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Updated: June 14, 2025
Ruth had been worried more than she would have been willing to admit, over the presence of Chavis and his two men in the vicinity, and that morning after she had questioned a puncher about the former Flying W foreman, she had determined to ride down the river for the purpose of making a long distance observation of the "shack" the puncher and Randerson had mentioned as being inhabited by Chavis.
"Wait, Willard," she said, "until after the fall round-up. There is no hurry. We are sure of each other." They went on toward the ranchhouse. When they passed the bunkhouse, and through the open door saw Randerson and Uncle Jepson sitting on a bench smoking, Ruth quickened her step, and Masten made a grimace of hatred.
She had known then, that Randerson had expected Pickett's action, and that he had been prepared for it, and therefore it seemed to her that in forcing the trouble Randerson had not only foreseen the ending but had even courted it. Remorse over her momentary doubt of Masten's motive in refusing to call Pickett to account, afflicted her.
Kester was one of the men who had quit the day that Ruth had met Randerson, when the latter had been riding in for the money due them. It did not surprise Ruth to discover that Kester was with Chavis, for Randerson had told her what might be expected of him. Linton was the other man. Nor did it surprise Ruth to hear Chavis talking of stealing the Flying W stock.
She had just taken leave of Ruth who, at the instant Randerson stepped on the porch, was standing inside the doorway, watching her. She had given the girl a trinket that had long been coveted by her, and Hagar's eyes were bright with delight as she took leave of her friend. They grew even brighter when she saw Randerson on the porch, and a swift color suffused her face.
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.
They passed each other within a mile, but both were unconscious of this fact, for Randerson was riding in the section of timber that he had entered immediately after crossing the river, and Ruth was concealed from his view by a stretch of intervening brush and trees.
"What do you reckon is horrible about it?" questioned Hagar, with a queer look at her friend. "Why," returned Ruth, surprised; "the deed itself! The very thought of one human being taking the life of another!" "There's worse things than killin' a man that's tryin' to make you shuffle off," declared Hagar evenly. "Rex Randerson wouldn't kill nobody unless they made him do it.
'I'm goin' to leave the Flyin' W to my niece, Ruth Harkness of Poughkeepsie, he says. 'I'd like her to stay an' run it if she likes it here. You'll be gone then, an' who in Sam Hill will be range boss then? I told him I didn't have no thoughts on the subject, an' he continues: 'Rex Randerson, Vickers he'll be range boss. Do you understand?
Patches and the steer were running Patches slightly in advance. The pony was racing, dodging to the right and left, pursuing a zig-zag course that kept the steer bothered. As the girl watched she found a vicious rage stealing over her, directed against the steer. Why didn't Randerson kill the beast, instead of running from it in that fashion?
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