"And he wasn't alone?" "No; he had three friends with him. I couldn't make out whether any more of them were college chums of yours." Without another word, she turned her back on him and went into the store. All night she had lain sleepless and longed for and dreaded the coming of the day. Over the wire from Noches had come at dawn fuller details of the robbery, from her brother Phil, who was spending two or three days in town. It appeared that none of the wounded men would die, though the president had had a narrow escape. Posses had been out all night, and a fresh one was just starting from Noches. It was generally believed, however, that the bandits would be able to make good their escape with the loot. Her father was absent, making a round of his sheep camps, and would not be back for a week. Hence her hands were very full with the store and the ranch. She busied herself with the details of her work, nodded now and again to one of the riders as they drifted in, smiled and chatted as occasion demanded, but always with that weight upon her heart she could not shake off. Now, and then again, came to her through the window the voices of Public Opinion on the porch. She made out snatches of the talk, and knew the tide was running strongly against the nester. The sound of Healy's low, masterful voice came insistently. Once, as she looked through the window, she saw a tilted flask at his lips. Suddenly she became aware, without knowing why, that something was happening, something that stopped her heart and drew her feet swiftly to the door. Conversation had ceased. All eyes were deflected to a pair of riders coming down the Bear Creek trail with that peculiar jog that is neither a run nor a walk. They seemed quite at ease with the world. Speech and laughter rang languid and carefree. But as they swung from the saddles their eyes swept the group before them with the vigilance of searchlights in time of war. Brill Healy leaned forward, his right hand resting lightly on his thigh. "So you've come back, Mr. Keller," he said. "As you see." "But not on that roan of yours, I notice." "You notice correctly, seh." "Now I wonder why." Healy spoke with a drawl, but his eyes glittered menacingly. "I expect you know why, Mr. Healy," came the quiet retort. "Meaning?" "That the roan was stolen from the pasture two nights ago. Do you happen to know the name of the thief?" The cattleman laughed harshly, but behind his laughter lay rising anger. "So that's the story you're telling, eh? Sounds most as convincing as that yarn about the pocketknife you picked up." "I'm not quite next to your point. Have I got to explain to you why I do or don't ride a certain horse, seh?" "It ain't necessary. We all know why. You ain't riding it because there is a bullet wound in the roan's flank that might be some hard to explain."