Trevison caught a gasp from the crowd—concerted, sudden. He saw the mass sway in unison, stiffen, stand rigid; and he turned his head quickly, to see the door behind him, and the broken window through which he had thrown Braman—the break running the entire width of the building—filled with men armed with rifles.

He divined the situation, sensed his danger—the danger that faced the crowd should one of its members make a hostile movement.

"Steady there, boys!" he shouted. "Don't start anything. These men are here through prearrangement—it's another frame-up. Keep your guns out of sight!" He turned, to see Corrigan grinning contemptuously at him. He met the look with naked exultation and triumph.

"Got your body-guard within call, eh?" he jeered. "You need one. You've cut me short, all right; but I've said enough to start a fire that will rage through this part of the country until every damned thief is burned out! You've selected the wrong man for a victim, Corrigan."

He stepped down into the street, sheathing his pistol. He heard Corrigan's voice, calling after him, saying:

"Grand-stand play again!"

Trevison turned; the gaze of the two men met, held, their hatred glowing bitter in their eyes; the gaze broke, like two sharp blades rasping apart, and Corrigan turned to his deputies, scowling; while Trevison pushed his way through the crowd.

Five minutes later, while Corrigan was talking with the deputies and Braman in the rear room of the bank building, Trevison was standing in the courthouse talking with Judge Lindman. The Judge stared out into the street at some members of the crowd that still lingered.

"This town will be a volcano of lawlessness if it doesn't get a square deal from you, Lindman," said Trevison. "You have seen what a mob looks like. You're the representative of justice here, and if we don't get justice we'll come and hang you in spite of a thousand deputies! Remember that!"

He stalked out, leaving behind him a white-faced, trembling old man who was facing a crisis which made the future look very black and dismal. He was wondering if, after all, hanging wouldn't be better than the sunlight shining on a deed which each day he regretted more than on the preceding day. And Trevison, riding Nigger out of town, was estimating the probable effect of his crowd-drawing action upon Judge Lindman, and considering bitterly the perfidy of the woman who had cleverly drawn him on, to betray him.



CHAPTER XIII

ANOTHER LETTER

That afternoon, Corrigan rode to the Bar B. The ranchhouse was of the better class, big, imposing, well-kept, with a wide, roofed porch running across the front and partly around both sides. It stood in a grove of fir-balsam and cottonwood, on a slight eminence, and could be seen for miles from the undulating trail that led to Manti. Corrigan arrived shortly after noon, to find Rosalind gone, for a ride, Agatha told him, after she had greeted him at the edge of the porch.

Agatha had not been pleased over Rosalind's rides with Trevison as a companion. She was loyal to her brother, and she did not admire the bold recklessness that shone so frankly and unmistakably in Trevison's eyes. Had she been Rosalind she would have preferred the big, sleek, well-groomed man of affairs who had called today. And because of her preference for Corrigan, she sat long on the porch with him and told him many things—things that darkened the big man's face. And when, as they were talking, Rosalind came, Agatha discreetly retired, leaving the two alone.

For a time after the coming of Rosalind, Corrigan sat in a big rocking chair, looking thoughtfully down the Manti trail, listening to the girl talk of the country, picturing her on a distant day—not too distant, either, for he meant to press his suit—sitting beside him on the porch of another house that he meant to build when he had achieved his goal. These thoughts thrilled him as they had never thrilled him until the entrance of Trevison into his scheme of things. He had been sure of her then. And now the knowledge that he had a rival, filled him with a thousand emotions, the most disturbing of which was jealousy. The rage in him was deep and malignant as he coupled the mental pictures of his imagination with the material record of Rosalind's movements with his rival, as related by Agatha. It was not his way to procrastinate; he meant to exert every force at his command, quickly, resistlessly, to destroy Trevison, to blacken him and damn him, in the eyes of the girl who sat beside him. But he knew that in the girl's presence he must be wise and subtle.

"It's a great country, isn't it?" he said, his eyes on the broad reaches of plain, green-brown in the shimmering sunlight. "Look at it—almost as big as some of the Old-world states! It's a wonderful country. I feel like a feudal baron, with the destinies of an important principality in the clutch of my hand!"

"Yes; it must give one a feeling of great responsibility to know that one has an important part in the development of a section like this."

He laughed, deep in his throat, at the awe in her voice. "I ought to have seen its possibilities years ago—I should have been out here, preparing for this. But when I bought the land I had no idea it would one day be so valuable."

"Bought it?"

"A hundred thousand acres of it. I got it very cheap." He told her about the Midland grant and his purchase from Marchmont.

"I never heard of that before!" she told him.

"It wasn't generally known. In fact, it was apparently generally considered that the land had been sold by the Midland Company to various people—in small parcels. Unscrupulous agents engineered the sales, I suppose. But the fact is that I made the purchase from the Midland Company years ago—largely as a personal favor to Jim Marchmont, who needed money badly. And a great many of the ranch-owners around here really have no title to their land, and will have to give it up."

She breathed deeply. "That will be a great disappointment to them, now that there exists the probability of a great advance in the value of the land."

"That was the owners' lookout. A purchaser should see that his deed is clear before closing a deal."

"What owners will be affected?" She spoke with a slight breathlessness.

"Many." He named some of them, leaving Trevison to the last, and then watching her furtively out of the corners of his eyes and noting, with straightened lips, the quick gasp she gave. She said nothing; she was thinking of the great light that had been in Trevison's eyes on the day he had told her of his ten years of exile; she could remember his words, they had been vivid fixtures in her mind ever since: "I own five thousand acres, and about a thousand acres of it is the best coal land in the United States. I wouldn't sell it for love or money, for when your father gets his railroad running, I'm going to cash in on ten of the leanest and hardest and lonesomest years that any man ever put in."

How hard it would be for him to give it all up; to acknowledge defeat, to feel those ten wasted years behind him, empty, unproductive; full of shattered hopes and dreams changed to nightmares! She sat, white of face, gripping the arms of her chair, feeling a great, throbbing sympathy for him.

"You will take it all?"

"He will still hold one hundred and sixty acres—the quarter-section granted him by the government, which he has undoubtedly proved on."

"Why—" she began, and paused, for to go further would be to inject her personal affairs into the conversation.

"Trevison is an evil in the country," he went on, speaking in a judicial manner, but watching her narrowly. "It is men like him who retard civilization. He opposes law and order—defies them. It is a shock, I know, to learn that the title to property that you have regarded as your own for years, is in jeopardy. But still, a man can play the man and not yield to lawless impulses."

"What has happened?" She spoke breathlessly, for something in Corrigan's voice warned her.

"Very little—from Trevison's viewpoint, I suppose," he laughed. "He came into my office this morning, after being served with a summons from Judge Lindman's court in regard to the title of his land, and tried to kill me. Failing in that, he knocked poor, inoffensive little Braman down—who had interfered in my behalf—and threw him bodily through the front window of the building, glass and all. It's lucky for him that Braman wasn't hurt. After that he tried to incite a riot, which Judge Lindman nipped in the bud by sending a number of deputies, armed with rifles, to the scene. It was a wonderful exhibition of outlawry. I was very sorry to have it happen, and any more such outbreaks will result in Trevison's being jailed—if not worse."

"My God!" she panted, in a whisper, and became lost in deep thought.

They sat for a time, without speaking. She studied the profile of the man and compared its reposeful strength with that of the man who had ridden with her many times since her coming to Blakeley's. The turbulent spirit of Trevison awed her now, frightened her—she feared for his future. But she pitied him; the sympathy that gripped her made icy shivers run over her.

"From what I understand, Trevison has always been a disturber," resumed Corrigan. "He disgraced himself at college, and afterwards—to such an extent that his father cut him off. He hasn't changed, apparently; he is still doing the same old tricks. He had some sort of a love affair before coming West, your father told me. God help the girl who marries him!"

The girl flushed at the last sentence; she replied to the preceding one:

"Yes. Hester Keyes threw him over, after he broke with his father."

She did not see Corrigan's eyes quicken, for she was wondering if, after all, Hester Keyes had not acted wisely in breaking with Trevison. Certainly, Hester had been in a position to know him better than some of those critics who had found fault with her for her action—herself, for instance. She sighed, for the memory of her ideal was dimming. A figure that represented violence and bloodshed had come in its place.

"Hester Keyes," said Corrigan, musingly. "Did she marry a fellow named Harvey—afterwards? Winslow Harvey, if I remember rightly. He died soon after?"

"Yes—do you know her?"

"Slightly." Corrigan laughed. "I knew her father. Well, well. So Trevison worshiped there, did he? Was he badly hurt—do you know?"

"I do not know."

"Well," said Corrigan, getting up, and speaking lightly, as though dismissing the subject from his mind; "I presume he was—and still is, for that matter. A person never forgets the first love." He smiled at her. "Won't you go with me for a short ride?"

The ride was taken, but a disturbing question lingered in Rosalind's mind throughout, and would not be solved. Had Trevison forgotten Hester Keyes? Did he think of her as—as—well, as she, herself, sometimes thought of Trevison—as she thought of him now—with a haunting tenderness that made his faults recede, as the shadows vanish before the sunshine?

What Corrigan thought was expressed in a satisfied chuckle, as later, he loped his horse toward Manti. That night he wrote a letter and sent it East. It was addressed to Mrs. Hester Harvey, and was subscribed: "Your old friend, Jeff."



CHAPTER XIV

A RUMBLE OF WAR

The train that carried Corrigan's letter eastward bore, among its few other passengers, a young man with a jaw set like a steel trap, who leaned forward in his seat, gripping the back of the seat in front of him; an eager, smoldering light in his eyes, who rose at each stop the train made and glared belligerently and intolerantly at the coach ends, muttering guttural anathemas at the necessity for delays. The spirit of battle was personified in him; it sat on his squared shoulders; it was in the thrust of his chin, stuck out as though to receive blows, which his rippling muscles would be eager to return. Two other passengers in the coach watched him warily, and once, when he got up and walked to the front of the coach, opening the door and looking out, to let in the roar and whir and the clatter, one of the passengers remarked to the other: "That guy is in a temper where murder would come easy to him."

The train left Manti at nine o'clock in the evening. At midnight it pulled up at the little frame station in Dry Bottom and the young man leaped off and strode rapidly away into the darkness of the desert town. A little later, J. Blackstone Graney, attorney at law, and former Judge of the United States District Court at Dry Bottom, heard a loud hammering on the door of his residence at the outskirts of town. He got up, with a grunt of resentment for all heavy-fisted fools abroad on midnight errands, and went downstairs to admit a grim-faced stranger who looked positively bloodthirsty to the Judge, under the nervous tension of his midnight awakening.

"I'm 'Brand' Trevison, owner of the Diamond K ranch, near Manti," said the stranger, with blunt sharpness that made the Judge blink. "I've a case on in the Manti court at ten o'clock tomorrow—today," he corrected. "They are going to try to swindle me out of my land, and I've got to have a lawyer—a real one. I could have got half a dozen in Manti—such as they are—but I want somebody who is wise in the law, and with the sort of honor that money and power can't blast—I want you!"

Judge Graney looked sharply at his visitor, and smiled. "You are evidently desperately harried. Sit down and tell me about your case." He waved to a chair and Trevison dropped into it, sitting on its edge. The Judge took another, and with the kerosene lamp between them on a table, Trevison related what had occurred during the previous morning in Manti. When he concluded, the Judge's face was serious.

"If what you say is true, it is a very awkward, not to say suspicious, situation. Being the only lawyer in Dry Bottom, until the coming of Judge Lindman, I have had occasion many times to consult the record you speak of, and if my memory serves me well, I have noted several times—quite casually, of course, since I have never been directly concerned with the records of the land in your vicinity—that several transfers of title to the original Midland grant have been recorded. Your deed would show, of course, the date of your purchase from Buck Peters, and we shall, perhaps, be able to determine the authenticity of the present record in that manner. But if, as you believe, the records have been tampered with, we are facing a long, hard legal battle which may or may not result in an ultimate victory for us—depending upon the power behind the interests opposed to you."

"I'll fight them to the Supreme Court of the United States!" declared Trevison. "I'll fight them with the law or without it!"

"I know it," said Graney, with a shrewd glance at the other's grim face. "But be careful not to do anything that will jeopardize your liberty. If those men are what you think they are, they would be only too glad to have you break some law that would give them an excuse to jail you. You couldn't do much fighting then, you know." He got up. "There's a train out of here in about an hour—we'll take it."

About six o'clock that morning the two men stepped off the train at Manti. Graney went directly to a hotel, to wash and breakfast, while Trevison, a little tired and hollow-eyed from loss of sleep and excitement, and with a two days' growth of beard on his face, which made him look worse than he actually felt, sought the livery stable where he had left Nigger the night before, mounted the animal and rode rapidly out of town toward the Diamond K. He took a trail that led through the cut where on another morning he had startled the laborers by riding down the wall—Nigger eating up the ground with long, sure, swift strides—passing Pat Carson and his men at a point on the level about a quarter of a mile beyond the cut. He waved a hand to Carson as he flashed by, and something in his manner caused Carson to remark to the engineer of the dinky engine: "Somethin's up wid Trevison ag'in, Murph—he's got a domned mean look in his eye. I'm the onluckiest son-av-a-gun in the worruld, Murph! First I miss seein' this fire-eater bate the face off the big ilephant, Corrigan, an' yisterday I was figgerin' on goin' to town—but didn't; an' I miss seein' that little whiffet of a Braman flyin' through the windy. Do ye's know that there's a feelin' ag'in Corrigan an' the railroad in town, an' thot this mon Trevison is the fuse that wud bust the boom av discontint. I'm beginnin' to feel a little excited meself. Now what do ye suppose that gang av min wid Winchesters was doin', comin' from thot direction this mornin'?" He pointed toward the trail that Trevison was riding. "An' that big stiff, Corrigan, wid thim!"

Trevison got the answer to this query the minute he reached the Diamond K ranchhouse. His foreman came running to him, pale, disgusted, his voice snapping like a whip:

"They've busted your desk an' rifled it. Twenty guys who said they was deputies from the court in Manti, an' Corrigan. I was here alone, watchin', as you told me, but couldn't move a finger—damn 'em!"

Trevison dismounted and ran into the house. The room that he used as an office was in a state of disorder. Papers, books, littered the floor. It was evident that a thorough search had been made—for something. Trevison darted to the desk and ran a hand into the pigeonhole in which he kept the deed which he had come for. The hand came out, empty. He sprang to the door of a small closet where, in a box that contained some ammunition that he kept for the use of his men, he had placed the money that Rosalind Benham had brought to him. The money was not there. He walked to the center of the room and stood for an instant, surveying the mass of litter around him, reeling, rage-drunken, murder in his heart. Barkwell, the foreman, watching him, drew great, long breaths of sympathy and excitement.

"Shall I get the boys an' go after them damn sneaks?" he questioned, his voice tremulous. "We'll clean 'em out—smoke 'em out of the county!" he threatened. He started for the door.

"Wait!" Trevison had conquered the first surge of passion; his grin was cold and bitter as he crossed glances with his foreman. "Don't do anything—yet. I'm going to play the peace string out. If it doesn't work, why then—" He tapped his pistol holster significantly.

"You get a few of the boys and stay here with them. It isn't probable that they'll try anything like that again, because they've got what they wanted. But if they happen to come again, hold them until I come. I'm going to court."

Later, in Manti, he was sitting opposite Graney in a room in the hotel to which the Judge had gone.

"H'm," said the latter, compressing his lips; "that's sharp practice. They are not wasting any time."

"Was it legal?"

"The law is elastic—some judges stretch it more than others. A search-warrant and a writ of attachment probably did the business in this case. What I can't understand is why Judge Lindman issued the writ at all—if he did so. You are the defendant, and you certainly would have brought the deed into court as a means of proving your case."

Trevison had mentioned the missing money, though he did not think it important to explain where it had come from. And Judge Graney did not ask him. But when court opened at the appointed time, with a dignity which was a mockery to Trevison, and Judge Graney had explained that he had come to represent the defendant in the action, he mildly inquired the reason for the forcible entry into his client's house, explaining also that since the defendant was required to prove his case it was optional with him whether or not the deed be brought into court at all.

Corrigan had been on time; he had nodded curtly to Trevison when he had entered to take the chair in which he now sat, and had smiled when Trevison had deliberately turned his back. He smiled when Judge Graney asked the question—a faint, evanescent smirk. But at Judge Lindman's reply he sat staring stolidly, his face an impenetrable mask:

"There was no mention of a deed in the writ of attachment issued by the court. Nor has the court any knowledge of the existence of such a deed. The officers of the court were commanded to proceed to the defendant's house, for the purpose of finding, if possible, and delivering to this court the sum of twenty-seven hundred dollars, which amount, representing the money paid to the defendant by the railroad company for certain grants and privileges, is to remain in possession of the court until the title to the land in litigation has been legally awarded."

"But the court officers seized the defendant's deed, also," objected Judge Graney.

Judge Lindman questioned a deputy who sat in the rear of the room. The latter replied that he had seen no deed. Yes, he admitted, in reply to a question of Judge Graney's, it might have been possible that Corrigan had been alone in the office for a time.

Graney looked inquiringly at Corrigan. The latter looked steadily back at him. "I saw no deed," he said, coolly. "In fact, it wouldn't be possible for me to see any deed, for Trevison has no title to the property he speaks of."

Judge Graney made a gesture of impotence to Trevison, then spoke slowly to the court. "I am afraid that without the deed it will be impossible for us to proceed. I ask a continuance until a search can be made."

Judge Lindman coughed. "I shall have to refuse the request. The plaintiff is anxious to take possession of his property, and as no reason has been shown why he should not be permitted to do so, I hereby return judgment in his favor. Court is dismissed."

"I give notice of appeal," said Graney.

Outside a little later Judge Graney looked gravely at Trevison. "There's knavery here, my boy; there's some sort of influence behind Lindman. Let's see some of the other owners who are likely to be affected."

This task took them two days, and resulted in the discovery that no other owner had secured a deed to his land. Lefingwell explained the omission.

"A sale is a sale," he said; "or a sale has been a sale until now. Land has changed hands out here just the same as we'd trade a horse for a cow or a pipe for a jack-knife. There was no questions asked. When a man had a piece of land to sell, he sold it, got his money an' didn't bother to give a receipt. Half the damn fools in this country wouldn't know a deed from a marriage license, an' they haven't been needin' one or the other. For when a man has a wife she's continually remindin' him of it, an' he can't forget it—he's got her. It's the same with his land—he's got it. So far as I know there's never been a deed issued for my land—or any of the land in that Midland grant, except Trevison's."

"It looks as though Corrigan had considered that phase of the matter," dryly observed Judge Graney. "The case doesn't look very hopeful. However, I shall take it before the Circuit Court of Appeals, in Santa Fe."

He was gone a week, and returned, disgusted, but determined.

"They denied our appeal; said they might have considered it if we had some evidence to offer showing that we had some sort of a claim to the title. When I told them of my conviction that the records had been tampered with, they laughed at me." The Judge's eyes gleamed indignantly. "Sometimes, I feel heartily in sympathy with people who rail at the courts—their attitude is often positively asinine."

"Perhaps the long arm of power has reached to Santa Fe?" suggested Trevison.

"It won't reach to Washington," declared the Judge, decisively. "And if you say the word, I'll go there and see what I can do. It's an outrage!"

"I was hoping you'd go—there's no limit," said Trevison. "But as I see the situation, everything depends upon the discovery of the original record. I'm convinced that it is still in existence, and that Judge Lindman knows where it is. I'm going to get it, or—"

"Easy, my friend," cautioned the Judge. "I know how you feel. But you can't fight the law with lawlessness. You lie quiet until you hear from me. That is all there is to be done, anyway—win or lose."

Trevison clenched his teeth. "I might feel that way about it, if I had been as careless of my interests as the other owners here, but I safeguarded my interests, trusted them to the regularly recognized law out here, and I'm going to fight for them! Why, good God, man; I've worked ten years for that land! Do you think I will see it go without a fight?" He laughed, and the Judge shook his head at the sound.



CHAPTER XV

A MUTUAL BENEFIT ASSOCIATION

Unheeding the drama that was rapidly and invisibly (except for the incident of Braman and the window) working itself out in its midst, Manti lunged forward on the path of progress, each day growing larger, busier, more noisy and more important. Perhaps Manti did not heed, because Manti was itself a drama—the drama of creation. Each resident, each newcomer, settled quickly and firmly into the place that desire or ambition or greed urged him; put forth whatever energy nature had endowed him with, and pushed on toward the goal toward which the town was striving—success; collectively winning, unrecking of individual failure or tragedy—those things were to be expected, and they fell into the limbo of forgotten things, easily and unnoticed. Wrecks, disasters, were certain. They came—turmoil engulfed them.

Which is to say that during the two weeks that had elapsed since the departure of Judge Graney for Washington, Manti had paid very little attention to "Brand" Trevison while he haunted the telegraph station and the post-office for news. He was pointed out, it is true, as the man who had hurled banker Braman through the window of his bank building; there was a hazy understanding that he was having some sort of trouble with Corrigan over some land titles, but in the main Manti buzzed along, busy with its visions and its troubles, leaving Trevison with his.

The inaction, with the imminence of failure after ten years of effort, had its effect on Trevison. It fretted him; he looked years older; he looked worried and harassed; he longed for a chance to come to grips in an encounter that would ease the strain. Physical action it must be, for his brain was a muddle of passion and hatred in which clear thoughts, schemes, plans, plots, were swallowed and lost. He wanted to come into physical contact with the men and things that were thwarting him; he wanted to feel the thud and jar of blows; to catch the hot breath of open antagonism; he yearned to feel the strain of muscles—this fighting in the dark with courts and laws and lawyers, according to rules and customs, filled him with a raging impotence that hurt him. And then, at the end of two weeks came a telegram from Judge Graney, saying merely: "Be patient. It's a long trail."

Trevison got on Nigger and returned to the Diamond K.

The six o'clock train arrived in Manti that evening with many passengers, among whom was a woman of twenty-eight at whom men turned to look the second time. Her traveling suit spoke eloquently of that personal quality which a language, seeking new and expressive phrases describes as "class." It fitted her smoothly, tightly, revealing certain lines of her graceful figure that made various citizens of Manti gasp. "Looks like she'd been poured into it," remarked an interested lounger. She lingered on the station platform until she saw her trunks safely deposited, and then, drawing her skirts as though fearful of contamination, she walked, self-possessed and cool, through the doorway of the Castle hotel—Manti's aristocrat of hostelries.

Shortly afterwards she admitted Corrigan to her room. She had changed from her traveling suit to a gown of some soft, glossy material that accentuated the lines revealed by the discarded habit. The worldly-wise would have viewed the lady with a certain expressive smile that might have meant much or nothing. And the lady would have looked upon that smile as she now looked at Corrigan, with a faint defiance that had quite a little daring in it. But in the present case there was an added expression—two, in fact—pleasure and expectancy.

"Well—I'm here." She bowed, mockingly, laughingly, compressing her lips as she noted the quick fire that flamed in her visitor's eyes.

"That's all over, Jeff; I won't go back to it. If that's why—"

"That's all right," he said, smiling as he took the chair she waved him to; "I've erased a page or two from the past, myself. But I can't help admiring you; you certainly are looking fine! What have you been doing to yourself?"

She draped herself in a chair where she could look straight at him, and his compliment made her mouth harden at the corners.

"Well," she said; "in your letter you promised you'd take me into your confidence. I'm ready."

"It's purely a business proposition. Each realizes on his effort. You help me to get Rosalind Benham through the simple process of fascinating Trevison; I help you to get Trevison by getting Miss Benham. It's a sort of mutual benefit association, as it were."

"What does Trevison look like, Jeff—tell me?" The woman leaned forward in her chair, her eyes glowing.

"Oh, you women!" said Corrigan, with a gesture of disgust. "He's a handsome fool," he added; "if that's what you want to know. But I haven't any compliments to hand him regarding his manners—he's a wild man!"

"I'd love to see him!" breathed the woman.

"Well, keep your hair on; you'll see him soon enough. But you've got to understand this: He's on my land, and he gets off without further fighting—if you can hold him. That's understood, eh? You win him back and get him away from here. If you double-cross me, he finds out what you are!" He flung the words at her, roughly.

She spoke quietly, though color stained her cheeks. "Not 'are,' Jeff—what I was. That would be bad enough. But have no fear—I shall do as you ask. For I want him—I have wanted him all the time—even during the time I was chained to that little beast, Harvey. I wouldn't have been what I am—if—if—"

"Cut it out!" he advised brutally; "the man always gets the blame, anyway—so it's no novelty to hear that sort of stuff. So you understand, eh? You choose your own method—but get results—quick! I want to get that damned fool away from here!" He got up and paced back and forth in the room. "If he takes Rosalind Benham away from me I'll kill him! I'll kill him, anyway!"

"Has it gone very far between them?" The concern in her voice brought a harsh laugh from Corrigan.

"Far enough, I guess. He's been riding with her; every day for three weeks, her aunt told me. He's a fiery, impetuous devil!"

"Don't worry," she consoled. "And now," she directed; "get out of here. I've been on the go for days and days, and I want to sleep. I shall go out to see Rosalind tomorrow—to surprise her, Jeff—to surprise her. Ha, ha!"

"I'll have a rig here for you at nine o'clock," said Corrigan. "Take your trunks—she won't order you away. Tell her that Trevison sent for you—don't mention my name; and stick to it! Well, pleasant dreams," he added as he went out.

As the door closed the woman stood looking at it, a sneer curving her lips.



CHAPTER XVI

WHEREIN A WOMAN LIES

"Aren't you going to welcome me, dearie?"

From the porch of the Bar B ranchhouse Rosalind had watched the rapid approach of the buckboard, and she now stood at the edge of the step leading to the porch, not more than ten or fifteen feet distant from the vehicle, shocked into dumb amazement.

"Why, yes—of course. That is—Why, what on earth brought you out here?"

"A perfectly good train—as far as your awfully crude town of Manti; and this—er—spring-legged thing, the rest of the way," laughed Hester Harvey. She had stepped down, a trifle flushed, inwardly amused, outwardly embarrassed—which was very good acting; but looking very attractive and girlish in the simple dress she had donned for the occasion—and for the purpose of making a good impression. So attractive was she that the contemplation of her brought a sinking sensation to Rosalind that drooped her shoulders, and caused her to look around, involuntarily, for something to lean upon. For there flashed into her mind at this instant the conviction that she had herself to blame for this visitation—she had written to Ruth Gresham, and Ruth very likely had disseminated the news, after the manner of all secrets, and Hester had heard it. And of course the attraction was "Brand" Trevison! A new emotion surged through Rosalind at this thought, an emotion so strong that it made her gasp—jealousy!

She got through the ordeal somehow—with an appearance of pleasure—though it was hard for her to play the hypocrite! But so soon as she decently could, without cutting short the inevitable inconsequential chatter which fills the first moments of renewed friendships, she hurried Hester to a room and during her absence sat immovable in her chair on the porch staring stonily out at the plains.

It was not until half an hour later, when they were sitting on the porch, that Hester delivered the stroke that caused Rosalind's hands to fall nervelessly into her lap, her lips to quiver and her eyes to fill with a reflection of a pain that gripped her hard, somewhere inside. For Hester had devised her method, as suggested by Corrigan.

"It may seem odd to you—if you know anything of the manner of my breaking off with Trevison Brandon—but he wrote me about a month ago, asking me to come out here. I didn't accept the invitation at once—because I didn't want him to be too sure, you know, dearie. Men are always presuming and pursuing, dearie."

"Then you didn't hear of Trevison's whereabouts from Ruth Gresham?"

"Why, no, dearie! He wrote directly to me."

Rosalind hadn't that to reproach herself with, at any rate!

"Of course, I couldn't go to his ranch—the Diamond K, isn't it?—so, noting from one of the newspapers that you had come here, I decided to take advantage of your hospitality. I'm just wild to see the dear boy! Is his ranch far? For you know," she added, with a malicious look at the girl's pale face; "I must not keep him waiting, now that I am here."

"You won't find him prosperous." It hurt Rosalind to say that, but the hurt was slightly offset by a savage resentment that gripped her when she thought of how quickly Hester had thrown Trevison over when she had discovered that he was penniless. And she had a desperate hope that the dismal aspect of Trevison's future would appall Hester—as it would were the woman still the mercenary creature she had been ten years before. But Hester looked at her with grave imperturbability.

"I heard something about his trouble. About some land, isn't it? I didn't learn the particulars. Tell me about it—won't you, dearie?"

Rosalind's story of Trevison's difficulties did not have the effect that she anticipated.

"The poor, dear boy!" said Hester—and she seemed genuinely moved. Rosalind gulped hard over the shattered ruins of this last hope and got up, fighting against an inhospitable impulse to order Hester away. She made some slight excuse and slipped to her room, where she stayed long, elemental passions battling riotously within her.

She realized now how completely she had yielded to the spell that the magnetic and impetuous exile had woven about her; she knew now that had he pressed her that day when he had told her of his love for her she must have surrendered. She thought, darkly, of his fiery manner that day, of his burning looks, his hot, impulsive words, of his confidences. Hypocrisy all! For while they had been together he must have been thinking of sending for Hester! He had been trifling with her! Faith in an ideal is a sacred thing, and shattered, it lights the fires of hate and scorn, and the emotions that seethed through Rosalind's veins as in her room she considered Trevison's unworthiness, finally developed into a furious vindictiveness. She wished dire, frightful calamities upon him, and then, swiftly reacting, her sympathetical womanliness forced the dark passions back, and she threw herself on the bed, sobbing, murmuring: "Forgive me!"

Later, when she had made herself presentable, she went downstairs again, concealing her misery behind a steady courtesy and a smile that sometimes was a little forced and bitter, to entertain her guest. It was a long, tiresome day, made almost unbearable by Hester's small talk. But she got through it. And when, rather late in the afternoon, Hester inquired the way to the Diamond K, announcing her intention of visiting Trevison immediately, she gave no evidence of the shocked surprise that seized her. She coolly helped Hester prepare for the trip, and when she drove away in the buckboard, stood on the ground at the edge of the porch, watching as the buckboard and its occupant faded into the shimmering haze of the plains.



CHAPTER XVII

JUSTICE VS. LAW

Impatience, intolerable and vicious, gripped Trevison as he rode homeward after his haunting vigil at Manti. The law seemed to him to be like a house with many doors, around and through which one could play hide and seek indefinitely, with no possibility of finding one of the doors locked. Judge Graney had warned him to be cautious, but as he rode into the dusk of the plains the spirit of rebellion seized him. Twice he halted Nigger and wheeled him, facing Manti, already agleam and tumultuous, almost yielding to his yearning to return and force his enemy to some sort of physical action, but each time he urged the horse on, for he could think of no definite plan. He was half way to the Diamond K when he suddenly started and sat rigid and erect in the saddle, drawing a deep breath, his nerves tingling from excitement. He laughed lowly, exultingly, as men laugh when under the stress of adversity they devise sudden, bold plans of action, and responding to the slight knee press Nigger turned, reared, and then shot like a black bolt across the plains at an angle that would not take him anywhere near the Diamond K.

Half an hour later, in a darkness which equaled that of the night on which he had carried the limp and drink-saturated Clay Levins to his wife, Trevison was dismounting at the door of the gun-man's cabin. A little later, standing in the glare of lamplight that shone through the open doorway, he was reassuring Mrs. Levins and asking for her husband. Shortly afterward, he was talking lowly to Levins as the latter saddled his pony out at the stable.

"I'll do it—for you," Levins told him. And then he chuckled. "It'll seem like old times."

"It's Justice versus Law, tonight," laughed Trevison; "it's a case of 'the end justifying the means.'"

Manti never slept. At two o'clock in the morning the lights in the gambling rooms of the Belmont and the Plaza were still flickering streams out into the desert night; weak strains of discord were being drummed out of a piano in a dance hall; the shuffling of feet smote the dead, flat silence of the night with an odd, weird resonance. Here and there a light burned in a dwelling or store, or shone through the wall of a tent-house. But Manti's one street was deserted—the only peace that Manti ever knew, had descended.

Two men who had dismounted at the edge of town had hitched their horses in the shadow of a wagon shed in the rear of a store building, and were making their way cautiously down the railroad tracks toward the center of town. They kept in the shadows of the buildings as much as possible—for space was valuable now and many buildings nuzzled the railroad tracks; but when once they were forced to pass through a light from a window their faces were revealed in it for an instant—set, grim and determined.

"We've got to move quickly," said one of the men as they neared the courthouse; "it will be daylight soon. Damn a town that never sleeps!"

The other laughed lowly. "I've said the same thing, often," he whispered. "Easy now—here we are!"

They paused in the shadow of the building and whispered together briefly. A sound reached their ears as they stood. Peering around the corner nearest them they saw the bulk of a man appear. He walked almost to the corner of the building where they crouched, and they held their breath, tensing their muscles. Just when it seemed they must be discovered, the man wheeled, walked away, and vanished into the darkness toward the other side of the building. Presently he returned, and repeated the maneuver. As he vanished the second time, the larger man of the two in wait, whispered to the other:

"He's the sentry! Stand where you are—I'll show Corrigan—"

The words were cut short by the reappearance of the sentry. He came close to the corner, and wheeled, to return. A lithe black shape leaped like a huge cat, and landed heavily on the sentry's shoulders, bringing a pained grunt from him. The grunt died in a gurgle as iron fingers closed on his throat; he was jammed, face down, into the dust and held there, smothering, until his body slacked and his muscles ceased rippling. Then a handkerchief was slipped around his mouth and drawn tightly. He was rolled over, still unconscious, his hands tied behind him. Then he was borne away into the darkness by the big man, who carried him as though he were a child.

"Locked in a box-car," whispered the big man, returning: "They'll get him; they're half unloaded."

Without further words they returned to the shadow of the building.

Judge Lindman had not been able to sleep until long after his usual hour for retiring. The noise, and certain thoughts, troubled him. It was after midnight when he finally sought his cot, and he was in a heavy doze until shortly after two, when a breath of air, chilled by its clean sweep over the plains, searched him out and brought him up, sitting on the edge of the cot, shivering.

The rear door of the courthouse was open. In front of the iron safe at the rear of the room he saw a man, faintly but unmistakably outlined in the cross light from two windows. He was about to cry out when his throat was seized from behind and he was borne back on the cot resistlessly. Held thus, a voice which made him strain his eyes in an effort to see the owner's face, hissed in his ear:

"I don't want to kill you, but I'll do it if you cry out! I mean business! Do you promise not to betray us?"

The Judge wagged his head weakly, and the grip on his throat relaxed. He sat up, aware that the fingers were ready to grip his throat again, for he could feel the big shape lingering beside him.

"This is an outrage!" he gasped, shuddering. "I know you—you are Trevison. I shall have you punished for this."

The other laughed lowly and vibrantly. "That's your affair—if you dare! You say a word about this visit and I'll feed your scoundrelly old carcass to the coyotes! Justice is abroad tonight and it won't be balked. I'm after that original land record—and I'm going to have it. You know where it is—you've got it. Your face told me that the other day. You're only half-heartedly in this steal. Be a man—give me the record—and I'll stand by you until hell freezes over! Quick! Is it in the safe?"

The Judge wavered in agonized indecision. But thoughts of Corrigan's wrath finally conquered.

"It—it isn't in the safe," he said. And then, aware of his error because of the shrill breath the other drew, he added, quaveringly: "There is no—the original record is in my desk—you've seen it."

"Bah!" The big shape backed away—two or three feet, whispering back at the Judge. "Open your mouth and you're a dead man. I've got you covered!"

Cowering on his cot the Judge watched the big shape join the other at the safe. How long it remained there, he did not know. A step sounded in the silence that reigned outside—a third shape loomed in the doorway.

"Judge Lindman!" called a voice.

"Y-es?" quavered the Judge, aware that the big shape in the room was now close to him, menacing him.

"Your door's open! Where's Ed? There's something wrong! Get up and strike a light. There'll be hell to pay if Corrigan finds out we haven't been watching your stuff. Damn it! A man can't steal time for a drink without something happens. Jim and Bill and me just went across the street, leaving Ed here. They're coming right—"

He had been entering the room while talking, fingering in his pockets for a match. His voice died in a quick gasp as Trevison struck with the butt of his pistol. The man fell, silently.

Another voice sounded outside. Trevison crouched at the doorway. A form darkened the opening. Trevison struck, missed, a streak of fire split the night—the newcomer had used his pistol. It went off again—the flame-spurt shooting ceilingward, as Levins clinched the man from the rear. A third man loomed in the doorway; a fourth appeared, behind him. Trevison swung at the head of the man nearest him, driving him back upon the man behind, who cursed, plunging into the room. The man whom Levins had seized was shouting orders to the others. But these suddenly ceased as Levins smashed him on the head with the butt of a pistol. Two others remained. They were stubborn and courageous. But it was miserable work, in the dark—blows were misdirected, friend striking friend; other blows went wild, grunts of rage and impotent curses following. But Trevison and Levins were intent on escaping—a victory would have been hollow—for the thud and jar of their boots on the bare floor had been heard; doors were slamming; from across the street came the barking of a dog; men were shouting questions at one another; from the box-car on the railroad tracks issued vociferous yells and curses. Trevison slipped out through the door, panting. His opponent had gone down, temporarily disabled from sundry vicious blows from a fist that had worked like a piston rod. A figure loomed at his side. "I got mine!" it said, triumphantly; "we'd better slope."

"Another five minutes and I'd have cracked it," breathed Levins as they ran. "What's Corrigan havin' the place watched for?"

"You've got me. Afraid of the Judge, maybe. The Judge hasn't his whole soul in this deal; it looks to me as though Corrigan is forcing him. But the Judge has the original record, all right; and it's in that safe, too! God! If they'd only given us a minute or two longer!"

They fled down the track, running heavily, for the work had been fast and the tension great, and when they reached the horses and threw themselves into the saddles, Manti was ablaze with light. As they raced away in the darkness a grim smile wreathed Trevison's face. For though he had not succeeded in this enterprise, he had at least struck a blow—and he had corroborated his previous opinion concerning Judge Lindman's knowledge of the whereabouts of the original record.

It was three o'clock and the dawn was just breaking when Trevison rode into the Diamond K corral and pulled the saddle from Nigger. Levins had gone home.

Trevison was disappointed. It had been a bold scheme, and well planned, and it would have succeeded had it not been for the presence of the sentries. He had not anticipated that. He laughed grimly, remembering Judge Lindman's fright. Would the Judge reveal the identity of his early-morning visitor? Trevison thought not, for if the original record were in the safe, and if for any reason the Judge wished to conceal its existence from Corrigan, a hint of the identity of the early-morning visitors—especially of one—might arouse Corrigan's suspicions.

But what if Corrigan knew of the existence of the original record? There was the presence of the guards to indicate that he did. But there was Judge Lindman's half-heartedness to disprove that line of reasoning. Also, Trevison was convinced that if Corrigan knew of the existence of the record he would destroy it; it would be dangerous, in the hands of an enemy. But it would be an admirable weapon of self-protection in the hands of a man who had been forced into wrong-doing—in the hands of Judge Lindman, for instance. Trevison opened the door that led to his office, thrilling with a new hope. He lit a match, stepped across the floor and touched the flame to the wick of the kerosene lamp—for it was not yet light enough for him to see plainly in the office—and stood for an instant blinking in its glare. A second later he reeled back against the edge of the desk, his hands gripping it, dumb, amazed, physically sick with a fear that he had suddenly gone insane. For in a big chair in a corner of the room, sleepy-eyed, tired, but looking very becoming in her simple dress with a light cloak over it, the collar turned up, so that it gave her an appearance of attractive negligence, a smile of delighted welcome on her face, was Hester Harvey.

She got up as he stood staring dumfoundedly at her and moved toward him, with an air of artful supplication that brought a gasp out of him—of sheer relief.

"Won't you welcome me, Trev? I have come very far, to see you." She held out her hands and went slowly toward him, mutely pleading, her eyes luminous with love—which she did not pretend, for the boy she had known had grown into the promise of his youth—big, magnetic—a figure for any woman to love.

He had been looking at her intently, narrowly, searchingly. He saw what she herself had not seen—the natural changes that ten years had brought to her. He saw other things—that she had not suspected—a certain blase sophistication; a too bold and artful expression of the eyes—as though she knew their power and the lure of them; the slightly hard curve in the corners of her mouth; a second character lurking around her—indefinite, vague, repelling—the subconscious self, that no artifice can hide—the sin and the shame of deeds unrepented. If there had been a time when he had loved her, its potence could not leap the lapse of years and overcome his repugnance for her kind, and he looked at her coldly, barring her progress with a hand, which caught her two and held them in a grip that made her wince.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in? When did you come?" He fired the questions at her roughly, brutally.

"Why, Trev." She gulped, her smile fading palely. The conquest was not to be the easy one she had thought—though she really wanted him—more than ever, now that she saw she was in danger of losing him. She explained, earnestly pleading with eyes that had lost their power to charm him.

"I heard you were here—that you were in trouble. I want to help you. I got here night before last—to Manti. Rosalind Benham had written about you to Ruth Gresham—a friend of hers in New York. Ruth Gresham told me. I went directly from Manti to Benham's ranch. Then I came here—about dusk, last night. There was a man here—your foreman, he said. I explained, and he let me in. Trev—won't you welcome me?"

"It isn't the first time I've been in trouble." His laugh was harsh; it made her cringe and cry:

"I've repented for that. I shouldn't have done it; I don't know what was the matter with me. Harvey had been telling me things about you—"

"You wouldn't have believed him—" He laughed, cynically. "There's no use of haggling over that—it's buried, and I've placed a monument over it: 'Here lies a fool that believed in a woman.' I don't reproach you—you couldn't be blamed for not wanting to marry an idiot like me. But I haven't changed. I still have my crazy ideas of honor and justice and square-dealing, and my double-riveted faith in my ability to triumph over all adversity. But women—Bah! you're all alike! You scheme, you plot, you play for place; you are selfish, cold; you snivel and whine—There is more of it, but I can't think of any more. But—let's face this matter squarely. If you still like me, I'm sorry for you, for I can't say that the sight of you has stirred any old passion in me. You shouldn't have come out here."

"You're terribly resentful, Trev. And I don't blame you a bit—I deserve it all. But don't send me away. Why, I—love you, Trev; I've loved you all these years; I loved you when I sent you away—while I was married to Harvey; and more afterwards—and now, deeper than ever; and—"

He shook his head and looked at her steadily—cynicism, bald derision in his gaze. "I'm sorry; but it can't be—you're too late."

He dropped her hands, and she felt of the fingers where he had gripped them. She veiled the quick, savage leap in her eyes by drooping the lids.

"You love Rosalind Benham," she said, quietly, looking at him with a mirthless smile. He started, and her lips grew a trifle stiff. "You poor boy!"

"Why the pity?" he said grimly.

"Because she doesn't care for you, Trev. She told me yesterday that she was engaged to marry a man named Corrigan. He is out here, she said. She remarked that she had found you very amusing during the three or four weeks of Corrigan's absence, and she seemed delighted because the court out here had ruled that the land you thought was yours belongs to the man who is to be her husband."

He stiffened at this, for it corroborated Corrigan's words: "She is heart and soul with me in this deal, She is ambitious." Trevison's lips curled scornfully. First, Hester Keyes had been ambitious, and now it was Rosalind Benham. He fought off the bitter resentment that filled him and raised his head, laughing, glossing over the hurt with savage humor.

"Well, I'm doing some good in the world, after all."

"Trev," Hester moved toward him again, "don't talk like that—it makes me shiver. I've been through the fire, boy—we've both been through it. I wasted myself on Harvey—you'll do the same with Rosalind Benham. Ten years, boy—think of it! I've loved you for that long. Doesn't that make you understand—"

"There's nothing quite so dead as a love that a man doesn't want to revive," he said shortly; "do you understand that?"

She shuddered and paled, and a long silence came between them. The cold dawn that was creeping over the land stole into the office with them and found the fires of affection turned to the ashes of unwelcome memory. The woman seemed to realize at last, for she gave a little shiver and looked up at Trevison with a wan smile.

"I—I think I understand, Trev. Oh, I am so sorry! But I am not going away. I am going to stay in Manti, to be near you—if you want me. And you will want me, some day." She went close to him. "Won't you kiss me—once, Trev? For the sake of old times?"

"You'd better go," he said gruffly, turning his head. And then, as she opened the door and stood upon the threshold, he stepped after her, saying: "I'll get your horse."

"There's two of them," she laughed tremulously. "I came in a buckboard."

"Two, then," he said soberly as he followed her out. "And say—" He turned, flushing. "You came at dusk, last night. I'm afraid I haven't been exactly thoughtful. Wait—I'll rustle up something to eat."

"I—I couldn't touch it, thank you. Trev—" She started toward him impulsively, but he turned his back grimly and went toward the corral.

Sunrise found Hester back at the Bar B. Jealous, hurt eyes had watched from an upstairs window the approach of the buckboard—had watched the Diamond K trail the greater part of the night. For, knowing of the absence of women at the Diamond K, Rosalind had anticipated Hester's return the previous evening—for the distance that separated the two ranches was not more than two miles. But the girl's vigil had been unrewarded until now. And when at last she saw the buckboard coming, scorn and rage, furious and deep, seized her. Ah, it was bold, brazen, disgraceful!

But she forced herself to calmness as she went down stairs to greet her guest—for there might have been some excuse for the lapse of propriety—some accident—something, anything.

"I expected you last night," she said as she met Hester at the door. "You were delayed I presume. Has anything happened?"

"Nothing, dearie." Only the bold significance of Hester's smile hid its deliberate maliciousness. "Trev was so glad to see me that he simply wouldn't let me go. And it was daylight before we realized it."

The girl gasped. And now, looking at the woman, she saw what Trevison had seen—staring back at her, naked and repulsive. She shuddered, and her face whitened.

"There are hotels at Manti, Mrs. Harvey," she said coldly.

"Oh, very well!" The woman did not change her smile. "I shall be very glad to take advantage of your kind invitation. For Trev tells me that presently there will be much bitterness between your crowd and himself, and I am certain that he wouldn't want me to stay here. If you will kindly have a man bring my trunks—"

And so she rode toward Manti. Not until the varying undulations of the land hid her from view of the Bar B ranchhouse did she lose the malicious smile. Then it faded, and furious sobs of disappointment shook her.



CHAPTER XVIII

LAW INVOKED AND DEFIED

As soon as the deputies had gone, two of them nursing injured heads, and all exhibiting numerous bruises, Judge Lindman rose and dressed. In the ghostly light preceding the dawn he went to the safe, his fingers trembling so that he made difficult work with the combination. He got a record from out of the safe, pulled out the bottom drawer, of a series filled with legal documents and miscellaneous articles, laid the record book on the floor and shoved the drawer in over it. An hour later he was facing Corrigan, who on getting a report of the incident from one of the deputies, had hurried to get the Judge's version. The Judge had had time to regain his composure, though he was still slightly pale and nervous.

The Judge lied glibly. He had seen no one in the courthouse. His first knowledge that anyone had been there had come when he had heard the voice of one, of the deputies, calling to him. And then all he had seen was a shadowy figure that had leaped and struck. After that there had been some shooting. And then the men had escaped.

"No one spoke?"

"Not a word," said the Judge. "That is, of course, no one but the man who called to me."

"Did they take anything?"

"What is there to take? There is nothing of value."

"Gieger says one of them was working at the safe. What's in there?"

"Some books and papers and supplies—nothing of value. That they tried to get into the safe would seem to indicate that they thought there was money there—Manti has many strangers who would not hesitate at robbery."

"They didn't get into the safe, then?"

"I haven't looked inside—nothing seems to be disturbed, as it would were the men safe-blowers. In their hurry to get away it would seem, if they had come to get into the safe, they would have left something behind—tools, or something of that character."

"Let's have a look at the safe. Open it!" Corrigan seemed to be suspicious, and with a pulse of trepidation, the Judge knelt and worked the combination. When the door came open Corrigan dropped on his knees in front of it and began to pull out the contents, scattering them in his eagerness. He stood up after a time, scowling, his face flushed. He turned on the Judge, grasped him by the shoulders, his fingers gripping so hard that the Judge winced.

"Look here, Lindman," he said. "Those men were not ordinary robbers. Experienced men would know better than to crack a safe in a courthouse when there's a bank right next door. I've an idea that it was some of Trevison's work. You've done or said something that's given him the notion that you've got the original record. Have you?"

"I swear I have said nothing," declared the Judge.

Corrigan looked at him steadily for a moment and then released him. "You burned it, eh?"

The Judge nodded, and Corrigan compressed his lips. "I suppose it's all right, but I can't help wishing that I had been here to watch the ceremony of burning that record. I'd feel a damn sight more secure. But understand this: If you double-cross me in any detail of this game, you'll never go to the penitentiary for what Benham knows about you—I'll choke the gizzard out of you!" He took a turn around the room, stopping at last in front of the Judge.

"Now we'll talk business. I want you to issue an order permitting me to erect mining machinery on Trevison's land. We need coal here."

"Graney gave notice of appeal," protested the Judge.

"Which the Circuit Court denied."

"He'll go to Washington," persisted the Judge, gulping. "I can't legally do it."

Corrigan laughed. "Appoint a receiver to operate the mine, pending the Supreme Court decision. Appoint Braman. Graney has no case, anyway. There is no record or deed."

"There is no need of haste," Lindman cautioned; "you can't get mining machinery here for some time yet."

Corrigan laughed, dragging the Judge to a window, from which he pointed out some flat-cars standing on a siding, loaded with lumber, machinery, corrugated iron, shutes, cables, trucks, "T" rails, and other articles that the Judge did not recognize.

The Judge exclaimed in astonishment. Corrigan grunted.

"I ordered that stuff six weeks ago, in anticipation of my victory in your court. You can see how I trusted in your honesty and perspicacity. I'll have it on the ground tomorrow—some of it today. Of course I want to proceed legally, and in order to do that I'll have to have the court order this morning. You do whatever is necessary."

At daylight he was in the laborers' camp, skirting the railroad at the edge of town, looking for Carson. He found the big Irishman in one of the larger tent-houses, talking with the cook, who was preparing breakfast amid a smother of smoke and the strong mingled odors of frying bacon and coffee. Corrigan went only to the flap of the tent, motioning Carson outside.

Walking away from the tent toward some small frame buildings down the track, Corrigan said:

"There are several carloads of material there," pointing to the flat-cars which he had shown to the Judge. "I've hired a mining man to superintend the erection of that stuff—it's mining machinery and material for buildings. I want you to place as many of your men as you can spare at the disposal of the engineer; his name's Pickand, and you'll find him at the cars at eight o'clock. I'll have some more laborers sent over from the dam. Give him as many men as he wants; go with him yourself, if he wants you."

"What are ye goin' to mine?"

"Coal."

"Where?"

"I've been looking over the land with Pickand; he says we'll sink a shaft at the base of the butte below the mesa, where you are laying tracks now. We won't have to go far, Pickand says. There's coal—thick veins of it—running back into the wall of the butte."

"All right, sir," said Carson. But he scratched his head in perplexity, eyeing Corrigan sidelong. "Ye woudn't be sayin' that ye'll be diggin' for coal on the railroad's right av way, wud ye?"

"No!" snapped Corrigan.

"Thin it will be on Trevison's land. Have ye bargained wid him for it?"

"No! Look here, Carson. Mind your own business and do as you're told!"

"I'm elicted, I s'pose; but it's a job I ain't admirin' to do. If ye've got half the sinse I give ye credit for havin', ye'll be lettin' that mon Trevison alone—I'd a lot sooner smoke a segar in that shed av dynamite than to cross him!"

Corrigan smiled and turned to look in the direction in which the Irishman was pointing. A small, flat-roofed frame building, sheathed with corrugated iron, met his view. Crude signs, large enough to be read hundreds of feet distant, were affixed to the walls:

"CAUTION. DYNAMITE."

"Do you keep much of it there?"

"Enough for anny blastin' we have to do. There's plenty—half a ton, mebbe."

"Who's got the key?"

"Meself."

Corrigan returned to town, breakfasted, mounted a horse and rode out to the dam, where he gave orders for some laborers to be sent to Carson. At nine o'clock he was back in Manti talking with Pickand, and watching the dinky engine as it pulled the loaded flat-cars westward over the tracks. He left Pickand and went to his office in the bank building, where he conferred with some men regarding various buildings and improvements in contemplation, and shortly after ten, glancing out of a window, he saw a buckboard stop in front of the Castle hotel. Corrigan waited a little, then closed his desk and walked across the street. Shortly he confronted Hester Harvey in her room. He saw from her downcast manner that she had failed. His face darkened.

"Wouldn't work, eh? What did he say?"

The woman was hunched down in her chair, still wearing the cloak that she had worn in Trevison's office; the collar still up, the front thrown open. Her hair was disheveled; dark lines were under her eyes; she glared at Corrigan in an abandon of savage dejection.

"He turned me down—cold." Her laugh held the bitterness of self-derision. "I'm through, there, Jeff."

"Hell!" cursed the man. She looked at him, her lips curving with amused contempt.

"Oh, you're all right—don't worry. That's all you care about, isn't it?" She laughed harshly at the quickened light in his eyes. "You'd see me sacrifice myself; you wouldn't give me a word of sympathy. That's you! That's the way of all men. Give, give, give! That's the masculine chorus—the hunting-song of the human wolf-pack!"

"Don't talk like that—it ain't like you, kid. You were always the gamest little dame I ever knew." He essayed to take the hand that was twisted in the folds of her cloak, but she drew it away from him in a fury. And the eagerness in his eyes betrayed the insincerity of his attempt at consolation; she saw it—the naked selfishness of his look—and sneered at him.

"You want the good news, eh? The good for you? That's all you care about. After you get it, I'll get the husks of your pity. Well, here it is. I've poisoned them both—against each other. I told him she was against him in this land business. And it hurt me to see how gamely he took it, Jeff!" her voice broke, but she choked back the sob and went on, hoarsely: "He didn't make a whimper. Not even when I told him you were going to marry her—that you were engaged. But there was a fire in those eyes of his that I would give my soul to see there for me!"

"Yes—yes," said the man, impatiently.

"Oh, you devil!" she railed at him. "I've made him think it was a frame-up between you and her—to get information out of him; I told him that she had strung him along for a month or so—amusing herself. And he believes it."

"Good!"

"And I've made her believe that he sent for me," she went on, her voice leaping to cold savagery. "I stayed all night at his place, and I went back to the Bar B in the morning—this morning—and made Rosalind Benham think—Ha, ha! She ordered me away from the house—the hussy! She's through with him—any fool could tell that. But it's different with him, Jeff. He won't give her up; he isn't that kind. He'll fight for her—and he'll have her!"

The eager, pleased light died out of Corrigan's face, his lips set in an ugly pout. But he contrived to smile as he got up.

"You've done well—so far. But don't give him up. Maybe he'll change his mind. Stay here—I'll stake you to the limit." He laid a roll of bills on a stand—she did not look at them—and approached her in a second endeavor to console her. But she waved him away, saying: "Get out of here—I want to think!" And he obeyed, looking back before he closed the door.

"Selfish?" he muttered, going down the street. "Well, what of it? That's a human weakness, isn't it? Get what you want, and to hell with other people!"

* * * * *

Trevison had gone to his room for a much-needed rest. He had watched Hester Harvey go with no conscious regret, but with a certain grim pity, which was as futile as her visit. But, lying on the bed he fought hard against the bitter scorn that raged in him over the contemplation of Rosalind Benham's duplicity. He found it hard to believe that she had been duping him, for during the weeks of his acquaintance with her he had studied her much—with admiration-weighted prejudice, of course, since she made a strong appeal to him—and he had been certain, then, that she was as free from guile as a child—excepting any girl's natural artifices by which she concealed certain emotions that men had no business trying to read. He had read some of them—his business or not—and he had imagined he had seen what had fired his blood—a reciprocal affection. He would not have declared himself, otherwise.

He went to sleep, thinking of her. He awoke about noon, to see Barkwell standing at his side, shaking him.

"Have you got any understandin' with that railroad gang that they're to do any minin' on the Diamond K range?"

"No."

"Well, they're gettin' ready to do it. Over at the butte near the railroad cut. I passed there a while ago an' quizzed the big guy—Corrigan—about a gang workin' there. He says they're goin' to mine coal. I asked him if he had your permission an' he said he didn't need it. I reckon they ain't none shy on gall where that guy come from!"

Trevison got out of bed and buckled on his cartridge belt and pistol. "The boys are working the Willow Creek range," he said, sharply. "Get them, tell them to load up with plenty of cartridges, and join me at the butte."

He heard Barkwell go leaping down the stairs, his spurs striking the step edges, and a few minutes later, riding Nigger out of the corral he saw the foreman racing away in a dust cloud. He followed the bed of the river, himself, going at a slow lope, for he wanted time to think—to gain control of the rage that boiled in his veins. He conquered it, and when he came in sight of the butte he was cool and deliberate, though on his face was that "mean" look that Carson had once remarked about to his friend Murphy, partly hidden by the "tiger" smile which, the Irishman had discovered, preceded action, ruthless and swift.

The level below the butte was a-buzz with life and energy. Scores of laborers were rushing about under the direction of a tall, thin, bespectacled man who seemed to be the moving spirit in all the activity. He shouted orders to Carson—Trevison saw the big figure of the Irishman dominating the laborers—who repeated them, added to them; sending men scampering hither and thither. Pausing at a little distance down the level, Trevison watched the scene. At first all seemed confusion, but presently he was able to discern that method ruled. For he now observed that the laborers were divided into "gangs." Some were unloading the flat-cars, others were "assembling" a stationary engine near the wall of the butte. They had a roof over it, already. Others were laying tracks that intersected with the main line; still others were erecting buildings along the level. They were on Trevison's land—there was no doubt of that. Moreover, they were erecting their buildings and apparatus at the point where Trevison himself had contemplated making a start. He saw Corrigan seated on a box on one of the flat-cars, smoking a cigar; another man, whom Trevison recognized as Gieger—he would have been willing to swear the man was one of those who had thwarted his plans in the courthouse—standing beside him, a Winchester rifle resting in the hollow of his left arm. Trevison urged Nigger along the level, down the track, and halted near Corrigan and Gieger. He knew that Corrigan had seen him, but it pleased the other to pretend that he had not.

"This is your work, Corrigan—I take it?" said Trevison, bluntly.

Corrigan turned slowly. He was a good actor, for he succeeded in getting a fairly convincing counterfeit of surprise into his face as his gaze fell on his enemy.

"You have taken it correctly, sir." He smiled blandly, though there was a snapping alertness in his eyes that belied his apparent calmness. He turned to Gieger, ignoring Trevison. "Organization is the thing. Pickand is a genius at it," he said.

Trevison's eyes flamed with rage over this deliberate insult. But in it he saw a cold design to make him lose his temper. The knowledge brought a twisting smile to his face.

"You have permission to begin this work, I suppose?"

Corrigan turned again, as though astonished at the persistence of the other. "Certainly, sir. This work is being done under a court order, issued this morning. I applied for it yesterday. I am well within my legal rights, the court having as you are aware, settled the question of the title."

"You know I have appealed the case?"

"I have not been informed that you have done so. In any event such an appeal would not prevent me mining the coal on the property, pending the hearing of the case in the higher court. Judge Lindman has appointed a receiver, who is bonded; and the work is to proceed under his direction. I am here merely as an onlooker."

He looked fairly at Trevison, his eyes gleaming with cold derision. The expression maddened the other beyond endurance, and his eyes danced the chill glitter of meditated violence, unrecking consequences.

"You're a sneaking crook, Corrigan, and you know it! You're going too far! You've had Braman appointed in order to escape the responsibility! You're hiding behind him like a coward! Come out into the open and fight like a man!"

Corrigan's face bloated poisonously, but he made no hostile move. "I'll kill you for that some day!" he whispered. "Not now," he laughed mirthlessly as the other stiffened; "I can't take the risk right now—I've too much depending on me. But you've been damned impertinent and troublesome, and when I get you where I want you I'm going to serve you like this!" And he took the cigar from his mouth, dropped it to the floor of the car and ground it to pieces under his heel. He looked up again, at Trevison, and their gaze met, in each man's eyes glowed the knowledge of imminent action, ruthless and terrible.

Trevison broke the tension with a laugh that came from between his teeth. "Why delay?" he mocked. "I've been ready for the grinding process since the first day."

"Enough of this!" Corrigan turned to Gieger with a glance of cold intolerance. "This man is a nuisance," he said to the deputy. "Carry out the mandate of the court and order him away. If he doesn't go, kill him! He is a trespasser, and has no right here!" And he glared at Trevison.

"You've got to get out, mister," said the deputy. He tapped his rifle menacingly, betraying a quick accession of rage that he caught, no doubt, from Corrigan. Trevison smiled coldly, and backed Nigger a little. For an instant he meditated resistance, and dropped his right hand to the butt of his pistol. A shout distracted his attention. It came from behind him—it sounded like a warning, and he wheeled, to see Carson running toward him, not more than ten feet distant, waving his hands, a huge smile on his face.

"Domned if it ain't Trevison!" he yelled as he lunged forward and caught Trevison's right hand in his own, pulling the rider toward him. "I've been wantin' to spake a word wid ye for two weeks now—about thim cows which me brother in Illinoy has been askin' me about, an' divvil a chance have I had to see ye!" And as he yanked Trevison's shoulders downward with a sudden pressure that there was no resisting, he whispered, rapidly.

"Diputies—thirty av thim wid Winchesters—on the other side av the flat-cars. It's a thrap to do away wid ye—I heard 'em cookin' it!"

"An' ye wudn't be sellin' 'em to me at twinty-five, eh?" he said, aloud. "Go 'long wid ye—ye're a domned hold-up man, like all the rist av thim!" And he slapped the black horse playfully in the ribs and laughed gleefully as the animal lunged at him, ears laid back, mouth open.

His eyes cold, his lips hard and straight, Trevison spurred the black again to the flat-car.

"The bars are down between us, Corrigan; it's man to man from now on. Law or no law, I give you twenty-four hours to get your men and apparatus off my land. After that I won't be responsible for what happens!" He heard a shout behind him, a clatter, and he turned to see ten or twelve of his men racing over the level toward him. At the same instant he heard a sharp exclamation from Corrigan; heard Gieger issue a sharp order, and a line of men raised their heads above the flat-cars, rifles in their hands, which they trained on the advancing cowboys.

Nigger leaped; his rider holding up one hand, the palm toward his men, as a sign to halt, while he charged into them. Trevison talked fast to them, while the laborers, suspending work, watched, muttering; and the rifles, resting on the flat-cars, grew steadier in their owners' hands. The silence grew deeper; the tension was so great that when somewhere a man dropped a shovel, it startled the watchers like a sudden bomb.

It was plain that Trevison's men wanted to fight. It was equally plain that Trevison was arguing to dissuade them. And when, muttering, and casting belligerent looks backward, they finally drew off, Trevison following, there was a sigh of relief from the watchers, while Corrigan's face was black with disappointment.



CHAPTER XIX

A WOMAN RIDES IN VAIN

Out of Rosalind Benham's resentment against Trevison for the Hester Harvey incident grew a sudden dull apathy—which presently threatened to become an aversion—for the West. Its crudeness, the uncouthness of its people; the emptiness, the monotony, began to oppress her. Noticing the waning of her enthusiasm, Agatha began to inject energetic condemnations of the country into her conversations with the girl, and to hint broadly of the contrasting allurements of the East.

But Rosalind was not yet ready to desert the Bar B. She had been hurt, and her interest in the country had dulled, but there were memories over which one might meditate until—until one could be certain of some things. This was hope, insistently demanding delay of judgment. The girl could not forget the sincere ring in Trevison's voice when he had told her that he would never go back to Hester Harvey. Arrayed against this declaration was the cold fact of Hester's visit, and Hester's statement that Trevison had sent for her. In this jumble of contradiction hope found a fertile field.

If Corrigan had anticipated that the knowledge of Hester's visit to Trevison would have the effect of centering Rosalind's interest on him, he had erred. Corrigan was magnetic; the girl felt the lure of him. In his presence she was continually conscious of his masterfulness, with a dismayed fear that she would yield to it. She knew this sensation was not love, for it lacked the fire and the depth of the haunting, breathless surge of passion that she had felt when she had held Trevison off the day when he had declared his love for her—that she felt whenever she thought of him. But with Trevison lost to her—she did not know what would happen, then. For the present her resentment was sufficient to keep her mind occupied.

She had a dread of meeting Corrigan this morning. Also, Agatha's continued deprecatory speeches had begun to annoy her, and at ten o'clock she ordered one of the men to saddle her horse.

She rode southward, following a trail that brought her to Levins' cabin. The cabin was built of logs, smoothly hewn and tightly joined, situated at the edge of some timber in a picturesque spot at a point where a shallow creek doubled in its sweep toward some broken country west of Manti.

Rosalind had visited Mrs. Levins many times. The warmth of her welcome on her first visit had resulted in a quick intimacy which, with an immediate estimate of certain needs by Rosalind, had brought her back in the role of Lady Bountiful. "Chuck" and "Sissy" Levins welcomed her vociferously as she splashed across the river to the door of the cabin this morning.

"You're clean spoilin' them, Miss Rosalind!" declared the mother, watching from the doorway; "they've got so they expect you to bring them a present every time you come."

Sundry pats and kisses sufficed to assuage the pangs of disappointment suffered by the children, and shortly afterward Rosalind was inside the cabin, talking with Mrs. Levins, and watching Clay, who was painstakingly mending a breach in his cartridge belt.

Rosalind had seen Clay once only, and that at a distance, and she stole interested glances at him. There was a certain attraction in Clay's lean face, with its cold, alert furtiveness, but it was an attraction that bred chill instead of warmth, for his face revealed a wild, reckless, intolerant spirit, remorseless, contemptuous of law and order. Several times she caught him watching her, and his narrowed, probing glances disconcerted her. She cut her visit short because of his presence, and when she rose to go he turned in his chair.

"You like this country, ma'am?"

"Well—yes. But it is much different, after the East."

"Some smoother there, eh? Folks are slicker?"

She eyed him appraisingly, for there was an undercurrent of significance in his voice. She smiled. "Well—I suppose so. You see, competition is keener in the East, and it rather sharpens one's wits, I presume."

"H'm. I reckon you're right. This railroad has brought some mighty slick ones here. Mighty slick an' gally." He looked at her truculently. "Corrigan's one of the slick ones. Friend of yours, eh?"

"Clay!" remonstrated his wife, sharply.

He turned on her roughly. "You keep out of this! I ain't meanin' nothin' wrong. But I reckon when anyone's got a sneakin' coyote for a friend an' don't know it, it's doin' 'em a good turn to spit things right out, frank an' fair.

"This Corrigan ain't on the level, ma'am. Do you know what he's doin'? He's skinnin' the folks in this country out of about a hundred thousand acres of land. He's clouded every damn title. He's got a fake bill of sale to show that he bought the land years ago—which he didn't—an' he's got a little beast of a judge here to back him up in his play. They've done away with the original record of the land, an' rigged up another, which makes Corrigan's title clear. It's the rankest robbery that any man ever tried to pull off, an' if he's a friend of yourn you ought to cut him off your visitin' list!"

"How do you know that? Who told you?" asked the girl, her face whitening, for the man's vehemence and evident earnestness were convincing.

"'Brand' Trevison told me. It hits him mighty damned hard. He had a deed to his land. Corrigan broke open his office an' stole it. Trevison's certain sure his deed was on the record, for he went to Dry Bottom with Buck Peters—the man he bought the land from—an' seen it wrote down on the record!" He laughed harshly. "There's goin' to be hell to pay here. Trevison won't stand for it—though the other gillies are advisin' caution. Caution hell! I'm for cleanin' the scum out! Do you know what Corrigan done, yesterday? He got thirty or so deputies—pluguglies that he's hired—an' hid 'em behind some flat-cars down on the level where they're erectin' some minin' machinery. He laid a trap for 'Firebrand,' expectin' him to come down there, rippin' mad because they was puttin' the minin' machinery up on his land, wi'out his permission. They was goin' to shoot him—Corrigan put 'em up to it. That Carson fello' heard it an' put 'Firebrand' wise. An' the shootin' didn't come off. But that's only the beginnin'!"

"Did Trevison tell you to tell me this?" The girl was stunned, amazed, incredulous. For her father was concerned in this, and if he had any knowledge that Corrigan was stealing land—if he was stealing it—he was guilty as Corrigan. If he had no knowledge of it, she might be able to prevent the steal by communicating with him.

"Trevison tell me?" laughed Levins, scornfully; "'Firebrand' ain't no pussy-kitten fighter which depends on women standin' between him an' trouble. I'm tellin' you on my own hook, so's that big stiff Corrigan won't get swelled up, thinkin' he's got a chance to hitch up with you in the matrimonial wagon. That guy's got murder in his heart, girl. Did you hear of me shootin' that sneak, Marchmont?" The girl had heard rumors of the affair; she nodded, and Levins went on. "It was Corrigan that hired me to do it—payin' me a thousand, cash." His wife gasped, and he spoke gently to her. "That's all right, Ma; it wasn't no cold-blooded affair—Jim Marchmont knowed a sister of mine pretty intimate, when he was out here years ago, an' I settled a debt that I thought I owed to her, that's all. I ain't none sorry, neither—I knowed him soon as Corrigan mentioned his name. But I hadn't no time to call his attention to things—I had to plug him, sudden. I'm sorry I've said this, ma'am, now that it's out," he said in a changed voice, noting the girl's distress; "but I felt you ought to know who you're dealin' with."

Rosalind went out, swaying, her knees shaking. She heard Levins' wife reproving him; heard the man replying gruffly. She felt that it must be so. She cared nothing about Corrigan, beyond a certain regret, but a wave of sickening fear swept over her at the growing conviction that her father must know something of all this. And if, as Levins said, Corrigan was attempting to defraud these people, she felt that common justice required that she head him off, if possible. By defeating Corrigan's aim she would, of course, be aiding Trevison, and through him Hester Harvey, whom she had grown to despise, but that hatred should not deter her. She mounted her horse in a fever of anxiety and raced it over the plains toward Manti, determined to find Corrigan and force him to tell her the truth.

Half way to town she saw a rider coming, and she slowed her own horse, taking the rider to be Corrigan, coming to the Bar B. She saw her mistake when the rider was within a hundred feet of her. She blushed, then paled, and started to pass the rider without speaking, for it was Trevison. She looked up when he urged Nigger against her animal, blocking the trail, frowning.

"Look here," he said; "what's wrong? Why do you avoid me? I saw you on the Diamond K range the other day, and when I started to ride toward you you whipped up your horse. You tried to pass me just now. What have I done to deserve it?"

She could not tell him about Hester Harvey, of course, and so she was silent, blushing a little. He took her manner as an indication of guilt, and gritted his teeth with the pain that the discovery caused him, for he had been hoping, too—that his suspicions of her were groundless.

"I do not care to discuss the matter with you." She looked fairly at him, her resentment flaming in her eyes, fiercely indignant over his effrontery in addressing her in that manner, after his affair with Hester Harvey. She was going to help him, but that did not mean that she was going to blind herself to his faults, or to accept them mutely. His bold confidence in himself—which she had once admired—repelled her now; she saw in it the brazen egotism of the gross sensualist, seeking new victims.

"I am in a hurry," she said, stiffly; "you will pardon me if I proceed."

He jumped Nigger off the trail and watched with gloomy, disappointed eyes, her rapid progress toward Manti. Then he urged Nigger onward, toward Levins' cabin. "I'll have to erect another monument to my faith in women," he muttered. And certain reckless, grim thoughts that had rioted in his mind since the day before, now assumed a definiteness that made his blood leap with eagerness.

Later, when Rosalind sat opposite Corrigan at his desk, she found it hard to believe Levins' story. The big man's smooth plausibility made Levins' recital seem like the weird imaginings of a disordered mind, goaded to desperation by opposition. And again, his magnetism, his polite consideration for her feelings, his ingenuous, smiling deference—so sharply contrasted with Trevison's direct bluntness—swayed her, and she sat, perplexed, undecided, when he finished the explanation she had coldly demanded of him.

"It is the invariable defense of these squatters," he added; "that they are being robbed. In this case they have embellished their hackneyed tale somewhat by dragging the court into it, and telling you that absurd story about the shooting of Marchmont. Could you tell me what possible interest I could have in wanting Marchmont killed? Don't you think, Miss Rosalind, that Levins' reference to his sister discloses the real reason for the man's action? Levins' story that I paid him a thousand dollars is a fabrication, pure and simple. I paid Jim Marchmont a thousand dollars that morning, which was the balance due him on our contract. The transaction was witnessed by Judge Lindman. After Marchmont was shot, Levins took the money from him."

"Why wasn't Levins arrested?"

"It seems that public opinion was with Levins. A great many people here knew of the ancient trouble between them." He passed from that, quickly. "The tale of the robbery of Trevison's office is childlike, for the reason that Trevison had no deed. Judge Lindman is an honored and respected official. And—" he added as a last argument "—your father is the respected head of a large and important railroad. Is it logical to suppose that he would lend his influence and his good name to any such ridiculous scheme?"

She sighed, almost convinced. Corrigan went on, earnestly:

"This man Trevison is a disturber—he has always been that. He has no respect for the law or property. He associates with the self-confessed murderer, Levins. He is a riotous, reckless, egotistical fool who, because the law stands in the way of his desires, wishes to trample it under foot and allow mob rule to take its place. Do you remember you mentioned that he once loved a woman named Hester Keyes? Well, he has brought Hester here—"

She got up, her chin at a scornful angle. "I do not care to hear about his personal affairs." She went out, mounted her horse, and rode slowly out the Bar B trail. From a window Corrigan watched her, and as she vanished into the distance he turned back to his desk, meditating darkly.

"Trevison put Levins up to that. He's showing yellow."



CHAPTER XX

AND RIDES AGAIN—IN VAIN

Rosalind's reflections as she rode toward the Bar B convinced her that there had been much truth in Corrigan's arraignment of Trevison. Out of her own knowledge of him, and from his own admission to her on the day they had ridden to Blakeley's the first time, she adduced evidence of his predilection for fighting, of his utter disregard for accepted authority—when that authority disagreed with his conception of justice; of his lawlessness when his desires were in question. His impetuosity was notorious, for it had earned him the sobriquet "Firebrand," which he could not have acquired except through the exhibition of those traits that she had enumerated.

She was disappointed and spiritless when she reached the ranchhouse, and very tired, physically. Agatha's questions irritated her, and she ate sparingly of the food set before her, eager to be alone. In the isolation of her room she lay dumbly on the bed, and there the absurdity of Levins' story assailed her. It must be as Corrigan had said—her father was too great a man to descend to such despicable methods. She dropped off to sleep.

When she awoke the sun had gone down, and her room was cheerless in the semi-dusk. She got up, washed, combed her hair, and much refreshed, went downstairs and ate heartily, Agatha watching her narrowly.

"You are distraught, my dear," ventured her relative. "I don't think this country agrees with you. Has anything happened?"

The girl answered evasively, whereat Agatha compressed her lips.

"Don't you think that a trip East—"

"I shall not go home this summer!" declared Rosalind, vehemently. And noting the flash in the girl's eyes, belligerent and defiant; her swelling breast, the warning brilliance of her eyes, misty with pent-up emotion, Agatha wisely subsided and the meal was finished in a strained silence.

Later, Rosalind went out, alone, upon the porch where, huddled in a big rocker, she gazed gloomily at the lights of Manti, dim and distant. Something of the turmoil and the tumult of the town in its young strength and vigor, assailed her, contrasting sharply with the solemn peace of her own surroundings. Life had been a very materialistic problem to her, heretofore. She had lived it according to her environment, a mere onlooker, detached from the scheme of things. Something of the meaning of life trickled into her consciousness as she sat there watching the flickering lights of the town—something of the meaning of it all—the struggle of these new residents twanged a hidden chord of sympathy and understanding in her. She was able to visualize them as she sat there. Faces flashed before her—strong, stern, eager; the owner of each a-thrill with his ambition, going forward in the march of progress with definite aim, planning, plotting, scheming—some of them winning, others losing, but all obsessed with a feverish desire of success. The railroad, the town, the ranches, the new dam, the people—all were elements of a conflict, waged ceaselessly. She sat erect, her blood tingling. Blows were being struck, taken.

"Oh," she cried, sharply; "it's a game! It's the spirit of the nation—to fight, to press onward, to win!" And in that moment she was seized with a throbbing sympathy for Trevison, and filled with a yearning that he might win, in spite of Corrigan, Hester Harvey, and all the others—even her father. For he was a courageous player of this "game." In him was typified the spirit of the nation.

* * * * *

Rosalind might have added something to her thoughts had she known of the passions that filled Trevison when, while she sat on the porch of the Bar B ranchhouse, he mounted Nigger and sent him scurrying through the mellow moonlight toward Manti. He was playing the "game," with justice as his goal. The girl had caught something of the spirit of it all, but she had neglected to grasp the all-important element of the relations between men, without which laws, rules, and customs become farcical and ridiculous. He was determined to have justice. He knew well that Judge Graney's mission to Washington would result in failure unless the deed to his property could be recovered, or the original record disclosed. Even then, with a weak and dishonest judge on the bench the issue might be muddled by a mass of legal technicalities. The court order permitting Braman to operate a mine on his property goaded him to fury.

He stopped at Hanrahan's saloon, finding Lefingwell there and talking with him for a few minutes. Lefingwell's docile attitude disgusted him—he said he had talked the matter over with a number of the other owners, and they had expressed themselves as being in favor of awaiting the result of his appeal. He left Lefingwell, not trusting himself to argue the question of the man's attitude, and went down to the station, where he found a telegram awaiting him. It was from Judge Graney: