It was a terrible thought, a hideous thought, and, in spite of his squared shoulders, his stiffened back, his spirit, for the time, was crushed under the burden so unjustly thrust upon him. He thought of Peter Blunt, and wondered vaguely what he would say. He wondered what would be the look in the kindly gray eyes when he spoke the words of comfort and disbelief which he knew would await him. That was it. The look. It was the thought behind the words that mattered--and could so hurt.

As the miles swept away under his horse's raking stride, he tried to puzzle out the riddle, or the "nut" he had set out to crack, as McLagan had been pleased to call it. He could see no explanation of it. Why his brand? He knew well enough that cattle rustlers preferred to use established brands of distant ranches when it was necessary to hold stolen cattle in hiding before deporting them from the district.

But _his_ brand. It was absurd from a rustler's point of view.

Everybody knew his small bunch of cattle. Any excessive number with his brand on would excite suspicion. It was surely, as he had said, the work of a prentice hand. No experienced thief would have done it.

He thought and thought, but he could see no gleam of light on the matter.

As the miles were covered he still floundered in a maze of speculation that seemed to lead him nowhither. But his efforts helped him unconsciously. It kept his mind from brooding on the disaster to himself, and, to a man of his sensibilities, this was healthy. He had all the grit to face his fellow men in self-defense, but, to his proud nature, it was difficult to stand up under the knowledge of a disgrace which was not his due.

He was within a few miles of Barnriff when his mind suddenly lurched into a fresh channel of thought. With that roving, groping after a clue to the crime of which he was morally accused, Eve suddenly grew into his focus. He thought with a shudder what it would have meant to her had she married him instead of Will. He tried to picture her brave face, while she writhed under the taunts of her s.e.x, and the meaning glances of the men-folk. It was a terrible picture, and one that brought beads of perspiration to his brow.

It was a lucky--yes, in spite of Will's defections--thing for her she had married the man she did. Besides, Will had mended his ways. He had kept to the judgment that Peter Blunt had pa.s.sed on him. Well, he would have the laugh now.

Then there was Will's success. Everything had gone his way. Fortune had showered her best on him, whether he deserved it or not. She apparently found no fault in him. And they said he was turning out thousands of dollars. But there, it was no use thinking and wondering.

The luck had all gone Will's way. It was hard--devilish hard.

Poor Eve! He caught himself pitying her. No, he had no right to pity her. The pity would have been had she married him. And yet--perhaps this would never have happened had she married him. No, he told himself, it would never, could never have happened then. For, in the fact of having won her, would not his luck have been the reverse of what it was?

Suddenly he wondered what she would think when he told her--or when others told her, as, doubtless by this time, they had already done. He shuddered. She was in a cattle country. She was ingrained with all its instincts. Would she condemn him without a hearing? When he went to speak to her, would she turn from him as from something unclean?

Again the sweat broke out at his thought. She might. The facts were deadly against him. And yet--and yet somehow---- No, he dared not speculate; he must wait.

There was the humble little village on ahead of him, nestling like some tiny boat amidst the vast rollers of the prairie ocean. There, ahead, were his judges, and amongst them the woman who was still more to him than his very life. He must face them, face them all. And when their verdict was p.r.o.nounced, as he knew it would be in no uncertain manner, then, with girded loins, he must stand out, and, conscious of his innocence, fight the great battle. It was the world--his world--against him, he knew. What--what must be the result?

CHAPTER XXI

INSPIRATION

Half an hour later Jim rode into Barnriff. It was getting on toward noon, and most of the villagers were busy at their various occupations. As he rode on to the market-place he glanced quickly about him, and, all unconsciously, there was defiance and resentment in his dark eyes; the look of a man prepared for the accusations which he knew were awaiting him. But this att.i.tude was quite wasted, for there were few people about, and those few were either too far off, or too busy to note his coming, or appreciate his feelings, as expressed in his dark eyes.

It is strange how instinct will so often take the lead in moments critical in the lives of human beings. Jim had no thought of whither his immediate destination lay, yet he was riding straight for the house of the friendly gold prospector. Doubtless his action was due to a subconscious realization of a friendliness and trust on the part of Peter, which was not to be overborne by the first breath of suspicion.

He was within fifty yards of that friendly, open door, when he became aware that a woman's figure was standing before it. Her back was turned, and she looked to be either peering within the hut, or talking to some one inside it. Nor, strangely enough, did he recognize the trim outline of her figure until she abruptly turned away and moved off in the direction of her own house. It was Eve Henderson. And, without hesitation, he swung his horse in her direction.

She saw him at once and, smiling a welcome, waited for him to come up.

He saw the smile and the unhesitating way she stepped forward to greet him. There could have been no doubt of her cordiality, even eagerness, yet with the shadow of his disgrace hanging over him, he tried to look beyond it for that something which he was ready to resent even in her.

He saw the shadow on her face, which even her smile had no power to lift out of its troubled lines. He saw dark shadows round her eyes, the tremulous, drooping mouth, once so buoyant and happy, and he selfishly took these signs to himself, and moodily felt that she was trying vainly to conceal her real thoughts of him behind a display of loyalty.

There was no verbal greeting between them, and he felt this to be a further ominous sign. Somehow, he could not force himself to an ordinary greeting under the circ.u.mstances. She had doubtless heard the story, so---- But he was quite wrong. Eve was simply wondering at his coming. Wondering what it portended. She had truly enough heard the story of the recovery of the cattle, as who in Barnriff had not? But her wonder and nervousness were not for him, but for herself. It was for herself, and had to do with that fear she had told Annie Gay of, and which now had become a sort of waking nightmare to her.

Jim sprang from the saddle. Linking his arm through the reins, he stood facing the woman he loved. "Well?" he said, in a curious, half-defiant manner, while his glance swept over every detail of her pretty, troubled face. Finally it settled upon the slight scar over her temple, and a less selfish feeling took possession of him. The change in her expression suddenly told him its own story. Her eyes were the eyes of suffering, not of any condemnation of himself.

"I--I've just been over to see if Peter was in," she said hesitatingly.

"Peter? Oh, yes--and, wasn't he?"

Jim was suddenly seized with a feeling of awkwardness such as he had never before felt when talking to Eve.

The girl shook her head and began to move in the direction of her house. He fell in beside her, and, for a moment, neither spoke.

Finally she went on.

"No," she said regretfully. "And I sure wanted to see him so badly.

You see," she added hastily, "Elia is away. He's been away for days, and, well, I want to know where he is. I get so anxious when he's away. You see, he's so----"

"And does Peter know where he is?"

"Yes. At least I'm hoping so. Elia goes with him a deal now, on his expeditions. Peter's real good to him. I think he's trying to help him in--in--you know Elia is so--so delicate."

The girl's evident reluctance to put into words her well-loved brother's weaknesses roused all Jim's sympathy.

"Yes, yes. And is he supposed to be with Peter now?"

"He went away with him four days ago."

"I see."

Then there was another awkward pause. Again Eve was the one to break it. They were nearing the gate of her little garden.

"But what has brought you into town, Jim?" she suddenly asked, as though his presence had only just occurred to her as being unusual.

With a rush the memory of all his disgrace came upon him again. He laughed bitterly, harshly.

"Another of Dame Fortune's kicks," he said.

"Another?"

"Yes--ah, I forgot. Of course. Well, we'll call it _one_ of Dame Fortune's kicks."

"You mean the--cattle stealing?" She was staring straight ahead of her, and into her eyes had leaped a sudden look of fear which she dared not let him see.

But Jim was too busy with himself to even notice her hesitation. He had no room to realize her emotions just then.

"Yes," he said, almost viciously. "It's about that--I s'pose I ought to say 'because' of that." She glanced at him swiftly, but waited for him to go on. He did so with another nervous laugh. "I'm 'fired,' Eve.

Kicked out by Dan McLagan, and branded by him as a suspected cattle-thief, as surely--as surely as they've found a bunch of his cattle branded with my brand."

They had reached the gate, and Eve turned facing him. There was a curious look in her eyes. It was almost one of relief. Yet it was not quite. There was something else in it. There was incredulity, resentment; something which suggested a whole world of trust and confidence in the man before her.

"Nonsense," she cried. "You--you accused of cattle stealing? You? He must be mad. They must all be mad."

"They?"

The girl suddenly flushed. She had said more than she intended. But there was no use drawing back.

"Oh, yes," she cried hotly. "I didn't mean to let you know. I've heard the story. Of course I have. Who, living in such a place as Barnriff, wouldn't hear it?" she hurried on bitterly. "Directly they told me I laughed at them. But--but they do suspect you. Oh, Jim, I think I hate these folks. You--you suspected of cattle-duffing. McLagan ought to be ashamed of himself. It's cruel in such a country as this. And the evidence is so ridiculous. Oh, Jim, if it weren't so horrible it would be almost--almost laughable."