office and dropped heavily into a
chair beside the desk. He was directly in front of the open door and
looking up he could see the men down at the bunkhouse congregated
around the bodies of Leviatt and Tucson.

The end that he had been expecting for the past two days had come--had
come as he knew it must come. He had not been trapped as they had
trapped Rope Jones. When he had stood before Leviatt in front of the
bunkhouse, he had noted the positions of the two men; had seen that
they had expected him to walk squarely into the net that they had
prepared for him. His lips curled a little even now over the thought
that the two men had held him so cheaply. Well, they had learned
differently, when too late. It was the end of things for them, and for
him the end of his hopes. When he had drawn his guns he had thought of
merely wounding Leviatt, intending to allow the men of the outfit to
apply to him the penalty that all convicted cattle thieves must suffer.
But before that he had hoped to induce Leviatt to throw some light upon
the attempted murder of Ben Radford.

However, Leviatt had spoiled all that when he had attempted to draw his
weapon after he was wounded. He had given Ferguson no alternative. He
had been forced to kill the only man who, he was convinced, could have
given him any information about the shooting of Radford, and now, in
spite of anything that he might say to the contrary, Mary Radford, and
even Ben himself, would always believe him guilty. He could not stay
at Two Diamond now. He must get out of the country, back to the old
life at the Lazy J, where among his friends he might finally forget.
But he doubted much. Did men ever forget women they had loved? Some
perhaps did, but he was certain that nothing--not even time--could dim
the picture that was now in his mind: the hill in the flat, the girl
sitting upon the rock beside him, her eyes illuminated with a soft,
tender light; her breeze-blown hair--which he had kissed; which the
Sun-Gods had kissed as, coming down from the mountains, they had bathed
the hill with the golden light of the evening. He had thought then
that nothing could prevent him from enjoying the happiness which that
afternoon seemed to have promised. He had watched the sun sinking
behind the mountains, secure in the thought that the morrow would bring
him added happiness. But now there could be no tomorrow--for him.

Fifteen minutes later Stafford entered the office