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There was a grim note in the golden voice. "How?" asked Conford uneasily. "Dig it first," said Tharon, "then I'll tell you." What the mistress said, went.
"I heard in Corvan yesterday that John Dement has rode th' range continuous since he finished brandin' his new herd to tell th' settlers about it." "Good," said Tharon, "couldn't be better. There's got to be a change in Lost Valley sooner or later. Might as well be sooner." And with that thought the girl let her quick mind sweep out to take in the future.
Once again Tharon met Kenset in the days that followed. Riding by the Silver Hollow she stopped one breathless afternoon, drank of the snow-cold waters, shared them with El Rey, dropped the rein over the stallion's head and flung herself full length on the earth beside the spring.
Without a thought of treachery Tharon went out to him and took the letter he handed her swinging around for flight as the paper left his hand, for the riders of Last's were known all up and down the land. This dusky messenger took no chances he could avoid. He was well down along the slope by the time the boys came clanking around the house.
Her limbs were stiff when she rose from the big chair, her hands were icy. "No use, Tharon," said Conford quietly, "we can't find a damned thing. If Courtrey's bunch killed Kenset they made a clean get-away with all evidence. That much has th' new law done in th' Valley killed th' insolence of th' gun man. Let's go home."
Then she pushed the men aside and knelt beside him. "Dad," she said clearly, "Jim! Jim Last!" But the gaining of his goal had been too much. For a moment the flickering light in him died down to ashes. Tharon, her face as white as his own, waited in a man-like quiet. She held his stiffened hands and her eyes burned upon his features.
With the first rock and swing of the singlefoot, Tharon smiled and settled herself more comfortably in the saddle. This was joy to her, this beautiful syncopation, this poetic marked time that reeled off the miles beneath her and would scarcely have shaken a pebble from her hat-brim.
Then with an unconscious grace and poise that set well upon her as the mistress of Last's, Tharon moved into the open door and waited. As the stranger came closer both girls subjected him to a frank and careful scrutiny that in any other place than Lost Valley would have been rudeness itself. Here it catalogued the stranger, set the style of his welcome.
"Buck!" it pealed across the stillness of the crowded room, "Buck! it ain't so! Never in this world, Buck! I ben true to you as your shadow! Before God, it ain't true!" There was a stir throughout the crowd, a breath that was audible. There were many of the Vigilantes there a goodly number, all wondering where Tharon Last was, where Kenset was, where were the riders from Last's.
She scrambled up the bench in the cañon floor, gained her feet and went forward at a rush. "Steady, Tharon," warned the rider, "you ain't used to climbin'. Save your wind." It was true advice. Long before the sun was high overhead and day was broad in the painted cracks she had begun to heed it.
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