"Rose LaFrance, the cow-girl you mentioned, is the right sort. She brought word this morning that will save Peters a goodish bit of money; incidentally Mr. McAllister, also. Buck had to be in Wayback at the earliest possible moment and I was fortunate enough to overtake him. Miss LaFrance not only was thoughtful enough to ride to meet Buck and give him a fresh mount and to send a man ahead with whom Buck will change again, but she insists that we follow him, which is a jolly good idea; these fellows are very careless with their fire-arms and he might require help. If the blackguard he is after succeeds in withdrawing the entire deposit from the bank and it is given to him in cash, before Peters gets there, he will certainly require help. I leave you to reflect on these facts, Miss McAllister. Give my kindest regards to Mrs. Blake." He stalked back the way he had come, in the characteristic wooden manner which precluded any appeal, if Margaret had felt like making one; but her mind was too fully occupied with what she had heard to understand that he was actually leaving. He was splashing through the ford before she realized the significance of this part of his defence. Thoughtful, and without resentment, she went to rejoin Mrs. Blake. Whitby pushed his horse sufficiently to overtake Rose who, he knew, was riding slowly. Just outside the town he met Cock Murray, astride the Goat; the Goat was a very tired pony and showed it. "My dear man! Why are n’t you following Peters?" asked Whitby, in surprised remonstrance. "My dear Brit! I sorta allowed it was n’t healthy," answered Cock. "I tells you th’ same as I tells th’ French Rose: ’When Buck says "Scoot for th’ ranch an’ tell Cassidy to hit Wayback _pronto_ an’ he ’ll get news o’ me at th’ bank,"’ it ’pears like, to my soft-boiled head, that’s what I oughta do." "I beg your pardon. Of course. Rather odd Peters didn’t tell me." "He meant to. I ’m sorry he did n’t. So long." "So long," echoed Whitby, mechanically. He pulled up to shout after Cock: "You won’t get far on that horse; he ’s done, you know." "I ain’t goin’ far on that ’oss," Cock shouted back; "an’ they ’re never done till they ’re down, you know." "Impudent beggar, but a good man. They grow ’em good out here. I fancy the bad-plucked ones don’t last." And Whitby hastened on to overtake Rose. He had left Two Fork Creek four miles behind him before sighting her; in her impatience she had gone faster than she knew. Whitby had almost caught up, when he saw Rose bend forward, wave to him, and then dash away, as if she were inviting him to a race.