His three companions galloped after him, and Rathburn caught sight of a dark-skinned face, a pair of beady, black eyes, and the long, drooping mustaches of one of the men. "Gomez!" he exclaimed to himself. "Eagen's takin' up with the Mexicans." Mallory appeared in the kitchen door, holding a lamp above his head. "What'd he want?" he demanded of Rathburn. "More'n he got," answered Rathburn shortly. Then he saw Laura Mallory standing behind her father. "I mean to say he made a little proposition that I had to turn down," he amended, with a direct glance at the girl. "An' now I've got to do some more ridin'." "You leavin' to-night?" asked Mallory in surprise. "We can put you up here, Rathburn, an' I'll keep an eye out for visitors." "And we'd have 'em afore mornin'," said Rathburn grimly. "Eagen will see to it that Bob Long knows I was out here, right pronto. But I aim to stop any posses from botherin' around your place. If there's one thing I don't want to do, Mallory, it's make any trouble for you." The girl came walking toward him and touched his arm. "What are you going to do, Roger?" she asked in an anxious voice. "I'm goin' straight into Hope," Rathburn replied. "But, Roger," the girl faltered, "won't that mean--mean----" "A show-down? Maybe so. I ain't side-steppin' it." A world of worry showed in the girl's eyes. "Roger, why don't you go away?" she asked hesitatingly. "Things could be worse, and maybe in time they would become better. Folks forget, Roger." For a moment Rathburn's hand rested on hers, as he looked down at her. "There's two ways of forgettin', girlie," he said soberly. "An' I don't want 'em to forget me the wrong way." "But, Roger, promise me you won't--won't--turn your gun against a man, Roger. It would make things so much worse. It would leave--nothing now. Don't you see? It takes courage to avoid what seems to be the inevitable. That terrible skill which is yours, the trick in this hand on mine, is your worst enemy. Oh, Roger, if you'd never learned to throw a gun!" "It isn't that," he told her gently. "It isn't what you think at all. I'd rather cut off that right hand than have it raised unfairly against a single living thing. They call me a gunman, girlie, an' I reckon I am. But I'm not a killer. There's a difference between the two, an' sometimes I think it's that difference that's makin' all the trouble. I'm still tryin' to steer by that thing you call the compass, an' that's why I've got to go to town." He stepped away from her, waved a farewell to Mallory, who was watching the scene with a puzzled expression, and ran for his horse. A minute later the ringing hoof beats of his mount were dying in the still night. Laura Mallory swayed, and her father hurried to her with the lamp and put his arm about her. "What's it all about, sweetie?" he asked complainingly. "Nothing, daddy, nothing--only I love him."