He led his horse far back after the fuse had been spit, but even where he stood, outside the circle of steers, rock fell. After the explosion had died into the night he pulled at his mustache and regained his saddle rather deliberately, chuckling to himself. The fact that a steer with a broken leg was bawling loudly and that another, its life torn out of its side, moaned softly in helplessness, did not impress him. He rode back as he had come. * * * * * There was little time for love making in the life of the HC foreman. More riders were necessary for the round-up and he was particular about the men he hired. The country had taken sides; rather, it was either openly behind Beck in his handicapped fight, though skeptical of his chances for winning or openly forecasting failure for him and Jane Hunter; and of the latter Tom had his doubts. Many of them were not neutral, he knew. But he was with Jane when he could be although, since he had declared himself to Webb and Hepburn, he did not permit her to ride far from the ranch, even when with escort. He wanted her witness to no tragedy, and tragedy impended. Of the motives of Webb, Hepburn, Cole and their following he had no doubts but there was one whose reasons were a mystery to him. He studied this long hours, when at work, when lying sleepless on his bunk and even when with Jane Hunter. Hilton was at Webb's and that was enough to brand him ... but how deeply? He hesitated to enlist her aid in the solution but when he had spent days puzzling to no result he said to her: "Nothing about what you have been matters with me, but there's one thing I want to ask you." "And that?" He eyed her a speculative moment as they sat beside her desk, the yellow light on her yellow hair. "What was this Hilton to you?" She colored and dropped her gaze from his, picking at a book in her lap. "That belongs to the past," she said, "and you've just said that the past doesn't matter. I had hoped you never would want to know because it touches a spot that isn't healed yet.... "There was a time," lifting her eyes to his, "when I had made up my mind to marry Dick Hilton." He sat very quietly and his expression did not change. "That would have been too bad, Jane," he said after a moment. She nodded slowly in affirmation. "I'd rather he wasn't in the country just now," he went on. "You wouldn't mind, would you, if I drove him out?" She said quickly: "You trust me, don't you?" He smiled gently and looked at her with a light in his eyes that was almost humble. "I've trusted you with my love. I want to do things for you. I'd like to drive this man out of your way." He was reluctant to give his real reason because, by doing so, he would necessarily make her aware of the strength of the menace of which Hilton, he felt but could not prove, was a part. He still wanted to shield her from full realization of the force aligned against her.