When Kate had finished she looked from one to the other and beamed upon them impartially. "It's nice to see people. I haven't seen any one for six weeks except Uncle Joe," wistfully. "I wish he had come back with you--it's so lonesome." There was an immediate silence and then Bowers cleared his throat noisily. "Night 'fore last was tol'able chilly in your wagon, I reckon?" Her face sobered. "It was--terrible! I couldn't sleep for the cold, and thinking about and pitying the stock on the range, and anybody that had to be out in it. I was glad Uncle Joe was safe in Prouty--there was no need for us both to be out here suffering." Again there was silence, and once more Bowers came to the rescue with a feeble witticism, at which he himself laughed hollowly: "I hearn that a feller eatin' supper with a steel knife got his tongue froze to it, and they had a time thawin' him over the tea kettle." Kate rose to clear away and wash the dishes, but Bowers motioned her to remain seated. "You rest yourself, Ma'am. I was a pearl diver in a restauraw fer three months onct so I am, you might say, a professional." "Uncle Joe and I take turns," Kate laughed, "for neither of us likes it." "That's the best way," Bowers agreed, breaking the constrained silence which fell each time Mormon Joe's name was mentioned. "More pardners has fell out over dish-washin' and the throwin' of diamond hitches than any other causes." When, to Kate's horror, Bowers had wiped off the top of the stove with the dishcloth and removed some lingering moisture from the inside of a frying pan with his elbow, she said, rising: "I'm up at four, so I go to bed early. You can sleep in Uncle Joe's tepee," to Lingle, "and you needn't get up for breakfast when we do. I suppose," to Bowers, "you'll want to start in to-morrow, so I'll go with you and show you the range we're feeding over." With a friendly good night she turned towards the entrance. Lingle rose with a look of desperation on his countenance. "Just a minute." There was that in his voice which made her turn quickly and look from one to the other in wonder. Lingle had a feeling that his vocal cords had turned to wire, they moved so stiffly, when he heard himself saying: "Guess I'll have to ask you to take a ride with me to-morrow." "Me?" Her eyes widened. "What for?" The yellow flame flickered in the smudged chimney of the lantern on the table, a bit of burning wood fell out from the front of the stove and lay smoking on the dirt floor in front of it. Bowers stood rigid by the basin where he had been washing his hands, with the water dripping from his fingers. In a frenzy to have it over the deputy blurted out harshly: "Mormon Joe's been murdered!" The girl gave a cry--sharp, anguished, as one might scream out with a crushed finger. Bowers advanced a step and demanded fiercely of Lingle: "Don't you know nothin'--not no damned nothin'?" Kate's face was marble. "You mean--he's dead--he won't come back here--ever?"