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Was it to be another fist fight? Randerson's voice broke in on this thought: "I promised to kill you. You're a thing that sneaks around at night on its belly, an' you ought to be killed. But I'm goin' to give you a chance like you give me when you set Kelso on me. That'll let you die like a man which you ain't!" He tapped the gun at his right hip. "I'll use this one.
And obediently, though with cheeks that reddened many times during the process, and laughter that rippled through her lips occasionally, Ruth washed the neckerchief, folded it, to make creases like those which would have been in it had its owner been wearing it, then crumpled it, and stole to Randerson's room when she was sure that he was not there, and placed the neckerchief where its owner would be sure to find it.
"The Lazette trail suits me too," he said; "we'll go that way." Masten looked at him again. The smile on Randerson's face was inscrutable. And now the pallor left Masten's cheeks and was succeeded by a color that burned. For he now was convinced and frightened.
She caught a glimpse of Randerson's profile as he swept into a circle and threw his rope. There must be no missing there was none. The sinuous loop went out, fell over the steer's head. Thereafter there was a smother of dust in which the girl could see some wildly waving limbs. Outside of the smother she saw the pony swing off for a short distance and stiffen its legs.
They all can't be like you, back East; if they was, the East would go to hell plenty rapid. Get off your horse!" Masten demurred, and Randerson's big pistol leaped into his hand. His voice came at the same instant, intense and vibrant: "It don't make no difference to me how you get off!"
Seated on a rock in the shade of some trees that formed the edge of that timber grove in which he had tied Ruth's pony on a night that held many memories for both, they had watched, for a long time, in silence, the vast country before them. Something of the solemn calmness of the scene was reflected in Ruth's eyes. But there was a different expression in Randerson's eyes.
And then she became aware of Aunt Martha standing beside her, and she showed it to her also. And then she saw a soiled blue neckerchief twisted and curled in the knot, and she examined it with wide eyes. "Why, it's Randerson's!" she declared, in astonishment. "How on earth did it get here?" And now her face crimsoned, for illumination had come to her.
"Shucks." Randerson's voice was rich with mirth. "Why, I reckon. Unless you was figgerin' to use a fine-toothed comb. Why, the boys was all a-nappin', Red," he added gently. He did not look around, so that Owen might give him the warning wink that would have put him on his guard. Owen would have tapped him on the shoulder, but glancing sidelong, he saw Dorgan watching him, and he did not.
And then he grinned felinely at Randerson and went out. They could hear him going down the stairs. They followed presently, Hagar shrinking and shuddering under Randerson's arm on her shoulders, and from the porch they saw Catherson, on his pony, riding the trail that Ruth had taken on the day she had gone to see Chavis' shack.
But he shook his head as though to dissipate the effect of it, and came after Masten grimly. Again Masten tried the maneuver, and the jab went home accurately, with force. But when he essayed to drive in the right, it was blocked, and Randerson's right, crooked, rigid, sent with the force of a battering ram, landed fairly on Masten's mouth, with deadening, crushing effect.
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