Josephine had ridden about ten miles when the first flash of lightning warned her that she would have to change her plans and start back. Just ahead, the trail branched off towards the Ricker ranch. At this point there was a large cottonwood tree on a slight elevation, where she could command a view of the surrounding country. The girl determined to ride to the cottonwood, then turn back for home, as she thought she could make it before the storm broke. As she drew up to the cottonwood she dismounted to stretch her limbs as the ride had tired her, for she was more used to riding her own horse. She climbed the slight rise and stood leaning against the tree taking in the view when she heard a step behind her. The girl turned in sudden terror, to find herself confronted by Powers. She realized instantly that he must have been hiding behind the tree and had watched her approach. She hated the man intensely, and as he stood there before her smiling, her dislike increased. She drew herself up and coldly waited for him to speak. “Did I scare you, my proud little maid?” he put the question suddenly, his eyes drinking in her girlish beauty. “What were you hiding here for, Powers?” Josephine questioned, her anger rising. “The men are looking for the halfbreed, and if they run into you, you won’t fare any better than he will, for they will string him up.” The man’s eyes glittered. “They won’t find me or the halfbreed,” he said with a savage oath. “So, you have joined forces with the Mexican,” the girl spoke with cutting emphasis. “I thought as much, he’s just about your speed, Powers.” The man saw his slip and winced. Josephine saw she had hit the truth and regarded him scornfully. Her words had seemed to raise a fury in the man, and the girl began to fear him, though she tried hard to appear natural. “Don’t come any of your high-toned airs on me,” he cried, his voice thick with passion. “Since that New Yorker come here you’ve been too nice for common folks. I know you’re dead stuck on him, but you’ll never marry him, I’ll kill him first.” Josephine faced him pale and resolute. “You, you beast,” her words rang out with withering scorn. “You’re not fit to breathe the same air he does. I’ll tell Bud about your threat and he will run you out of the country.” At the last words the girl started to leap on her horse. “No, you don’t,” the man grated, darting swiftly after her and grabbing her brusquely by the arm. Josephine swung around, something bright glistening in her hand; it was a small Colt revolver she always carried.