“He couldn’t come. It wouldn’t be Justin to do that--to fling his life away on a thousandth chance. Don’t you see, Tug? He doesn’t tread the mountain-tops--and you do.” “I see you’re always giving. If I could only wipe the slate out, Betty--begin my life over again to-day,” he said wistfully. In her deep, soft eyes a dream lingered. “That’s just what I want--to begin everything with you. It’s silly, but I’m jealous of all those years when I didn’t have you--of all the sorrows and joys you’ve had, of the girls and the men you’ve known--because I can’t share them with you. I’ve got to know all you think and share all your hopes. If you ever think, ‘She’s just my wife--’” “Never that. Always, ‘She’s my wife,’” he promised. “As long as you say it that way, Tug,” she murmured, and clung to him with a little feminine savagery of possession. Ruth, impatient at being ignored, again claimed attention. “Talk to me, too,” she ordered. Tug caught her small hand in his. “Of course, we’ll talk to little sister.” “Are you my big brother?” she asked. Betty stooped and snatched the child to her. “He’s going to be,” she whispered. Upon this Ruth set the seal of her approval. “Goody, I like him. An’ he’ll get me heaps ’n’ heaps of tandy. More’n anybody.” CHAPTER XXXIX THE TURN OF A CROOKED TRAIL Jake Prowers had intended, while the work of destruction was under way, to return to his ranch and let it take its course. The body of Cig would be found, and the tramp would be blamed for the disaster. It would be remembered that he had already tried once to blow up the workers in the tunnel. The cowman knew that public opinion would not hold him blameless. He would be suspected of instigating the crime, but, with Cig out of the way, nothing could be proved. There would not be the least evidence that could touch him. He had done a good job in getting rid of the New York crook. Moreover, he had not lifted a hand against the man. Was he to blame because a drunken loafer lay down and deliberately went to sleep where a charge of dynamite would shortly blow him up? The wise course, Prowers knew, was to retire for a time to the background and to be greatly surprised when he was told that the dam had gone out. But there was in him a desire stronger than prudence. He wanted to see the flood racing through the Quarter Circle D E and its waters being wasted on the Flat Tops which they were to have reclaimed. Half his pleasure in the evil thing he had done would be lost if he could not be on the ground to gloat over Clint Reed and Merrick. Before the night had fully spent itself, he was on his way to the Quarter Circle D E. The sun was almost up over the hilltops by the time he looked down from the rim of the little valley upon the havoc he had wrought. The ranch buildings were all gone, though he could see battered remnants of them in the swirling stream. Fences had been rooted out. A young orchard below the house was completely submerged.