"Not good enough right now. Maybe some other time, Mr. Houck," Dud replied, his temper unruffled.

"You want it to be twelve to one, like it was last time, eh?"

"Harshaw will be lookin' for us, so we'll be sayin' good-evenin'," the rider for the Slash Lazy D said quietly.

He turned his horse to go, as did his companion. Houck cursed them both bitterly. While they rode into the gloom Bob's heart lifted to his throat. Goosequills ran up and down his spine. Would one of his enemies shoot him in the back? He could hardly keep from swinging his head to make sure they were not aiming at him. He wanted to touch his mount with a spur to quicken the pace.

But Dud, riding by his side, held his bronco to the slow even road gait of the traveler who has many miles to cover. Apparently he had forgotten the existence of the furious, bitter men who were watching their exit from the scene. Bob set his teeth and jogged along beside him.

Not till they were over the hill did either of them speak.

"Wow!" grunted Dud as he wiped the sweat from his face. "I'm sure enough glad to have that job done with. My back aches right between the shoulder blades where a bullet might 'a' hit it."

Bob relaxed in the saddle. He felt suddenly faint. Even now he found himself looking round apprehensively to make sure that a man carrying a rifle was not silhouetted on the hilltop against the sky-line.

CHAPTER XXVII

PARTNERS IN PERIL

Into the office of Blister Haines, J. P., a young man walked. He was a berry-brown youth, in the trappings of the range-rider, a little thin and stringy, perhaps, but well-poised and light-stepping.

With one swift glance the fat man swept his visitor from head to foot and liked what he saw. The lean face was tanned, the jaw firm, the eye direct and steady. There was no need to tell this man to snap up his head. Eight months astride a saddle in the sun and wind had wrought a change in Robert Dillon.

"'Lo, Red Haid," the justice sang out squeakily. "How's yore good health?

I heerd you was d-drowned. Is you is, or is you ain't? Sit down an' rest yore weary bones."

"I took a swim," admitted Bob. "The boys fished me out while I was still kickin'."

"Rivers all high?"

"Not so high as they were. We noticed quite a difference on the way back."

"Well, s-sit down an' tell me all about it. How do you like ridin', Texas man?"

"Like it fine."

"All yore troubles blown away?"

"Most of 'em. I'm a long way from being a wolf yet, though."

"So? B-by the way, there's a friend of yours in town--Jake Houck."

There was a moment's pause. "Did he say he was my friend?" asked Bob.

"Didn't mention it. Thought maybe you'd like to know he's here. It's not likely he'll trouble you."

"I'd be glad to be sure of that. Dud an' I had a little run-in with him last month. He wasn't hardly in a position then to rip loose, seein' as he had my horse an' saddle in his camp an' didn't want Harshaw in his wool. So he cussed us out an' let it go at that. Different now. I'm playin' a lone hand--haven't got the boss back of me."

"F-fellow drifted in from Vernal yesterday," the justice piped, easing himself in his chair. "Told a s-story might interest you. Said Jake Houck had some trouble with a y-young Ute buck over a hawss. Houck had been drinkin', I reckon. Anyhow he let the Injun have it in the stomach.

Two-three shots outa his six-gun. The Utes claimed it was murder. Jake he didn't wait to adjust no claims, but lit out on the jump."

"Won't the Government get him?"

The fat man shrugged. "Oh, well, a Ute's a Ute. Point is that Houck, who always was a t-tough nut, has gone bad since the boys rode him on a rail.

He's proud as Lucifer, an' it got under his hide. He's kinda cuttin'

loose an' givin' the devil in him free rein. Wouldn't surprise me if he turned into a killer of the worst kind."

Bob's eyes fastened to his uneasily. "You think he's--after me?"

"I think he'll d-do to watch."

"Yes, but--"

Blister rolled a cigarette and lit it before he asked casually, "Stayin'

long in town?"

"Leavin' to-day for the ranch."

"What size gun you carry for rattlesnakes?"

"Mine's a forty-five." Bob took it out, examined it, and thrust the weapon between his trousers and his shirt. If he felt any mental disturbance he did not show it except in the anxious eyes.

Blister changed the subject lightly. "Hear anything ab-b-bout the Utes risin'? Any talk of it down the river?"

"Some. The same old stuff. I've been hearin' it for a year."

"About ripe, looks like. This business of Houck ain't gonna help any.

There's a big bunch of 'em over there in the hills now. They've been runnin' off stock from outlying ranches."

"Sho! The Indians are tamed. They'll never go on the warpath again, Blister."

"J-just once more, an' right soon now."

The justice gave his reasons for thinking so, while Bob listened rather inattentively. The boy wanted to ask him about June, but he remembered what his fat friend had told him last time he mentioned her to him. He was still extremely sensitive about his failure to protect his girl-wife and he did not want to lay himself open to snubs.

Bob sauntered from the office, and before he had walked a dozen steps came face to face with June. She was coming out of a grocery with some packages in her arms. The color flooded her dusky cheeks. She looked at him, startled, like a fawn poised for flight.

During the half-year since he had seen her June had been transformed. She had learned the value of clothes. No longer did she wear a shapeless sack for a dress. Her shoes were small and shapely, her black hair neatly brushed and coiffed. The months had softened and developed the lines of the girlish figure. Kindness and friendliness had vitalized the expression of the face and banished its sullenness. The dark eyes, with just a hint of wistful appeal, were very lovely.

Both of them were taken unawares. Neither knew what to do or say. After the first instant of awkwardness June moved forward and passed him silently.

Bob went down the street, seeing nothing. His pulses trembled with excitement. This charming girl was his wife, or at least she once had been for an hour. She had sworn to love, honor, and obey him. There had been a moment in the twilight when they had come together to the verge of something divinely sweet and wonderful, when they had gazed into each other's eyes and had looked across the boundary of the promised land.

If he had only kept the faith with her! If he had stood by her in the hour of her great need! The bitterness of his failure ate into the soul of the range-rider as it had done already a thousand times. It did not matter what he did. He could never atone for the desertion on their wedding day. The horrible fact was written in blood. It could not be erased. Forever it would have to stand between them. An unbridgeable gulf separated them, created by his shameless weakness.