He put his arm round her shoulders. Stooping, he kissed her.

"You are going?" she asked, and her hands dropped to her sides.

"Yes; I told Pat I would get Brewster. Pat went out with his hand in mine on that word. My G.o.d, Annie, do you think I could ride back to the ranch and face the boys or sleep nights with Pat's hand reaching for me in the dark to remind me of my word? Can't you see where I stand? Do you think I could look Lorry in the face when he knew that I sat idle while the man that murdered Pat was riding the country free?"

"Pat was your friend. I am your wife," said Mrs. Adams.

Waring's lips hardened. "Pat's gone. But I'm calling myself his friend yet. And the man that got him is going to know it."

Before she could speak again Waring was gone.

She dropped to a chair and buried her face in her arms. Anita came to her and tried to comfort her. But Mrs. Adams rose and walked to the office doorway. She saw Waring riding down the street. She wanted to call out to him, to call him back. She felt that he was riding to his death. If he would only turn! If he would only wave his hand to show that he cared--But Waring rode on, straight and stern, black hate in his heart, his free hand hollowed as though with an invisible vengeance that was gone as he drew his fingers tense.

He rode north, toward the Starr Ranch. He pa.s.sed a group of riders drifting some yearlings toward town. A man spoke to him. He did not reply.

And as he rode he heard a voice--the Voice of his desert wanderings, the Voice that had whispered to him from the embers of many a night fire in the Southern solitudes. Yet there, was this difference. That voice had been strangely dispa.s.sionate, detached; not the voice of a human being.

But now the Voice was that of his friend Pat softly reiterating: "Not this way, Jim."

And Waring cursed. His plan was made. He would suffer no interference.

If Brewster were at the Starr Ranch, he would question him first. If he were not, there would be no questioning. Waring determined to trail him.

If Brewster had left that part of the country, that would prove his guilt.

Waring knew that Hardy and his men had ridden south, endeavoring to find some clue to the murderer's whereabouts. Waring, guided by almost absolute knowledge, rode in the opposite direction and against a keen instinct that told him High-Chin Bob was not at the ranch. Yet Waring would not overlook the slightest chance. Brewster was of the type that would kill a man in a quarrel and ride home, depending on his nerve and lack of evidence to escape punishment.

The Voice had said, "Not this way, Jim." And Waring knew that it had been the voice of his own instinct. Yet a stubborn purpose held him to his course. There was one chance in a thousand that Bob Brewster was at the ranch and would disclaim all knowledge of the shooting.

Starr was away when Waring arrived. Mrs. Starr made Waring welcome, and told him that her husband would be in that evening. He was out with one of his men running a line for a new fence. The old days of open range were past. And had Mr. Waring heard that Pat had been killed? Buck Hardy was out searching for the murderer. Did Mr. Waring know of a likely foreman? Bob Brewster had left suddenly. Jasper--her husband--was not well: had the rheumatics again. He could hardly walk--and his foreman had left. "Things always happened that way."

Mrs. Starr paused for lack of breath.

"When did Brewster leave, Mrs. Starr?"

"Why, the last Jasper seen of him was Wednesday morning. Jasper is worried. I'm right glad you rode over. He'll be glad to see you."

"Do you mind if I look over the horses in your corral?"

"Goodness, no! I'll have Sammy go with you--"

"Thanks; but I'd rather you said nothing to the boys."

"You don't think that Bob--"

"Mrs. Starr, I wouldn't say so if I knew it. Bob Brewster has friends up here. I'm looking for one of them."

"Goodness, Mr. Waring, I hope you don't think any of our boys was mixed up in that."

"I hope not. Have you seen Tony or Andy Brewster lately?"

"Why, no. I--why, yes! Tony and Andy rode over last Sunday. I remember it was Sunday because Bob was out to the line shack. Tony and Andy hung around for a while, and then rode out to look for Bob."

"Well, I'll step over and look at the horses. You say Jasper will be in this evening?"

"If he ain't too stiff with rheumatics to ride back."

Waring walked round the corrals, looking for a pony lame forward and with half a front shoe gone. Finally he noticed a short-coupled bay that had not moved when he had waved his arm. Waring climbed through the bars and cornered the horse. One front shoe was entirely gone, and the pony limped as Waring turned him loose.

Mrs. Starr was getting supper when Waring returned to the house.

"Any of the boys coming in with Jasper?" he queried.

"Why, n.o.body except Pete. Pete's been layin' off. He claims his horse stepped in a gopher hole and threw him. Jasper took him along, feelin'

like he wanted some one on account of his rheumatics. Jasper gets so stiff ridin' that sometimes he can hardly get on his horse. Mebby you noticed Pete's pony, that chunky bay in the corral--lame forward."

"Yes, I noticed that. But that pony didn't step in a gopher hole. He was ridden down by some one in a hurry to get somewhere. He cast a shoe and went tender on the rocks."

Mrs. Starr stared at Waring.

He shook his head and smiled. "I don't know. I can only guess at it."

"Well, you'll stay for supper--and you can talk to Jasper. He's worried."

"Thank you. And would you mind asking this man Pete in to supper with us?"

"I figured to, him being with Jasper and not feeling right well."

About sundown Starr rode in. Waring helped him from his horse. They shook hands in silence. The old cattleman knew at once why Waring had come, but he had no inkling of what was to follow.

The cowboy, Pete, took care of the horses. A little later he clumped into the house and took a seat in a corner. Waring paid no attention to him, but talked with Starr about the grazing and the weather.

Just before supper Starr introduced Waring.

The cowboy winced at Waring's grip. "Heard tell of you from the boys,"

he said.

"You want to ride over to our place," said Waring pleasantly. "Pat and I will show you some pretty land under fence."

The cowboy's eyelids flickered. How could this man Waring speak of Pat that way, when he must know that Pat had been killed? Everybody knew that. Why didn't Mrs. Starr or Starr say something? But Starr was limping to the table, and Mrs. Starr was telling them to come and have supper.

In the glow of the hanging lamp, Starr's lined, grizzled features were as unreadable as carved bronze. Waring, at his left, sat directly opposite the cowboy, Pete. The talk drifted from one subject to another, but no one mentioned the killing of Pat. Waring noted the cowboy's lack of appet.i.te.

"I looked over your saddle-stock this afternoon," said Waring. "Noticed you had a bay out there, white blaze on his nose. You don't want to sell that pony, do you?"

"Oh, that's Pete's pony, Baldy," said Mrs. Starr.

Starr glanced at Waring. The horse Baldy was good enough as cow-ponies went, but Waring had not ridden over to buy horses.

"I aim to keep that cayuse," said Pete, swallowing hard.