He himself felt as though his youth were vanishing, and that in these few days he had entered upon the sober, care-filled years of middle life. The one sustaining thought, his one allurement, lay in the near presence of the girl to whom he could call, but could not utter one tender word. She was there where he could see her watching, waiting at the bridge. "The sound of the water helps me bear the suspense," she said to Swenson, and the occasional sight of her lover, the knowledge that he was still unbroken, kept her from despair. The day was well advanced when the sound of rattling pebbles on the hill back of his cabin drew his attention, and a few moments later a man on a weary horse rode up to his door and dropped heavily from the saddle. He was a small, dark individual, with spectacles, plainly of the city. "Beware! Smallpox!" called Ross, as his visitor drew near the door. The new-comer waved his hand contemptuously. "I've had it. Are you Ross Cavanagh?" "I am!" "My name is Hartley. I represent the Denver _Round-up_. I'm interested in this sheep-herder killing--merely as a reporter," he added, with a fleeting smile. "Did you know old man Dunn, of Deer Creek, had committed suicide?" Cavanagh started, and his face set. "No!" "They found him shot through the neck, and dying--this morning. As he was gasping his last breath, he said, 'The ranger knows,' and when they asked, 'What ranger,' he said, 'Cavanagh.' When I heard that I jumped a horse and beat 'em all over here. Is this true? Did he tell you who the murderers are?" Cavanagh did not answer at once. He was like a man caught on a swaying bridge, and his first instinct was to catch the swing, to get his balance. "Wait a minute! What is it all to you?" Again that peculiar grin lighted the small man's dark, unwholesome face. "It's a fine detective stunt, and besides it means twenty dollars per column and mebbe a 'boost.' I can't wait, you can't wait! It's up to us to strike _now_! If these men knew you have their names they'd hike for Texas or the high seas. Come now! Everybody tells me you're one of these idealistic highbrow rangers who care more for the future of the West than most natural-born Westerners. What's your plan? If you'll yoke up with me we'll run these devils into the earth and win great fame, and you'll be doing the whole country a service." The ranger studied the small figure before him with penetrating gaze. There was deliberative fearlessness in the stranger's face and eyes, and notwithstanding his calm, almost languid movement, restless energy could be detected in his voice. "What is your plan?" the ranger asked.