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Meanwhile Mac had fastened the handkerchief of his mistress on the
end of a switch he had picked up and was edging out of range。 His tense；
narrowed gaze never left the bush…clump from which the shots were being
pumped； and he was careful during their retreat to remain on the danger
side of the road； in order to cover Helen。
〃I guess Bannister's right。 He don't want us； whoever he is。〃
And even as he murmured it； the wind of a bullet lifted his hat from
his head。 He picked it up and examined it。 The course of the bullet was
marked by a hole in the wide brim； and two more in the side and crown。
〃He ce'tainly ventilated it proper。 I reckon； ma'am； we'll make a run for
it。 Lie low on the pinto's neck； with your haid on the off side。 That's right。
Let him out。〃
A mile and a half farther up the road Mac reined in； and made the
Indian peace…sign。 Two dejected figures came over the hill and resolved
themselves into punchers of the Lazy D。 Each of them trailed a rifle by his
side。
〃You're a fine pair of ring…tailed snorters； ain't y'u？〃 jeered the foreman。
〃Got to get gay and go projectin' round on the shoot after y'u got your
orders to stay hitched。 Anything to say for yo'selves？〃
If they had it was said very silently。
〃Now； Miss Messiter is going to pass it up this time； but from now on
y'u don't go off on any private massacrees while y'u punch at the Lazy D。
Git that？ This hyer is the last call for supper in the dining…cah。 If y'u miss
it； y'u'll feed at some other chuckhouse。〃 Suddenly the drawl of his
sarcasm vanished。 His voice carried the ring of peremptory command。
〃Jim； y'u go back to the ranch with Miss Messiter； AND KEEP YOUR
EYES OPEN。 Missou； I need y'u。 We're going back。 I reckon y'u better
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hang on to the stirrup； for we got to travel some。 Adios； senorita！〃
He was off at a slow lope on the road he had just come； the other man
running beside the horse。 Presently he stopped； as if the arrangement were
not satisfactory； and the second man swung behind him on the pony。 Later；
when she turned in her saddle； she saw that they had left the road and were
cutting across the plain； as if to take the sharpshooter in the rear。
Her troubled thoughts stayed with her even after she had reached the
ranch。 She was nervously excited； keyed up to a high pitch； for she knew
that out on the desert； within a mile or two of her； men were stalking each
other with life or death in the balance as the price of vigilance； skill and an
unflawed steel nerve。 While she herself had been in danger； she had been
mistress of her fear。 But now she could do nothing but wait； after ordering
out such reinforcements as she could recruit without delay； and the
inaction told upon her swift； impulsive temperament。 Once； twice； the
wind brought to her a faint sound。
She had been pacing the porch； but she stopped； white as a sheet。
Behind those faint explosions might lie a sinister tragedy。 Her mind
projected itself into a score of imaginary possibilities。 She listened；
breathless in her tensity； but no further echo of that battlefield reached her。
The sun still shone warmly on brown Wyoming。 She looked down into a
rolling plain that blurred in the distance from knobs and flat spaces into a
single stretch that included a thousand rises and depressions。 That roll of
country teemed with life； but the steady； inexorable sun beat down on what
seemed a shining； primeval waste of space。 Yet somewhere in that space
the tragedy was being determinedunless it had been already enacted。
She wanted to scream。 The very stillness mocked her。 So； too； did the
clicking windmill； with its monotonous regularity。 Her pony still stood
saddled in the yard。 She knew that her place was at home； and she fought
down a dozen times the tremendous impulse to mount and fly to the field
of combat。
She looked at her watch。 How slowly the minutes dragged！ It could
not be only five minutes since she had looked last time。 Again she fell to
pacing the long west porch； and interrupted herself a dozen times to stop
and listen。
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〃I can bear it no longer；〃 she told herself at last； and in another
moment was in the saddle plying her pinto with the quirt。
But before she reached the first cottonwoods she saw them coming。
Her glasses swept the distant group； and with a shiver she made out the
dreadful truth。 They were coming slowly； carrying something between
them。 The girl did not need to be told that the object they were bringing
home was their dead or wounded。
A figure on horseback detached itself from the huddle of men and
galloped towards her。 He was coming to break the news。 But who was the
victim？ Bannister or McWilliams she felt sure； by reason of the sinking
heart in her； and then it came home that she would be hard hit if it were
either。
The approaching rider began to take distinct form through her glasses。
As he pounded forward she recognized him。 It was the man nicknamed
Denver。 The wind was blowing strongly from her to him； and while he
was still a hundred yards away she hurled her question。
His answer was lost in the wind sweep； but one word of it she caught。
That word was 〃Mac。〃
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CHAPTER 7。 THE MAN FROM
THE SHOSHONE FASTNESSES
Though the sharpshooter's rifle cracked twice during his run for the
cottonwood； the sheepman reached the tree in safety。 He could dodge
through the brush as elusively as any man in Wyoming。 It was a trick he
had learned on the whitewashed football gridiron。 For in his buried past
this man had been the noted half…back of a famous college； and one of his
specialties had been running the ball back after a catch through a broken
field of opponents。 The lesson that experience had then thumped into him
had since saved his life on more than one occasion。
Having reached the tree； Bannister took immediate advantage of the lie
of the ground to snake forward unobserved for another hundred feet。 There
was a dip from the foot of th