f me."

"No, I wouldn't; no, I wouldn't. I know what I'm talking about. I tell
you, I love you, Sheila. Do you think it's easy to say good-bye and
leave you? It's the hardest job I ever had. It's--it's--oh, it's hell,
that's what it is. I used to love work just for the work's sake. But
now, to think of grubbing away year after year, to get money that I
can't use, that I don't want--that can't get me what I want! Oh, Lord!
the hopeless years ahead! What's the good of them? What's the use? I
wish I'd never seen this place--or you."

His deep voice rose, and fell, and rumbled uncertainly, shaken by
feeling. He slouched dejectedly in his saddle, looking straight ahead
as if his eyes beheld the emptiness of the years to come.

"Then why do you say good-bye?" said Sheila.

Farwell started, half turning in the saddle. "Why? Because it's best.
What's the use of hanging around? I have to take my medicine, don't I?
I can take it easier away from here."

"I'm not so sure," she said hesitatingly, "that there will be any
medicine to take."

Farwell's eyes opened wide as he stared at her.

"What do you mean by that? Don't fool with me, Sheila, for Heaven's
sake. It's too serious a matter."

"Yes, it's serious," she agreed. She faced him frankly, the rich blood
mounting beneath the tan of her cheeks. "What's the use of beating
around the bush? When you kissed me I hated you. I struck you. But when
Sandy came--and afterward--you seemed a good deal of a man. And so--I
don't know--but it need not be good-bye for good."

CHAPTER XXIX

In the evening a stranger drove up to Chakchak. He was long and lean,
and his hair was flecked with gray. His eyes were blue and clear, set
rather wide apart, holding a calm, disconcerting stare. His clothes
were much worn, frayed, and dusty. His movements were quiet and
deliberate, and so was his speech.

"I am lookin'," he said, "for Mr. Dunne."

"That's my name," said Casey.

"Then I'd like a little private talk with you. My name is Dove; I'm
actin' sheriff of this county while Fuller's sick." Evidently Acting
Sheriff Dove was a man of direct speech.

"Glad to meet you, sheriff," said Casey. "Come right into my quarters.
I've guests at the house, and I'm bunking here. Have a cigar, and tell
me what I can do for you."

The sheriff lit a cigar very deliberately, and carefully pinched out
the flame of the match with his fingers, surest of signs of one
accustomed to the plains and