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Updated: May 27, 2025
Shortly after Abe Catherson's departure from the cabin, Ruth came to the door and looked out. Her face was whiter than it had been when she had reached the cabin, she was more composed, and her eyes were alight with mingled resignation and thankfulness.
And while both men stood, their muscles tensed to leap into action in response to the voice, Hagar burst into the room, looked at them both; saw Catherson's drawn pistol, and then threw herself upon her father, hid her face on his breast and sobbed: "It wasn't Rex, dad; it was Masten!" Catherson's excitement was over.
She endeavored to interest herself in Catherson's pipe and tobacco, on a shelf near the stove; wondering over the many hours that he had smoked in this lonesome place, driving away the monotony of the hours. What a blow this must be to him! She began to understand something of the terrible emotions that must have seized him with the revelation. And she had brought Masten here, too!
But the pony clambered to its feet again and staggered on, to fall again a minute later. Catherson's pony, its strength conserved for this ordeal, came on steadily, its rider carefully avoiding the soft sand, profiting by Masten's experiences with it. It was not until he saw Catherson within fifty feet of him that Masten divined that he was not to be shot.
He was going again to Catherson's, to see Hagar. Recollections of the change that had come over the girl were disquieting, and he wanted to talk to her again to determine whether she really had changed, or whether he had merely fancied it. Far down the river he crossed at a shallow ford, entered a section of timber, and loped Patches slowly through this.
"You're right, Catherson," he added, his voice quavering; "I learned a lot tonight. I've learned " His voice broke, and he sat there grim and white, shuddering as a child shudders when awakened from a nightmare. He almost collapsed when Catherson's huge hands fell to his shoulders, but the hands held him, the fingers gripping deeply into the flesh.
The dog's concern was for Catherson's future actions, for just a few minutes before he had witnessed a scene that had made his hair bristle, had brought ugly growls out of him, had plunged him into such a state of fury that he had, for one wild instant, meditated a leap at his master's throat. He had seen his master leap upon his mistress and raise his hand to strike her.
"I want you to know what for. You come sneakin' around givin' me money " "Steady, there, Abe!" Randerson's sharp, cold voice acted with the effect of a dash of water in Catherson's face. He started, his big hand trembling, for though he had come to kill, he unknowingly wanted to hear some word from Randerson's lips in proof of his innocence.
Outside, in the brilliant sunshine, a sense of time, place, and events came back to her, and for the first time since her recovery she thought of Abe Catherson's note, which Hagar had read. "Oh," she said, looking at Randerson with luminous eyes, joy flashing in them, "he didn't shoot you!" "I reckon not, ma'am," he grinned. "I'm still able to keep on range bossin' for the Flyin' W."
And when, a little later, he caught a glimpse of the rider's head, appearing for just an instant above the crest of a sand ridge, noting the beard and the shaggy hair, his face turned ashen and the chair rocked under him. For he knew but one man in this country who looked like that. He got down from the chair and glared around, his eyes dilated. Catherson's actions seemed innocent enough.
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