“Oh, there's Manley, away out! Why, your Michael is swimming beautifully, Kent! His head is high out of the water, and the water is churning like--Oh, Manley's holding his rifle up over his head--he's looking back toward shore. I wonder,” she added softly, “what he's thinking about! Manley! you're my husband--and once I--” “Draw a bead on that gazabo on shore,” Kent interrupted her faint faring up of sentiment toward the man she had once loved and loved no more. Val drew a long breath and turned the glasses reluctantly from the fugitive. “I don't see him--oh, yes! He's down beside a rock, on one knee, and he's taking a rest across the rock, and is squinting along--oh, he can't hit him at that distance, can he, Kent? Would he dare--why, it would be murder, wouldn't it? Oh-h--_he shot again_!” Kent reached up a hand and took the glasses from her eyes with a masterful gesture. “You let me look,” he said laconically. “I'm steadier than you.” Val crept closer to him, and looked up into his face. She could read nothing there; his mouth was shut tight so that it was a stern, straight line, but that told her nothing. He always looked so when he was intent upon something, or thinking deeply. She turned her eyes toward the river, flowing smoothly across the mouth of the coulee. Between, the land lay sleeping lazily in the hazy sunlight of mid-autumn. The grass was brown, the rocky outcroppings of the coulee wall yellow and gray and red--and the river was so blue, and so quiet! Surely that sleepy coulee and that placid river could not be witnessing a tragedy. She turned her head, irritated by its very calmness. Her eyes dwelt wistfully upon Kent's half-concealed face. “What are they doing now, Kent?” Her tone was hushed. “I can't--exactly--” He mumbled absently, his mind a mile away. She waited a moment. “Can you see--Manley?” This time he did not answer at all; he seemed terribly far off, as if only his shell of a body remained with her in the room. “Why don't you talk?” she wailed. She waited until she could endure no more, then reached up and snatched the glasses from his eyes. “I can't help it--I shall go crazy standing here. I've just got to see!” she panted. For a moment he clung to the glasses and stared down at her. “You better not, sweetheart,” he urged gently, but when she still held fast he let them go. She raised them hurriedly to her eyes, and turned to the river with a shrinking impatience to know the worst and have it over with. “E-everything j-joggles so,” she whimpered complainingly, trying vainly to steady the glasses. He slipped his arms around her, and let her lean against him; she did not even seem to realize it. Just then she had caught sight of something, and her intense interest steadied her so that she stood perfectly still. “Why, your horse--” she gasped. “Michael--he's got his feet straight up in the air--oh, Kent, he's rolling over sad over! I can't see--” She held her breath.