CHAPTER XXV

AMBUSHED

Red Linton had ridden eastward to examine the grass of the range in that
direction, for it had been some days since he had sent Stroud to the
southern range, and since the cattle had been there for some time before
that Linton felt they should be driven to fresh grass.

And yet, perhaps, Linton's search for good grass should not have taken
him so far from the ranchhouse, for he remembered his promise to Harlan
that he would not let Barbara out of his sight. But Barbara had made no
objection to his guardianship of her, so far, and he had longed for a
ride.

He worried a little, though, and felt guilty of something very like
treason to Harlan; and at last, not being able to ride farther with the
thoughts that fought with his desires, he wheeled his horse and sent it
scampering back toward the ranchhouse.

When he reached the ranchhouse he saw none of the men, for he had set
them at tasks inside the buildings; and he rode down to the ranchhouse,
resolved to have a talk with the girl.

When he rode around the near corner he saw that the _patio_ gate was
open. His horse leaped with the stern word he spoke to it, bringing him
swiftly to the gate, where he dismounted and threw open a door that led
into the house.

He called to Barbara, and receiving no answer, he ran from room to room,
not hesitating until he had explored them all.

Emerging from the house, he mounted his horse and sent him westward,
while he scanned the big level around him for sight of the girl.

She had always ridden into the valley in former days, he remembered--and
during the days of his guardianship she had more than once threatened to
ride there. And he had no doubt she had gone there now, out of
perverseness, just to irritate him.

He held his horse to a rapid pace as he crossed the level, and he was
still a mile distant from the covert where Barbara had met Stroud when he
saw a group of horsemen traveling rapidly up the valley.

Linton rode on, his anxiety acute, a grave suspicion afflicting him. And
when, after he had ridden a little farther, he saw Barbara's horse
trotting slowly toward him, the stirrups swinging and flopping emptily
against the saddle skirts, he drew a deep breath and brought his own
horse to a halt, while he sat motionless in the saddle, tortured by
bitter thoughts.

He had no doubt that what Harlan feared would happen, had happened--that
Deveny had come for Barbara. And Deveny had f