"I can make it, Whit," declared Buck. "They won’t try to work th’ game till closin’ time at th’ bank. Train bound west is due at Wayback about then. Wish I had Allday under me. So long." Whitby slowed to a lope and Buck drew away rapidly. His duty accomplished, the Englishman’s thoughts turned to the puzzling expression on Margaret McAllister’s face, as he had last seen it. He tried in vain to analyze it and unconsciously pressed his tired horse into a faster pace in his anxiety for an explanation. Buck did not spare his pony. He _must_ be at the bank before the money was paid over. The stringing up of Schatz by Judge Lynch would not bring the money back; and Buck had grave doubts of his ability to accomplish this retribution. Schatz appeared to grow stronger the more he knew of him. Nobody but a man very sure of himself and his power would dare such deviltry. Well, it would come to a personal straightening of accounts. Buck’s grim face was never sterner. But first he must get to the bank. Resolutely putting aside all other considerations he gave his whole mind to his horse. Presently he shook his head: "Never make it," he muttered; "have to relay at Twin." Even as he said it he saw ahead of him another rider approaching at an easy lope; an expression of gratified pleasure appeared on Buck’s face as he saw the other dismount and begin to lengthen the stirrup leathers. It was Rose. "By G—d! What a woman!" exclaimed Buck. "She thinks as quick as Cassidy an’ never overlooks a bet." He urged his pony to its best speed. With a fresh mount in sight, his object was practically assured. As he drew near, Rose called out: "Horse wait for you at Two Fork Creek." He pulled short beside her in two jumps. "Rose, I love you," he declared, his eyes sparkling with pleasure; "you ’d oughta been a man!" He sprang to the ground while speaking and was astride the Goat at a bound, turning in his saddle to call back to her: "But I ’m most mighty glad yo ’re not." A wave of his hand and he faced about, settling in his seat for the run to Two Fork, five miles beyond Twin River. The crimson flood that burned in her face at his first remark, to recede at his second, returned in full tide as she stood with lips apart and eyes wide, watching him ride away. A trembling seized her, so that she clung to the saddle for support. The moving figure became blurred as the tears gathered in her eyes; she brushed them away impatiently with the back of her hand. "He is not mean it that way," she murmured; "it is only that he is glad I think about the horse." She mounted and rode soberly toward Twin River. The pony, awaiting the customary notice to attend to business and finding it long in coming, began to entertain a sneaking affection for skirts, which until then he had regarded with suspicious hostility. CHAPTER XXI PICKLES TRIES TO TALK