He was mounted and gone before she realized that he was ready. She heard the sharp staccato of John Doe's hoofbeats and wondered why Lone had not waited for another word from her. It was as if she had told him that Frank was in some terrible danger,--yet she had merely complained that he was late. The bunk-house door opened, and Sorry came out on the doorstep, stood there a minute and came slowly to meet her as she retraced her steps to the house. "Where'd Lone go so sudden?" he asked, when she came close to him in the dusk. "That was him, wasn't it?" Lorraine stopped and stood looking at him without speaking. A vague terror had seized her. She wanted to scream, and yet she could think of nothing to scream over. It was Lone's haste, she told herself impatiently. Her nerves were ragged from nursing her dad and from worrying over things she must not talk about,--that forbidden subject which never left her mind for long. "Wasn't that him?" Sorry repeated uneasily. "What took him off again in such a rush?" "Oh, I don't know! He said Frank should have been here long ago. He went to look for him. Sorry," she cried suddenly, "what _is_ the matter with this place? I feel as if something horrible was just ready to jump out at us all. I--I want my back against something solid, all the time, so that nothing can creep up behind. Nothing," she added desperately, "could happen to Frank between here and the turn-off at the ford, could it? Lone saw him turn into our trail over an hour ago, he said." Sorry, his fingers thrust into his overalls pockets, his thumbs hooked over the waistband, spat into the sand beside the path. "Well, he started off with a cracked doubletree," he said slowly. "He mighta busted 'er pullin' through that sand hollow. She was wired up pretty good, though, and there was more wire in the rig. I don't know of anything else that'd be liable to happen, unless----" "Unless what?" Lorraine prompted sharply. "There's too much that isn't talked about, on this ranch. What else could happen?" Sorry edged away from her. "Well--I dunno as anything would be liable to happen," he said uncomfortably. "'Taint likely him 'n' Brit 'd both have accidents--not right hand-runnin'." "_Accidents_?" Lorraine felt her throat squeeze together. "Sorry, you don't mean--Sawtooth accidents?" she blurted. She surprised a grunt out of Sorry, who looked over his shoulder as if he feared eavesdroppers. "Where'd you git that idee?" he demanded. "I dunno what you mean. Ain't that yore dad callin' yuh?"