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Updated: May 10, 2025
Plans were made for an abundance of dry fodder to be fed with the lush silage during the coming lean months. Bud Lee broke his string of horses, and with Tommy Burkitt and one other dependable man began perfecting their education, with an eye turned toward a profitable sale in January. Quinnion, perforce, was left undisturbed upon the sheep-ranch whither Emmet Sawyer had followed him.
Quinnion came on, his long arms out. . . . She felt the strength die out of her body, grew for a moment blind and dizzy and sick. She tried again to call out to him, to plead with him. But her voice stuck in her throat. He was gloating over her, a look strangely like Mad Ruth's in his eyes. Good God! He was like Mad Ruth; the same eyes, the same long, powerful arms, the same look of cunning!
They were the nucleus of what was spoken of as Quinnion's crowd. "Quinnion," said Lee quietly, "you are a damned dirty-mouthed liar." The words came like little slaps in the face. Of the four men still in the room with Quinnion three of them moved swiftly to one side, their eyes on their leader's face, which showed nothing of what might lie in his mind.
"And old Carson back on the job. Only two to our one now." The form in the window crumpled and under Carson's quick hands was jerked out. Suddenly it was very still in the little room. Steve did not fire a third time; Quinnion held his fire. For Lee had made no answer and they were taking heavy chances with every shot now, chances of shooting the wrong man.
"If Quinnion had done it, why didn't Emmet Sawyer get the dead-wood on him?" "Because," she whispered quickly, "a man fooled Sawyer! Yes, and fooled me! Quinnion established an alibi. A man whose word there was no reason to doubt said that Quinnion was with him at the time of the murder. And that man was Bayne Trevors!" "Trevors?" muttered Lee. He shook his head. "Trevors is a hard man, Judith.
Louder and louder grew its shouting voice in her ears, little by little drowning out the sounds of Ruth and Quinnion behind her. Now, in all the glorious night, there was no sound to reach her but the sound of running water and her own beating feet. She was free. But still she ran, summoning all of the reserve of strength and will-power which was hers to command.
If Quinnion was the man to carry in his breast the hate that drove him to the murder of Judith's father, then he was the man to remember the humiliation he had suffered at Lee's hands, to remember and to strike back when the time was ripe. Judith had heard of the night in Rocky Bend, a lurid and wonderfully distorted account from Mrs. Simpson, who had received it in a letter from her daughter.
"I lied!" snapped Quinnion. "An' I'm leavin' town for a while." And lurching as he walked, he made his way out of the room, his eyes on the floor, his face a burning red. "Carson and I are riding back to the ranch as soon as our horses rest up and get some grain," said Lee, his fingers slowly rolling a brown cigarette.
Then, throwing himself forward, driving his shoulder into the door, he burst it off its hinges. At last he had found Quinnion. Here were half a dozen men, not playing cards, but interrupted in a quiet talk.
"We'll mosey out now, see Quinnion on his way and drop back to make up a little game of draw for a couple of hours. Strike you about right, Billy? And you, Watson? And you, Parker?" They listened to him, took the cue from him, and allowed what lay between him and Chris Quinnion to lie in silence. But there was not a man there but in his own fashion was saying to himself: "It's a good beginning.
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