"I think he is just splendid!" cried Miss Ritchie with a start, emerging from her dreams of deeds of daring. "Simply splendid! Don't you Helen?" she asked impulsively. Helen arose and walked to the door of her room, turning her face toward the wall as she passed them: "Yes, dear," she replied. "Good night." "Oh, why are men so cruel!" she cried softly as she paused before her mirror. "Why must they fight and kill one another! It's awful!" The door had softly opened and closed and Miss Ritchie's arms were around her neck, hugging tightly. "It _is_ awful, dear," she said. "But they can't kill _him!_ They can't hurt him, so don't you care. Come on to bed--I have _so_ much to talk about! Don't put your hair up to-night, Helen--let's go right to bed!" Helen impulsively kissed her and pushed her away, her face flushed. "You dear, silly goose, do you think I am worrying about him? Why, I had forgotten him. I'm thinking about James." "Yes, of course you are," laughed Miss Ritchie. "I was only teasing you, dear. But it _is_ too bad that nobody cares anything about him, isn't it, Helen?" Tears trembled in Helen's eyes and she turned quickly toward the bed. "Well, it's his own fault--oh, don't talk to me, Grace! Poor James, all alone out there on that awful plain! I'm just as blue as I can be, so there!" "Have a good, long cry, dear," suggested Miss Ritchie. "It does one _so_ much good," she added as she stepped before the mirror. "But I think he is just as splendid as he can be--I wish I was a man like him!" And while they played at pretending, the man who was uppermost in their thoughts was playing a joke on the sheriff at the Cross Bar-8 which would open that person's eyes wide in the morning. . . . . . On the ranch the darkness was intense and no sounds save the natural noises of the night could be heard. The sky was overcast with clouds and occasionally a drop of rain fell. The haunting wail of a distant coyote quavered down the wind and the cattle in the corral were restless and uneasy. A mounted man suddenly topped a rise at a walk and then stopped to stare at the dim lights in the windows of the houses nearly a mile away. He laughed softly at the foolishness of the inmates trying to plot for _his_ death by doing something they had not dared to do for a week. Who would be so foolish as to ride up to those lighted windows unless he was a tenderfoot?