Breathing fast, yielding to the panic of fear that had seized her, over the odd light she had seen in Harlan's eyes--a gleam, that to her, seemed to have been a reflection of some evil passion in the man's heart--she ran through the dark room she had entered, opened a door that led to the _patio_, and peered fearfully outward, as though she half expected to see Harlan there. But the court was deserted, apparently, though there were somber shadows ranging the enclosing walls that would afford concealment for Harlan, had he succeeded in gaining entrance. As she stepped out of the doorway she peered intently around. Then, further frightened by the brooding silence that seemed to envelop the place, and tortured by tragic thoughts in which her father occupied a prominent position--almost crazed by the memory of what had happened during the preceding twenty-four hours--she fled across the _patio_ swiftly, her terror growing with each step. She knew the house thoroughly; she could have found her way in complete darkness; and when she reached the opposite side of the court she almost threw herself at a door which, she knew, opened into the big room in which she and her father had usually passed their leisure. Entering, she closed the door, and barred it. Then, feeling more secure, she stood for an instant in the center of the room, gazing about, afflicted with an appalling sense of loss, of loneliness, and of helplessness. For this was the first time she had entered the house since the news of her father's death had reached her; and she missed him, feeling more keenly than ever the grief she had endured thus far with a certain stoic calm; yielding to the tears that had been very close for hours. She did not light the kerosene lamp that stood on a big center table in the room. For there was light enough for her to see objects around her; and she went at last to an arm-chair which had been her father's favorite, knelt beside it, and sobbed convulsively. Later, yielding to a dull apathy which had stolen over her, she made her way upstairs, to her room--which was directly over the front entrance to the _patio_--and sank into a chair beside one of the windows. She had locked her door after entering; and for the first time since arriving at the Rancho Seco she felt comparatively safe. Her thoughts were incoherent--a queer jumble of mental impulses which seemed to lead her always back to the harrowing realization that she had lost her father. That was the gigantic axis around which her whole mental structure revolved. It was staggering, stupefying, and her brain reeled under it. Other thoughts came, flickered like feeble lights, and went out--thoughts of what had happened to her at Lamo; a dull wonder over Meeder Lawson's presence in town when he should have been with the men on the range; speculation as to the whereabouts of the men--why none of them had remained at the ranchhouse; and a sort of dumb, vague wonder over what her future would be.