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Updated: June 25, 2025
A little later he came out again, smoking a pipe. Masten and Hagar were sitting close together on a fallen tree near where he had left them. Catherson smiled mildly at them and peacefully pulled at his pipe.
But if you are no more correct in the others than you are in trying to determine the state of my feelings toward Mr. Masten, you are entirely wrong. I do love Mr. Masten!" She spoke vehemently, for she thought herself very much in earnest. But he grinned. "You're true blue," he said, "an' you've got the grit to tell where you stand. But you're mistaken. You couldn't love Masten."
Cursing, crouching, evidently still awaiting an opportunity to draw his gun, Pickett began to walk toward the ranchhouse, Randerson close behind him. At a safe distance, the other men followed Ruth saw Masten and Chavis come out of the bunkhouse door and follow also. The thought struck her that they must have witnessed the incident from a window.
Man's interference might delay the time of possession, his thoughts were of Masten for a brief instant, and his lips straightened, but in the end there could be no other outcome.
Masten cleared his throat and looked intently at Randerson's imperturbable face. Did he know anything? A vague unrest seized Masten. Involuntarily he shivered, and his voice was a little hoarse when he spoke, though he attempted to affect carelessness: "I don't think I will wait for Catherson," he said, "I can see him tomorrow, just as well." "Well, that's too bad," drawled Randerson.
Uncle Jepson had one quick glimpse of her eyes as she turned from him, and he knew there would be no Monday for Willard Masten. Ruth had no feelings as she rode. The news had stunned her. She had only one thought to see Hagar Catherson, to confirm or disprove Uncle Jepson's story. She could not have told whether the sun was shining, or whether it was afternoon or morning.
Ruth, in the sitting-room, waited, almost in dread, for the explosion that she knew would follow Aunt Martha's words. None came, and Ruth sank back in her chair, not knowing whether she was relieved or disappointed. There was a long silence, during which Masten cleared his throat three times.
Uncle Jepson had gone away "nosin' around," he had said; Masten had ridden away toward the river some time before he had seemed to ride toward the break in the canyon which led to the Catherson cabin; she did not know where Randerson had gone had not seen him for hours. Hilarious laughter reached her, busy in the kitchen, but it did not banish the peculiar uneasiness that afflicted her.
Masten looked quickly at Vickers, and as quickly looked away, his face slowly reddening. "He's foreman now, isn't he?" he said. "It seems that Harkness trusted him that much." "There's a first time for every man to go wrong, Mister," said Vickers. Masten's voice was almost a sneer. "Why don't you tell Chavis that?" "I've told him, Mister to his face." Vickers' own face was growing dark with wrath.
Inside the bunkhouse, Uncle Jepson, who had been speaking, paused long enough to wrinkle his nose at Masten. Randerson's expression did not change; it was one of grave expectancy. "You was sayin' " he prompted, looking at Uncle Jepson. "That the whole darned deal was a frame-up," declared Uncle Jepson.
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