ound the country, doin' some secret work for the governor.
Somethin' about rustlers an' outlaws. He ought to be home now, to protect
Barbara. But instead he's wastin' his time somewheres else when he ought
to be here--in Lamo--where's there's plenty of the kind of guys he's
lookin' for.

"There's only one man in the country I trust. He's John Haydon, of the
Star ranch--about fifteen miles west of the Rancho Seco. Seems to me that
Haydon's square. He's an upstandin' man of about thirty, an' he's dead
stuck on Barbara. Seems to me that if it wasn't for Haydon, Deveny, or
Lawson, or Rogers, or some of them scum would have run off with Barbara
long ago.

"You see how she shapes up?" he queried as he watched Harlan's face.

"Looks bad for Barbara," said Harlan slowly.

Morgan writhed and was silent for a time.

"Look here, Harlan," he finally said; "you're considered to be a
hell-raiser yourself, but I can see in your eyes that you ain't takin'
advantage of women. An' Harlan"--Morgan's voice quavered--"there's my
little Barbara all alone to take care of herself with that gang of wolves
around. I'm wantin' you to go to the Rancho Seco an' look around. My wife
died last year. There's mebbe two or three guys around the ranch would
stick to Barbara, but that's all. Take a look at John Haydon, an' if you
think he's on the level--an' you want to drift on--turn things over to
him."

Morgan shuddered, and was silent for a time, his lips tight-shut, his
face whitening in the dusk as he fought the pain that racked him. When he
at last spoke again his voice was so weak that Harlan had to kneel and
lean close to him to hear the low-spoken words that issued from between
his quavering lips:

"Harlan--you're white; you've got to be white--to Barbara! That paper I
was tryin' to stuff into my gun--when you come around the rock. You take
it. It'll tell you where the gold is. You'll find my will--in my desk in
my office--off the _patio_. Everything goes to Barbara. Everybody knows
that. Haydon knows it--Deveny's found it out. You can't get me back--it's
too far. Plant me here--an' tell Barbara." He laughed hollowly. "I reckon
that's all." He felt for one of Harlan's hands, found it, and gripped it
with all his remaining strength. His voice was hoarse, quavering:

"You won't refuse, Harlan? You can't refuse! Why, my little Barbara will
be all alone, man! What a damned fool I've been not to look out for her!"

Night had come, and Morga