It took him long to prepare for the look--he accomplished the action in an instant--a flashing glance. A gun roared close to his head, the flash blinding him; the glass tinkling on the ground at his feet. But Nyland had not been hit, and he grinned felinely as he dropped to the ground, slipped under the window, and ran around the house. Ducking under the side window he ran around to the front. From the front window he could look through the house, and he saw the man, gun in hand, watching the side door. Nyland took aim through the window, but just as he was about to pull the trigger of the weapon the man moved stealthily toward the door--out of Nyland's vision. Evidently the man considered the many windows to be a menace to his safety, and had determined to go outside, where he would have an equal chance with his intended victim. Grinning coldly, Nyland moved to the corner of the house nearest the kitchen door. The man stepped out of the door, and at the instant Nyland saw him he was looking toward the rear of the house. Nyland laughed--aloud, derisively. He did not want to shoot the man in the back. At Nyland's laugh the man wheeled, snapping a shot from his hip. He was an instant too late, though, for with the man's wheeling movement Nyland's gun barked death to him. He staggered, the gun falling from his loosening fingers, his hands dropped to his sides, and he sagged forward inertly, plunging into the dust in front of the kitchen door. Nyland ran forward, peered into the man's face, saw that no more shooting on his part would be required, and then ran into the house to search for Peggy. She was not in the house--a glance into each room told Nyland that. He went outside again, his face grim, and knelt beside the man. The latter's wound was fatal--Nyland saw that plainly, for the bullet had entered his breast just above the heart. Nyland got some water, for an hour he worked over the man, not to save his life, but to restore him to consciousness only long enough to question him. And at last his efforts were rewarded: the man opened his eyes, and they were swimming with the calm light of reason. He smiled faintly at Nyland. "Got me," he said. "Well, I don't care a whole lot. There's just one thing that's been botherin' me since you come. Did you think somethin' was wrong in the house when you was tyin' your cayuse over there at the corral fence?" At Nyland's nod he continued: "I knowed it. It was the water, wasn't it--in the trough? I'm sure a damned fool for not thinkin' of that! So that was it? Well, you've got an eye in your head--I'll tell you that. I'm goin' to cash in, eh?" Nyland nodded and the man sighed. He closed his eyes for an instant, but opened them slightly at Nyland's question: "What did you do to Peggy? Where is she?" The man was sinking fast, and it seemed that he hardly comprehended Nyland's question. The latter repeated it, and the man replied weakly: