Turning the flock upward again toward the higher peaks, the ranger commanded the collie to their heels, and so, having redeemed his promise, rode back to the cabin, where he found Wetherford saddled and ready for his momentous trip to the valley. He had shaved away his gray beard, and had Ross been unprepared for these changes he would have been puzzled to account for this decidedly military figure sitting statuesquely on his pony before the door. "You can prove an alibi," he called, as he drew near. "Gregg himself would never recognize you now." Wetherford was in no mood for joking. "Lize will. I wore a mustache in the old days, and there's a scar on my chin." As he rode he confided this strange thing to Cavanagh. "I know," said he, "that Lize is old and wrinkled, for I've seen her, but all the same I can't realize it. That heavy-set woman down there is not Lize. My Lize is slim and straight. This woman whom you know has stolen her name and face, that's all. I can't explain exactly what I feel, but Lee Virginia means more to me now than Lize." "I think I understand you," said Cavanagh, with sympathy in his voice. The nearer Wetherford came to the actual meeting with his wife the more he shook. At last he stopped in the road. "I don't believe I can do it," he declared. "I'll be like a ghost to her. What's the use of it? She'll only be worried by my story. I reckon I'd better keep dark to everybody. Let me go back. I'm plum scared cold." While still he argued, two men on horseback rounded a sharp turn in the trail and came face to face with the ranger. Wetherford's face went suddenly gray. "My God, there's the deputy!" "Keep quiet. I'll do the talking," commanded Cavanagh, who was instant in his determination to shield the man. "Good-morning, gentlemen," he called, cheerily, "you're abroad early!" The man in front was the deputy sheriff of the county; his companion was a stranger. "That was a horrible mess you stumbled on over on Deer Creek," the deputy remarked. "It certainly was. Have any arrests been made?" "Not yet, but we're on a clew. This is Marshal Haines, of Dallas, Mr. Cavanagh," pursued the deputy. The two men nodded in token of the introduction, and the deputy went on: "You remember that old cuss that used to work for Gregg?" Again Cavanagh nodded. "Well, that chap is wanted by the Texas authorities. Mr. Haines, here, wants to see him mighty bad. He's an escaped convict with a bad record." "Is that so?" exclaimed Cavanagh. "I thought he seemed a bit gun-shy." "The last seen of him was when Sam Gregg sent him up to herd sheep. I think he was mixed up in that killing, myself--him and Ballard--and we're going up to get some track of him. Didn't turn up at your station, did he?"