Inside the room, Val stood for a minute with her back against the door, as if she half feared Polycarp would break in and drag her secret from her. When she heard him leave the kitchen she drew a long breath, eloquent in itself: when the rattle of the wagon came to them there, she left the door and went slowly across the room until she stood close to Kent. The interruption had steadied them both. Her voice was a constrained calm when she spoke. [Illustration: To draw the red hot spur across the fresh VP did not take long] “Well--is there anything I can do? Because I suppose every minute is dangerous.” Kent kept his eyes upon the departing Polycarp. “There's nothing you can do, no. Maybe I can do something; soon as that granny gossip is outa sight, I'll go and round up that cow and calf--if somebody hasn't beaten me to it.” Val looked at him with a certain timid helplessness. “Oh! Will you--won't it be against the law if you--if you kill it?” She grew slightly excited again. “Kent, you shall not get into any trouble for--for his sake! If it comes to a choice, why--let him suffer for his crime. You shall not!” Kent turned his head slowly and gazed down at her. “Don't run away with the idea I'm doing it for him,” he told her distinctly. “I love Man Fleetwood like I love a wolf. But if that VP calf catches him up, you'd fight your head over it, God only knows how long. I know you! You'd think so much about the part you played that you'd wind up by forgetting everything else. You'd get to thinking of him as a martyr, maybe! No--it's for you. I kinda got you into this, you recollect? If I'd let you see Man drank, that day, you'd never have married him; I know that now. So I'm going to get you out of it. My side of the question can wait.” She stared up at him with a grave understanding. “But you know what I said--you won't do anything that can make you trouble--won't you tell me, Kent, what you're going to do?” He had already started to the door, but he stopped and smiled reassuringly. “Nothing so fierce. If I can find 'em, I aim to bar out that VP. Sabe?” CHAPTER XX. A BLOTCHED BRAND At the brow of the hill, which was the western rim of the coulee, Kent turned and waved a farewell to Val, watching him wistfully from the kitchen door. She had wanted to go along; she had almost cried to go and help, but Kent would not permit her--and beneath the unpleasantness of denying her anything, there had been a certain primitive joy in feeling himself master of the situation and of her actions; for that one time it was as if she belonged to him. At the last he had accepted the field glasses, which she insisted upon lending him, and now he was tempted to take them from their worn, leathern case and focus them upon her face, just for the meager satisfaction of one more look at her. But he rode on, oat of sight, for the necessity which drove him forth did not permit much loitering if he would succeed in what he had set out to do.