Ben showed no surprise. "I thought so, probably," he replied. "Late this afternoon I ran across a trail leading in from the west along our clearing, and headed that way. It was one lone chain of footprints." Rankin shivered, and replenished the fire. His long drive had chilled him through and through. "I suppose you have an idea who made that trail?" he said. Though each knew that the other had heard the details of Pete's death, neither had mentioned the incident. To do so had seemed superfluous. Now, however, each realized the thought in the other's mind, and chose not to avoid it. "Yes," answered Ben, simply. "I suppose it was made by Tom Blair." Never before had Rankin heard Benjamin Blair speak that name. He stretched back heavily in his chair and lit his pipe afresh. "Ben," he said, "I'm getting old. I never began to realize the fact until this Winter; but I sha'n't last many more years." Puff, puff went two twin clouds of smoke toward the ceiling. "Civilization has some advantages over the frontier, and this is one of them: it's kinder to the old." Never before had Rankin spoken in this way, and the other understood the strength of his conviction. "You work too hard," he said soberly, though he felt the inadequacy of the trite remark. "It's unnecessary. I wish you wouldn't do it." Rankin threw an outward motion with his powerful hand. "Yes, I know; but when I quit moving I want to die. I know I could get a steam-heated back room in a quiet street of a sleepy town somewhere and coddle myself into a good many years yet; but it isn't worth the price. I love this big free life too well ever to leave it. Most of the people one meets here are rough, but in time that will all change. It's changing now; and meantime nature compensates for everything." There was a moment's silence, and then, as though there had been no digression, Rankin went back to the former subject. "Yes," he said slowly, "I think you're right about those being Tom Blair's tracks." He turned and faced the younger man squarely. "If it is, Ben, it means he's been frozen out from his hiding-place, wherever that is, and he's crazy desperate. He'd do anything now. He wouldn't ever come back here otherwise." Ben Blair's blue eyes tightened until the lashes were all but parallel. "Yes," Rankin repeated, "he's crazy desperate to come here at all--especially so now." A pause, but the eyes did not shift. "God knows I'm sorry he ever came back. I was glad we found that trail too late to follow it to-day; but it's only postponing the end. I believe he'll be here at the ranch to-night. He's got to get a horse--he's got to do something right away; and I'm going to watch. If he don't come I'll take up the old trail in the morning." Once more the pause, more intense than words. "He can't escape again, unless--unless he gets me first--He must be desperate crazy." Rankin arose heavily and knocked the ashes out of his pipe preparatory to bed.