"You've said a-plenty," he snarled thickly. "Me, I've made my last offer to you. It's war between me 'n' you from now on." He turned away and went slouching down the path to the road. The two on the porch watched him out of sight. The girl had slipped inside her father's arm and was sobbing softly on his shoulder. "There, honeybug, now don't you--don't you," Clint comforted. "He cayn't do us any harm. Ellison's hot on his trail. I'll give him six months, an' then he's through. Don't you fret, sweetheart. Daddy will look out for you all right." "I--I wasn't thinking about me," she whispered. Both of them were thinking of the dead boy and the threat to blacken his memory, but neither of them confessed it to the other. Wadley cast about for something to divert her mind and found it in an unanswered question of his own. "You was goin' to tell me how come you to know what he wanted to talk with me about," the father reminded her. "You remember that day when Arthur Ridley brought me home?" He nodded assent. "One of the Dinsmore gang--the one they call Steve Gurley--met me on the street. He was drunk, an' he stopped me to tell me about--Ford. I tried to pass, an' he wouldn't let me. He frightened me. Then Arthur an' Mr. Roberts came round the corner. Arthur came home with me, an'--you know what happened in front of McGuffey's store." The face of the girl had flushed a sudden scarlet. Her father stared at her in an amazement that gave way to understanding. Through his veins there crashed a wave of emotion. If he had held any secret grudge against Tex Roberts, it vanished forever that moment. This was the kind of son he would have liked to have himself. "By ginger, that was what he beat Gurley up for! Nobody knows why, an' Roberts kept the real reason under his hat. He's a prince, Jack Roberts is. I did that boy a wrong, 'Mona, an' guessed it all the time, just because he had a mixup with Ford. He wasn't to blame for that, anyhow, I've been told." Ramona felt herself unaccountably trembling. There was a queer little lump in her throat, but she knew it was born of gladness. "He's been good to me," she said, and told of the experience with the traveling salesman on the stage. Clint Wadley laughed. "I never saw that boy's beat. He's got everything a fellow needs to win. I can tell you one thing; he's goin' to get a chance to run the A T O for me before he's forty-eight hours older. He'll be a good buy, no matter what salary he sticks me for." 'Mona became aware that she was going to break down--and "make a little fool of herself," as she would have put it. "I forgot to water my canary," she announced abruptly. The girl jumped up, ran into the house and to her room. But if the canary was suffering from thirst, it remained neglected. Ramona's telltale face was buried in a pillow. She was not quite ready yet to look into her own eyes and read the message they told. CHAPTER XXVIII ON A COLD TRAIL