His low, sardonic laughter rippled out. “I’m bad enough. Don’t make any mistake about that, Miss Mackenzie. York’s different. He’s just a good man gone wrong. But I’m plain miscreant.” “Oh, no,” she protested. “As bad as they make them, but not wolf clear through,” he said again. “Something’s happened to me to-day. It won’t change me. I’ve gone too far for that. But some morning when you read in the papers that Wolf Leroy died with his boots on and everybody in sight registers his opinion of the deceased you’ll remember one thing. He wasn’t a wolf to you—not at the last.” “I’ll not forget,” she said, and the quick tears were in her eyes. York Neil came toward them from the house. It was plain from his manner he had a joke up his sleeve. “You’re wanted, Phil,” he announced. “Wanted where?” “You got a visitor in there,” Neil said, with a grin and a jerk of his thumb toward the house. “Came blundering into the draw sorter accidental-like, but some curious. So I asked him if he wouldn’t light and stay a while. He thought it over, and figured he would.” “Who is it?” asked Leroy. “You go and see. I ain’t giving away what your Christmas presents are. I aim to let Santa surprise you a few.” Miss Mackenzie followed the outlaw chief into the house, and over his shoulder glimpsed two men. One of them was the Irishman, Cork Reilly, and he sat with a Winchester across his knees. The other had his back toward them, but he turned as they entered, and nodded casually to the outlaw. Helen’s heart jumped to her throat when she saw it was Val Collins. The two men looked at each other steadily in a long silence. Wolf Leroy was the first to speak. “You damn fool!” The swarthy face creased to an evil smile of derision. “I ce’tainly do seem to butt in considerable, Mr. Leroy,” admitted Collins, with an answering smile. Leroy’s square jaw set like a vise. “It won’t happen again, Mr. Sheriff.” “I’d hate to gamble on that heavy,” returned Collins easily. Then he caught sight of the girl’s white face, and rose to his feet with outstretched hand. “Sit down,” snapped out Reilly. “Oh, that’s all right I’m shaking hands with the lady. Did you think I was inviting you to drill a hole in me, Mr. Reilly?” CHAPTER XVIII. A DINNER FOR THREE “I thought we bumped you off down at Epitaph,” Leroy said. “Along with Scotty? Well, no. You see, I’m a regular cat to kill, Mr. Leroy, and I couldn’t conscientiously join the angels with so lame a story as a game laig to explain my coming,” said Collins cheerfully. “In that case—” “Yes, I understand. You’d be willing to accommodate with a hole in the haid instead of one in the laig. But I’ll not trouble you.” “What are you doing here? Didn’t I warn you to attend to your own business and leave me alone?” “Seems to me you did load me up with some good advice, but I plumb forgot to follow it.” The Wolf cursed under his breath. “You came here at your own risk, then?”