done
it? How could one so sensitive have done a wanton cruel thing like this?
Her reason he could not fathom. The facts that confronted him were that
she _had_ done it, and had meant to carry the crime through. Only
detection had changed her purpose.

She turned upon him, plainly sick of the whole business. "Let's get away
from here. Where's your horse?"

"I haven't any. I started on foot and got lost."

"From where?"

"From Mammoth."

Sharply her keen eyes fixed him. How could a man have got lost near
Mammoth and wandered here? He would have had to cross the range, and even
a child would have known enough to turn back into the valley where the
town lay.

"How long ago?"

"Day before yesterday." He added after a moment: "I was looking for a
job."

She took in the soft hands and the unweathered skin of the dark face.
"What sort of a job?"

"Anything I can do."

"But what can you do?"

"I can ride."

She must take him home with her, of course, and feed and rest him. That
went without saying. But what after that? He knew too much to be turned
adrift with the story of what he had seen. If she could get a hold on
him--whether of fear or of gratitude--so as to insure his silence, the
truth might yet be kept quiet. At least she could try.

"Did you ever ride the range?"

"No."

"What sort of work have you done?"

After a scarcely noticeable pause, "Clerical work," he answered.

"You're from the East?" she suggested, her eyes narrowing.

"Yes."

"My name is Melissy Lee," she told him, watching him very steadily.

Once more the least of pauses. "Mine is Diller--James Diller."

"That's funny. I know another man of that name. At least, I know him by
sight."

The man who had called himself Diller grew wary. "It's a common enough
name."

"Yes. If I find you work at my father's ranch would you be too particular
about what it is?"

"Try me."

"And your memory--is it inconveniently good?" Her glance swept as by
chance over the scene of her recent operations.

"I've got a right good forgettery, too," he assured her.

"You're not in the habit of talking much about the things you see." She
put it in the form of a statement, but the rising inflection indicated the
interrogative.

His black eyes met hers steadily. "I can padlock my mouth when it is
necessary," he answered, the suggestion of a Southern drawl in his
intonation.

She wanted an assurance more direct. "When _you_ think it necessary, I