We silently rode home in the gathering dusk. Miss Sampson dismounted at the porch, but Sally went on with me to the corrals. I felt heavy and somber, as if a catastrophe was near at hand.

"Help me down," said Sally. Her voice was low and tremulous.

"Sally, did you hear what Miss Sampson said to Steele?" I asked.

"A little, here and there. I heard Steele tell her he loved her. Isn\'t this a terrible mix?"

"It sure is. Did you hear—do you understand why she appealed to Steele, asked him to be her friend?"

"Did she? No, I didn\'t hear that. I heard her say she had wronged him. Then I tried not to hear any more. Tell me."

"No Sally; it\'s not my secret. I wish I could do something—help them somehow. Yes, it\'s sure a terrible mix. I don\'t care so much about myself."

"Nor me," Sally retorted.

"You! Oh, you\'re only a shallow spoiled child! You\'d cease to love anything the moment you won it. And I—well, I\'m no good, you say. But their love! My God, what a tragedy! You\'ve no idea, Sally. They\'ve hardly spoken to each other, yet are ready to be overwhelmed."

Sally sat so still and silent that I thought I had angered or offended her. But I did not care much, one way or another. Her coquettish fancy for me and my own trouble had sunk into insignificance. I did not look up at her, though she was so close I could feel her little, restless foot touching me. The horses in the corrals were trooping up to the bars. Dusk had about given place to night, although in the west a broad flare of golden sky showed bright behind dark mountains.

"So I say you\'re no good?" asked Sally after a long silence. Then her voice and the way her hand stole to my shoulder should have been warning for me. But it was not, or I did not care.

"Yes, you said that, didn\'t you?" I replied absently.

"I can change my mind, can\'t I? Maybe you\'re only wild and reckless when you drink. Mrs. Hoden said such nice things about you. They made me feel so good."

I had no reply for that and still did not look up at her. I heard her swing herself around in the saddle. "Lift me down," she said.

Perhaps at any other time I would have remarked that this request was rather unusual, considering the fact that she was very light and sure of action, extremely proud of it, and likely to be insulted by an offer of assistance. But my spirit was dead. I reached for her hands, but they eluded mine, slipped up my arms as she came sliding out of the saddle, and then her face was very close to mine. "Russ!" she whispered. It was torment, wistfulness, uncertainty, and yet tenderness all in one little whisper. It caught me off guard or indifferent to consequences. So I kissed her, without passion, with all regret and sadness. She uttered a little cry that might have been mingled exultation and remorse for her victory and her broken faith. Certainly the instant I kissed her she remembered the latter. She trembled against me, and leaving unsaid something she had meant to say, she slipped out of my arms and ran. She assuredly was frightened, and I thought it just as well that she was.

Presently she disappeared in the darkness and then the swift little clinks of her spurs ceased. I laughed somewhat ruefully and hoped she would be satisfied. Then I put away the horses and went in for my supper.

After supper I noisily bustled around my room, and soon stole out for my usual evening\'s spying. The night was dark, without starlight, and the stiff wind rustled the leaves and tore through the vines on the old house. The fact that I had seen and heard so little during my constant vigilance did not make me careless or the task monotonous. I had so much to think about that sometimes I sat in one place for hours and never knew where the time went.

This night, the very first thing, I heard Wright\'s well-known footsteps, and I saw Sampson\'s door open, flashing a broad bar of light into the darkness. Wright crossed the threshold, the door closed, and all was dark again outside. Not a ray of light escaped from the window. This was the first visit of Wright for a considerable stretch of time. Little doubt there was that his talk with Sampson would be interesting to me.

I tiptoed to the door and listened, but I could hear only a murmur of voices. Besides, that position was too risky. I went round the corner of the house. Some time before I had made a discovery that I imagined would be valuable to me. This side of the big adobe house was of much older construction than the back and larger part. There was a narrow passage about a foot wide between the old and new walls, and this ran from the outside through to the patio. I had discovered the entrance by accident, as it was concealed by vines and shrubbery. I crawled in there, upon an opportune occasion, with the intention of boring a small hole through the adobe bricks. But it was not necessary to do that, for the wall was cracked; and in one place I could see into Sampson\'s room. This passage now afforded me my opportunity, and I decided to avail myself of it in spite of the very great danger. Crawling on my hands and knees very stealthily, I got under the shrubbery to the entrance of the passage. In the blackness a faint streak of light showed the location of the crack in the wall.

I had to slip in sidewise. It was a tight squeeze, but I entered without the slightest sound. If my position were to be betrayed it would not be from noise. As I progressed the passage grew a very little wider in that direction, and this fact gave rise to the thought that in case of a necessary and hurried exit I would do best by working toward the patio. It seemed a good deal of time was consumed in reaching my vantage-point. When I did get there the crack was a foot over my head. If I had only been tall like Steele! There was nothing to do but find toe-holes in the crumbling walls, and by bracing knees on one side, back against the other, hold myself up to the crack.

Once with my eye there I did not care what risk I ran. Sampson appeared disturbed; he sat stroking his mustache; his brow was clouded. Wright\'s face seemed darker, more sullen, yet lighted by some indomitable resolve.

"We\'ll settle both deals to-night," Wright was saying. "That\'s what I came for. That\'s why I\'ve asked Snecker and Blome to be here."

"But suppose I don\'t choose to talk here?" protested Sampson impatiently. "I never before made my house a place to—"

"We\'ve waited long enough. This place\'s as good as any. You\'ve lost your nerve since that Ranger hit the town. First, now, will you give Diane to me?"

"George, you talk like a spoiled boy. Give Diane to you! Why, she\'s a woman and I\'m finding out that she\'s got a mind of her own. I told you I was willing for her to marry you. I tried to persuade her. But Diane hasn\'t any use for you now. She liked you at first; but now she doesn\'t. So what can I do?"

"You can make her marry me," replied Wright.

"Make that girl do what she doesn\'t want to? It couldn\'t be done, even if I tried. And I don\'t believe I\'ll try. I haven\'t the highest opinion of you as a prospective son-in-law, George. But if Diane loved you I would consent. We\'d all go away together before this damned miserable business is out. Then she\'d never know. And maybe you might be more like you used to be before the West ruined you. But as matters stand you fight your own game with her; and I\'ll tell you now, you\'ll lose."

"What\'d you want to let her come out here for?" demanded Wright hotly. "It was a dead mistake. I\'ve lost my head over her. I\'ll have her or die. Don\'t you think if she was my wife I\'d soon pull myself together? Since she came we\'ve none of us been right. And the gang has put up a holler. No, Sampson, we\'ve got to settle things to-night."

"Well, we can settle what Diane\'s concerned in right now," replied Sampson, rising. "Come on; we\'ll go ask her. See where you stand."

They went out, leaving the door open. I dropped down to rest myself and to wait. I would have liked to hear Miss Sampson\'s answer to him. But I could guess what it would be. Wright appeared to be all I had thought of him, and I believed I was going to find out presently that he was worse. Just then I wanted Steele as never before. Still, he was too big to worm his way into this place.

The men seemed to be absent a good while, though that feeling might have been occasioned by my interest and anxiety. Finally I heard heavy steps. Wright came in alone. He was leaden-faced, humiliated. Then something abject in him gave place to rage. He strode the room; he cursed.

Sampson returned, now appreciably calmer. I could not but decide that he felt relief at the evident rejection of Wright\'s proposal. "Don\'t fume about it, George," he said. "You see I can\'t help it. We\'re pretty wild out here, but I can\'t rope my daughter and give her to you as I would an unruly steer."

"Sampson, I can make her marry me," declared Wright thickly.

"How?"

"You know the hold I got on you—the deal that made you boss of this rustler gang?"

"It isn\'t likely I\'d forget," replied Sampson grimly.

"I can go to Diane—tell her that—make her believe I\'d tell it broadcast, tell this Ranger Steele, unless she\'d marry me!" Wright spoke breathlessly, with haggard face and shadowed eyes. He had no shame. He was simply in the grip of passion. Sampson gazed with dark, controlled fury at his relative. In that look I saw a strong, unscrupulous man fallen into evil ways, but still a man. It betrayed Wright to be the wild and passionate weakling.

I seemed to see also how, during all the years of association, this strong man had upheld the weak one. But that time had gone forever, both in intent on Sampson\'s part and in possibility. Wright, like the great majority of evil and unrestrained men on the border, had reached a point where influence was futile. Reason had degenerated. He saw only himself.

"But, George, Diane\'s the one person on earth who must never know I\'m a rustler, a thief, a red-handed ruler of the worst gang on the border," replied Sampson impressively.

George bowed his head at that, as if the significance had just occurred to him. But he was not long at a loss. "She\'s going to find it out sooner or later. I tell you she knows now there\'s something wrong out here. She\'s got eyes. And that meddling cowboy of hers is smarter than you give him credit for. They\'re always together. You\'ll regret the day Russ ever straddled a horse on this ranch. Mark what I say."

"Diane\'s changed, I know; but she hasn\'t any idea yet that her daddy\'s a boss rustler. Diane\'s concerned about what she calls my duty as mayor. Also I think she\'s not satisfied with my explanations in regard to certain property."

Wright halted in his restless walk and leaned against the stone mantelpiece. He squared himself as if this was his last stand. He looked desperate, but on the moment showed an absence of his usual nervous excitement. "Sampson, that may well be true," he said. "No doubt all you say is true. But it doesn\'t help me. I want the girl. If I don\'t get her I reckon we\'ll all go to hell!" He might have meant anything, probably meant the worst. He certainly had something more in mind.

Sampson gave a slight start, barely perceptible like the twitch of an awakening tiger. He sat there, head down, stroking his mustache. Almost I saw his thought. I had long experience in reading men under stress of such emotion. I had no means to vindicate my judgment............