached it without hesitation--Tim Sullivan lingering back as if in
doubt of their reception--and knocked. No answer. Mackenzie tried the
door, finding it unlocked; pushed it open, entered.

Sullivan stood outside, one mighty hand on the jamb, his body to one
side under protection of the house, his head put cautiously and
curiously round to see, leaving a fairway for Swan Carlson should he
rise from a dark corner, shake himself like an old grizzly, and
charge.

"Is he there?" Tim asked, his voice a strained whisper.

Mackenzie did not reply. He stood in the middle of the room where his
combat with Swan had taken place, among the debris of broken dishes,
wrecked table, fallen stovepipe and tinware, looking about him with
grim interest. There was nobody in the other room, but the blood from
Swan's hurt trailed across the floor as if he had been helped to the
bed. Tim took his courage in both hands and came just inside the
door.

"Man! Look at the blood!" he said.

"There's nobody here," Mackenzie told him, turning to go.

"She's took him to the doctor," said Tim.

"Where is that?"

"There's a kind of a one over on the Sweetwater, sixty miles from
here, but there's no good one this side of Jasper."

"He'll die on the way," Mackenzie said conclusively.

"No such luck," said Tim. "Look! There's the chain he tied that woman
of his up with."

"We'd better go back and get at that hay," Mackenzie said. "There's
nothing I can do for Carlson."

"There's the table leg you hit him with!" Tim picked it up, plucking
off the red hairs which clung to it, looking at Mackenzie with
startled eyes. Mackenzie mounted his horse.

"You'd better shut the door," he called back as he rode away.

Tim caught up with him half a mile on the way back to the hay-field.
The sheepman seemed to have outrun his words. A long time he rode
beside Mackenzie in silence, turning a furtive eye upon him