Ben wheeled his pony, and galloped back toward the town. “Am I easy?” Justin asked himself, as his eyes followed the receding figure. “But, really, it does seem that I oughtn’t to think of such a thing, under the circumstances. Davison would be angry—and I don’t suppose Lucy would be at all pleased.” He drove on, turning the matter over in his mind, recalling with pleasure the flattery of the farmers, and wondering why Ben Davison’s face looked so unnaturally white and his eyes so bright. He knew that anger alone was not the cause. CHAPTER XIV IN THE STORM The threatened rainstorm broke, bringing early night, as Justin reached home. Lemuel Fogg was at the ranch house with Davison. Fogg’s shining photograph wagon had been brought out and a pair of horses hitched to it. “Ben isn’t here,” said Davison; “I suppose he’s in town, looking after election matters; so, as soon as you can get those things into the house, I want you to ride along the line fence and see that everything is all right, for we don’t want any cattle breaking out and making trouble with the farmers just now. Fogg and I are going up the trail together in his wagon. He wants to get a photograph. We’ll be near the dam, or a short distance below it, where Jasper’s lateral makes out into his fields. I think you will find us at the bridge there over the lateral, and you can come there and make your report, when you’ve looked at the fence. Report promptly, if there’s any trouble.” Fogg came out of the house in oil hat and slicker, buttoned to the chin against the storm. He resembled a yellow, overgrown Santa Claus, minus the beard. “Hello, Justin!” he cried, advancing and extending his hand, as Justin swung a bag of meal to the ground. “We’re in for a good ground-soaker, I guess. The lightning is beginning to play fine. It’s great over there on the mountain. When she gets to going good I’ll try to nail one of the flashes down on a negative. I’ve tried a dozen times and failed; now I’m going to try again.” Having shaken hands, Fogg ran heavily toward the wine-colored wagon; the rain was beginning to roar, and the interior of the wagon, as he knew, was as tight as a house. Then the shining wagon whirled away, with the rain drops glistening on it, revealed by the lightning, which was already waving fiery swords in the sky. Justin followed on his cow-pony as quickly as he could, garbed like Fogg in a yellow oil slicker, and galloped along the wire fence that ran here toward the town. It was not a pleasant ride. The gusty rain beat in his face and the wind blew a tempest. The lightning, increasing in frequency, showed the fence intact, as far as the lower end of the deep chasm called the Black Cañon, which cut through the mesa above Jasper’s. There was no need to go farther than this, for he had inspected that portion of the fence earlier in the day.