"More gossip. They say it's because you're a gun-man and a knife-man. Oh, I wish I didn't have to have my ears filled with such vicious slander! But it means the same to enemies as to friends if they would but admit it. I'll wait until this rider passes, then I must go." No thought of friends or foes, both, or of any such person as Ed Sorenson in particular, was in Steele's mind as he made answer. "I'd stand here forever if you didn't go," he said, with a low eagerness that caused her breath to flutter in spite of herself. On her part, her mind was whispering, "He means it, I believe he really means it." Which caused her to lift and lower her eyes hurriedly, and feel a peculiar sense of trepidation and excitement. Odd to state, she, too, just then had no recollection of any such being as Ed Sorenson, which was the extreme of unloverliness. "Before I do go, I've something to tell you," she said hurriedly, dropping her voice. "It's this: the dead man's name was"--here her tone went down to a mere sibilance--"Pete Ortez." He leaned forward, once again the hard fierce man she had seen in Martinez' office the night of the shooting. "How did you learn that?" "It--well, it was let slip inadvertently in my presence." Weir would not press her further. Nor was there need, for the sudden embarrassment on her face and indeed the information itself could have but one source, the man who knew, Ed Sorenson. "You're the equal of a thousand ordinary friends," he declared. "I can make use of that item. Step aside, please; we're in the middle of the road." And he drew her from in front of the horseman advancing upon them. They said nothing, but waited for the man to pass. But he pulled his mount from a gallop to a trot, and from a trot to a foot pace, and at last when squarely even with them came to a full stop. From under his broad hat brim he silently considered the girl in white summer dress and the bare-headed engineer. Then he began to shake with laughter, which lasted but an instant. So insulting, so sinister was that noiseless laugh that Janet's hand had flown to Weir's arm, which she nervously clutched. As for Weir, his limbs stiffened--she felt the tightening of the arm she grasped--as a tiger's body grows taut preparatory to a spring. The short, fleshy, insolent rider sitting there in the moonlight was Burkhardt. "Ed Sorenson better keep an eye on his little turtledove," he remarked. And touching heel to his animal he swung ahead for town. For one dazed minute they stared after him. "Shoot him!" she suddenly said, through shut teeth. "I haven't my gun along, or I'd be glad to oblige you." "He deserves killing, the wretch!" "On more accounts than one," he replied, quietly.