Motionless in his saddle, save for an occasional restless stamp of his horse, Bud Jessup waited patiently in front of the adobe¹ shack² at Las Vegas camp. His face was serious and thoughtful, and his glance was fixed³ on the open door through which came the broken, indistinguishable murmur⁴ of Buck⁵ Stratton's voice. Once, thinking he heard an unusual sound, the youngster turned his head alertly and stared westward⁶ through the shadows. But a moment later his eyes flashed back to that narrow, black oblong, and he resumed his uneasy pondering as to what Buck might possibly be finding out.

 

Suddenly he gave a start as Stratton's voice, harsh, startled, came to him distinctly.

 

"Mary! Mary! Why don't you answer? What's happened?"

 

The words were punctuated⁷ by a continuous rattle⁸, and ended abruptly⁹ with the clatter¹⁰ of metal against metal.

 

"Hell!" rasped Buck, in a hoarse¹¹, furious voice with an undercurrent of keen apprehension¹² that made Bud's nerves tingle¹³. "The wire's been cut!"

 

An instant later he appeared, running. Snatching the reins¹⁴, he gained the saddle in a single bound, jerked his horse around, and was off across the pasture.

 

"Come on!" he shouted back over one shoulder. "There's trouble at the ranch¹⁵."

 

Bud dug spurs into his cayuse and followed, but it was some minutes before he managed to catch up with his friend.

 

"What is it?" he cried anxiously. "What's wrong? Have the Mannings--"

 

"They've gone, as I thought," snapped Stratton. "The two women are alone. But that isn't the worst." A sudden spasm¹⁶ of uncontrolled fury rose in his throat and choked him momentarily. "There's some one hidden in the loft¹⁷ over the harness-room," he managed to finish hoarsely¹⁸.

 

Bud stared at him in dismay. "Who the devil--"

 

"I don't know. She just got a glimpse of a--a face in the window while she was closing up the kitchen."

 

"Do you suppose it's--Tex?"

 

"I don't know," retorted Buck through his clenched¹⁹ teeth. "What difference does it make, anyhow? Some one hid there for a--a purpose. By God! What fools we were not to make a search!"

 

"It seemed so darn sure they'd all beat it," faltered²⁰ Bud. "Besides, I don't guess any of us would of thought to look in that loft."

 

"Maybe not. It doesn't matter. We didn't." Stratton's voice was brittle²¹. "But if anything happens--"

 

"Have they locked up the whole house?" Jessup asked as Stratton paused.

 

"Yes, but what good'll that do with two able-bodied men set on getting in? There isn't a door or shutter²² that wouldn't--"

 

"Two!" gasped²³ Bud. "You didn't say--"

 

"Didn't I? It was just at the end. She was telling me about seeing the face and locking up the house. Then all at once she broke off." Buck's tone was calmer now, but it was the hard-won calm of determined²⁴ will, and every now and then there quivered through it a faint, momentary²⁵ note that told eloquently²⁶ of the mingled²⁷ dread²⁸ and fury that were tearing his nerves to pieces. "I asked what was the matter and she said to wait a minute. It seemed like she stopped to listen for something. Then all of a sudden she cried out that some one was riding up."

 

"It--it might not have been any of the gang," murmured Bud, voicing a hope he did not feel.

 

"Who else would be likely to come at this time of night?" demanded Stratton. "Lynch is on the outs with everybody around Perilla. They don't go near the ranch unless they have to. It couldn't have been one of Hardenberg's men; he's not expecting any one."

 

"Did--did she say anything else?" asked Jessup, after a brief pause.

 

Buck hesitated. "Only that she--was afraid, and wanted us to--come quickly. Then the wire went dead as if it had been cut."

 

Silence fell, broken only by the thud of hoofs²⁹ and the heavy breathing of the two horses. Bud's slim, lithe³⁰ figure had slumped³¹ a little in the saddle, and his eyes were fixed unseeingly on the wide, flat sweep of prairie unfolding before them, dim and mysterious under the brilliant stars.

 

In his mind anxiety, rage, and apprehension contended with a dull, dead hopelessness which lay upon his heart like lead. For something in Buck's tone made him realize in a flash a situation which, strangely, he had never even suspected. He wondered dully why he hadn't ever thought of it before; perhaps because Buck was a new-comer who had seemed to see so little of Mary Thorne. Probably, also, the very friendly manner of Stella Manning had something to do with Jessup's blindness. But his eyes were opened now, thoroughly³² and effectually, and for a space, how long or short he never knew, he fought out his silent battle.

 

It ended in a victory. Down in his heart he knew that he had never really had any hope of winning Mary Thorne himself. He had cherished aspirations³³, of course, and dreamed wonderful dreams; but when it came down to hard actualities, romance did not blind him to the fact that she looked on him merely as a friend and nothing more. Indeed, though they were virtually of the same age, he had been aware at times of an oddly maternal³⁴ note in her attitude toward him which was discouraging. Still, it was not easy definitely to relinquish³⁵ all hope and bring himself to write "finis" to the end of the chapter. Indeed, he did not reach that state of mind until, glancing sidewise at his friend, there came to him a sudden, faintly bitter realization³⁶ of the wide contrast between them, and of how much more Buck had to offer than himself.

 

Stratton's erect³⁷, broad shoulders, the lean length of him, the way he held his head, gave Jessup a curious, unexpected impression of strength and ability and power. Buck's eyes were set straight ahead and his clean-cut profile, clearly visible in the luminous³⁸ starlight, had a look of sensitiveness and refinement³⁹, despite the strength of his jaw⁴⁰ and chin and the somberness of his eyes. Bud turned away with a little sigh.

 

"I never had no chance at all," he thought. "Someway he don't look like a cow-puncher, nor talk quite like one. I wonder why?"

 

Half a mile further on Buck suddenly broke the prolonged silence.

 

"I've been thinking it over," he said briefly⁴¹. "The man on the horse was probably Lynch. He could easily have started off with the rest and then made a circuit around below the ranch-house. If he picked his ground, we'd never notice where he left the others, especially as we weren't looking for anything of the sort."

 

"Who do you s'pose hid over the harness-room?"

 

"It might have been Slim, or Kreeger, or even Pedro. The whole thing was certainly a put-up job--damn them!" His voice shook with sudden passion. "Well, we'll soon know," he finished, and his mouth clamped shut.

 

Already the row of cottonwoods that lined the creek⁴² was faintly visible ahead, a low, vague mass, darker a little than the background of blue-black sky. Both spurred their jaded⁴³ horses and a moment or two later pulled up with a jerk at the gate. Before his mount had come to a standstill, Bud was out of his saddle fumbling⁴⁴ with the catch. When he swung it open, Stratton dashed through, swiftly crossed the shallow creek, and galloped⁴⁵ up the long, easy slope beyond.

 

A chill struck him as the ranch-house loomed⁴⁶ up, ominously⁴⁷ black and desolate⁴⁸ as any long-deserted dwelling⁴⁹. He had forgotten for an instant the heavy, wooden shutters⁵⁰, and when, with teeth clenched and heart thudding in his throat, he reached the veranda⁵¹ corner, the sight of that yellow glow streaming from the open door gave him a momentary shock of supreme⁵² relief.

 

An instant later he saw the shattered door, and the color left his face. In two strides he crossed the porch and, with fingers tightening⁵³ about the butt⁵⁴ of his Colt, he stared searchingly around the big, brightly-lighted, strangely empty-looking room.

 

It held but a single occupant. Huddled⁵⁵ in a chair on the further side of the long table was Mrs. Archer⁵⁶. Both hands rested on the polished oak, and clutched in her small, wrinkled hands was a heavy, cumbrous revolver, pointed⁵⁷ directly at the door. Her white, strained face, stamped with an expression of hopeless tragedy, looked ten years older than when Buck had last seen it. As she recognized him she dropped the gun and tottered⁵⁸ to her feet.

 

"Oh!" she cried, in a sharp, wailing⁵⁹ voice. "You! You!"

 

In a moment Buck had her in his arms, holding her tight as one holds a hurt or frightened child. Mechanically he soothed⁶⁰ her as she clung to him, that amazing self-control, which had upheld her for so long, snapping like a taut⁶¹ rope when the strain becomes too great. But all the while his eyes--wide, smoldering⁶² eyes, filled with a mingling⁶³ of pity, of dread questioning and furious passion--swept the room searchingly.

 

Over the little lady's bowed gray head his glance took in swiftly a score of details--the dead fire, the dangling⁶⁴ receiver of the useless telephone, a little pearl-handled revolver lying in a far corner as if it had been flung there, an upset chair. Suddenly his gaze halted at the edge of the shattered door and a faint tremor⁶⁵ shook his big body. A comb lay on the floor there--a single comb of tortoise-shell made for a woman's hair. But it was a comb he knew well. And as his eyes met Bud's, staring from the doorway⁶⁶ at the strange scene, they were the eyes of a man tortured.

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