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There was a leap in Catherson's voice: "You're almost a man, after all!" he said. They got on the pony after a while, riding as before, Masten in front, Catherson behind him, steadying him. And in this manner they rode on toward Catherson's shack, miles down the river. It was late in the morning when they came in sight of the shack, and seeing them from afar Hagar ran to them.
And then, unable to fight off the fascination that gripped him, doubting, almost ridiculing himself for yielding to the wild impulse to get away from Catherson, for now that he was away his action seemed senseless, he halted the pony and turned in the saddle, peering back through the trees. He had followed a narrow trail, and its arching green stretched behind him, peaceful, inviting, silent.
Had Catherson been an enemy, he would have watched him with different feelings; he would have taken a desperate chance of getting one of his own pistols to work. But he could not kill Catherson, knowing there was no reason for it.
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.
We'll allow that. We'll say a man has feelin's. But a man ought to have sense, too or he ain't a man. If Masten was a boy, now, not realizin', there'd be excuses. But he's wised up.... If his intentions had been honorable but he's engaged to Ruth, an' they couldn't. I reckon he'll pull his freight now. Catherson would sure muss him up some."
He stepped inside and walked to the rough table that stood near the center of the room, placing his hands on it and looking at her craftily. "Nobody here," he said, "but you eh? Where's Catherson? Where's Hagar?" "They've gone to the Flying W," she answered, trying to make her voice even, but not succeeding. There was a quaver in it.
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 skirted the corral fence, keeping the shack between him and the point at which he divined Catherson was then riding, and loped the pony into some sparse timber near the river. His panic had grown. He had yielded to it, and it had mastered him.
Only two miles from here, across the river. There's a trail, through a break in the canyon, leading to their ranch on the other side of the river. The man's name is Catherson Abe Catherson. Chavis tells me he was something of a bother to your uncle, because of his propensity to steal Flying W cattle. He's an old savage." "And the daughter?" inquired Ruth, her eyes alight with interest.
It fell with a looseness and finality that told Masten of the end. And Masten slipped his feet out of the stirrups, throwing himself free and alighting on his hands and knees in front of the exhausted animal. He got up, and started to run, desperately, sobbing, his lips slavering from terror. But he turned, after running a few feet, to see Catherson coming after him.
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