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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Say, then come right back with me to my shanty no, best not. We'll ride back to Orrville, and I'll hand you all I know as we go. I can quit you before we reach the township. Then you can hustle the crowd together and I'll be waiting ready at my shack to play my part the dirty rotten Judas racket." "Judas betrayed his Master and Friend. Are these people your friends? Is Lightfoot your master?"
She saw in her mind the claiming of the toll these men demanded, and to her swift imagination the picture of her husband's murder was complete before her eyes. "Sikkem comes from Orrville. He was there four years ago. There was more than suspicion attached to him. My first day here I met him. Maybe you'll remember. He knew me at once. I don't guess there was any mistake. And I knew him.
Outside the veranda a smudge fire in a bucket was doing battle with attacking mosquitoes, while its thin spiral of smoke served as a screen upon the still air to shut out the view of the disheveled township of Orrville. Dug McFarlane, opulent, of middle life and massive proportions, was in strong contrast to his guest. The American-Scot was something of a product of the soil.
It was the custom of Orrville to rise early and go to bed late. But this by no means implies any excessive activity. On the contrary. These spells of activity lasted just as long as their accomplishment required.
Every moment of it had been filled with the thought that Jeff was on his way to Orrville. On his way to meet Dug McFarlane. On his way to meet the one man in whose hands her whole fate lay. He alone knew the source of the ten thousand dollars which she had carried back to her paternal home as the net result of her first marriage.
She had recognized him on the instant of their meeting. She knew he came from Orrville. She had seen him there. But Was he one of the original Orrville gang, all unsuspected, or, at least, if not unsuspected, unknown to be? While she pondered the subject she heard her husband's arrival. She heard him cross the veranda and, pass into the house. Then again she took up the thread of her thought.
Bud had taken up a position against the cold iron stove. Jeff alone retained his seat, during the few silent moments which followed. With the departure of the men, however, he looked up from a letter he had withdrawn from his pocket. "Say, Bud," he said without emotion, "guess the Presidency of the Western Union's going to claim me right away. I'll need to make Orrville right off." "Orrville?"
It'll cost us a piece, but it's the way to fix things. And anyway it's going to be worth it, sure. I allow we'll need to hand out the story of reward good. It's got to reach this gang itself. An' if I guess right, and there's toughs from Orrville way running this lay-out, why, they aren't li'ble to have forgotten what happened that time. We'll break the gang, or we'll get 'em."
He was holding up a lantern, and every eye was carefully, and in many instances laboriously, studying the text inscribed. It was a notice of reward. A reward of ten thousand dollars for information leading to the capture of the gang of cattle thieves known as the "Lightfoot gang." And it was signed by Dug McFarlane on behalf of the Orrville Rancher's Vigilance Committee.
From the time when she had passed through those moments of frenzied despair, after Jeff's return from Orrville, her decision had been taken with lightning celerity. Her back was to the wall, and she meant to fight for all she yearned, desired, by every art she possessed. She knew nothing of the reason which had made her husband return to her. It was sufficient that he had done so.
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