No outlaws were in sight. He saw several Mexican herders with cattle. Blue columns of smoke curled up over some of the cabins. The fragrant smell of it reminded Duane of his home and cutting wood for the stove. He noted a cloud of creamy mist rising above the river, dissolving in the sunlight. Then he entered Bland's lane. While yet some distance from the cabin he heard loud, angry voices of man and woman. Bland and Kate still quarreling! He took a quick survey of the surroundings. There was now not even a Mexican in sight. Then he hurried a little. Halfway down the lane he turned his head to peer through the cottonwoods. This time he saw Euchre coming with the horses. There was no indication that the old outlaw might lose his nerve at the end. Duane had feared this. Duane now changed his walk to a leisurely saunter. He reached the porch and then distinguished what was said inside the cabin. “If you do, Bland, by Heaven I'll fix you and her!” That was panted out in Kate Bland's full voice. “Let me looser I'm going in there, I tell you!” replied Bland, hoarsely. “What for?” “I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! It'll be fun to have the laugh on her new lover.” “You lie!” cried Kate Bland. “I'm not saying what I'll do to her AFTERWARD!” His voice grew hoarser with passion. “Let me go now!” “No! no! I won't let you go. You'll choke the--the truth out of her--you'll kill her.” “The TRUTH!” hissed Bland. “Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You needn't--murder her--for that.” Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling sound of bodies in violent straining contact--the scrape of feet--the jangle of spurs--a crash of sliding table or chair, and then the cry of a woman in pain. Duane stepped into the open door, inside the room. Kate Bland lay half across a table where she had been flung, and she was trying to get to her feet. Bland's back was turned. He had opened the door into Jennie's room and had one foot across the threshold. Duane caught the girl's low, shuddering cry. Then he called out loud and clear. With cat-like swiftness Bland wheeled, then froze on the threshold. His sight, quick as his action, caught Duane's menacing unmistakable position. Bland's big frame filled the door. He was in a bad place to reach for his gun. But he would not have time for a step. Duane read in his eyes the desperate calculation of chances. For a fleeting instant Bland shifted his glance to his wife. Then his whole body seemed to vibrate with the swing of his arm. Duane shot him. He fell forward, his gun exploding as it hit into the floor, and dropped loose from stretching fingers. Duane stood over him, stooped to turn him on his back. Bland looked up with clouded gaze, then gasped his last. “Duane, you've killed him!” cried Kate Bland, huskily. “I knew you'd have to!”