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That question his conscience dinned in his ears. It was answered many times, as he stood there an insistent affirmative, suggested, proven by Catherson's actions, supported by the fact that he had never seen Catherson in the basin before. As he watched, he saw Catherson again.
Aunt Martha looked, long and intently. And when she finally turned to Uncle Jepson, her face was radiant, and she opened her arms to him. "Oh, Jep!" she exclaimed lowly, "ain't that wonderful!" "I cal'late I've been expectin' it," he observed. The meeting between Catherson and Randerson had taken the edge off Catherson's frenzy, but it had not shaken his determination.
He had talked with Catherson; the nester had told him the story, but it had been agreed between them the real story was not to be told. "They're married Hagar an' Masten. Masten come to Catherson's shack the day after I after I brought you home from there. An' they rode over to Lazette an' got hooked up. An' Catherson had been lookin' for Masten, figurin' to kill him.
He did not know Catherson's motive in coming here, but he knew that the slightest insincere word; a tone too light or too gruff, the most insignificant hostile movement, would bring about a quick pressure of the trigger of Catherson's pistol.
Then, still only half conscious he rode, reeling in the saddle, toward a light that he saw in the distance, which, he dimly felt, must come from the Flying W ranchhouse. Randerson did not leave the scene of the fight immediately. He stood for a long time, after buckling on his belt and pistols, looking meditatively toward the break in the canyon beyond which was Catherson's shack.
At about the time Randerson was crossing the river near the point where the path leading to Catherson's shack joined the Lazette trail, Ruth Harkness was loping her pony rapidly toward him.
He had no difficulty in getting genuine curiosity into his voice, and he kept it to just the pitch necessary to show his surprise over Catherson's threat and manner: "What you reckonin' to kill me for, Abe?" "For what you done to my Hagar!" The convulsive play of Catherson's features betrayed his nearness to action. His gun arm stiffened. He spoke in great gasps, like a man in delirium.
Reaching the hills and ridges beyond, Catherson halted and scrutinized the country around him. When he observed that there was no sign of life within range of his vision, he spoke to the pony and they went forward. Catherson's lips were set in a heavy, ugly pout.
"Right on your way back to the Flyin' W," said Randerson, as though the discovery pleased him. "I'm goin' to the Flyin' W, too, soon as I see Catherson. I reckon, if you two ain't got no particular yearnin' to go prowlin' around in the timber any longer, we'll all go back to Catherson's shack an' wait for him there. Three'll be company, while it'd be mighty lonesome for one."
She stopped when she saw Masten, her eyes wide with wonder and astonishment that changed quickly to joy as she saw a smile gathering on Catherson's face. "I've brought you your husband, Hagar," he told her. Hagar did not move. Her hands were pressing her breast; her eyes were eloquent with doubt and hope. They sought Masten's, searchingly, defiantly.
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