The “boys” who were hunting Cotterell were, as Olive well knew, the most relentless men on the prairie, regular settlers who had found by experience that the only way to keep order was to keep it with their own right hands. They had hung several horse-thieves lately, and had declared they were going to put a stop to the “shooting round promiscuous” of the younger blades. They were not unjust men, but they were hasty, and were moreover already terribly prejudiced against Cotterell. Having decided that it was best not to tell Ezra what she had heard, Olive was immediately assailed with a hundred doubts. Suppose Mr. Cotterell came to them in his extremity, should she try to conceal him? But how utterly impossible to do so without the co-operation of her husband! The mere attempt to do such a thing might involve her in difficulties without being of any use to the unhappy man himself. Then there was Madame. Should she appeal to her for help? Her heart revolted from such a course. After their last meeting, when they had interchanged hot words on the subject of this very man, Olive felt it was impossible to ask Madame’s aid or to tell her anything about it. Then there was no one, and Olive resolved to keep the secret of what she had heard, hoping that something might turn up which would justify her action, or at least make any further action unnecessary. Thus do people often put off on the shoulders of chance the burden of a decision which taxes too much their powers of forecasting events. It was a heavy secret to keep to herself, and her face looked white and scared as she entered the kitchen on tip-toe to see how Ezra felt. He roused up as she came in. “I am better now, little woman,” he said in answer to her inquiries. “The pain is all gone. I will get up and begin to stir around again.” He went out with her and with the keenness which is soon a habit with a prairie man, he noticed the hoof-marks of Owen’s horse, where it had stamped rather briskly, owing to the flies. “Who has been here? Those are fresh,” he said, pointing to the marks. “That man from over beyond Cotton Wood Creek was here a little while ago, Owen is his name: you know the man,” said Olive, with a beating heart. “Cattle-hunting after the fire, I suppose. Were they burnt out yesterday?” asked Ezra, with slight show of interest. “No, I believe not, he did not say. He sneered at the Pioneers for not having safe-guarded themselves, heedless of the welfare of the other settlers, so I suppose he had been betimes with his back-firing, at least if he lives up to his principles,” remarked Olive. “It is too late to go and hunt for our horses,” said Ezra, “and I feel too tired to start out on foot after them. They may very well be five miles away by this time. Did you ask Owen if he had seen them?” “No, I never thought of doing so.”