He pointed out a spot to her—a wooded section far out in the big level country southward, beside the river—and she saw the roof of a building near the edge of the timber. “That’s me shack,” offered Mullarky. “Me ol’ woman an’ meself owns her—an’ a quarter-section—all proved. We call it seven miles from the shack to Dawes. That’d make it about three from here.” “Yes, yes,” said the girl eagerly. He grinned at her. “Comin’ in to town this mornin’ for some knickknacks for me ol’ woman, I hear from Coleman—who keeps a store—that there’s a fine-lookin’ girl named Harlan searchin’ the country for news of her father, Larry Harlan. I knowed him, ma’am.” “You did? Oh, how wonderful!” She stood erect, breathing fast, her eyes glowing with mingled joy and impatience. She had not caught the significance of Mullarky’s picturesque past tense, “knowed;” but when he repeated it, with just a slight emphasis: “I _knowed_ him, ma’am,” she drew a quick, full breath and her face whitened. “You knew him,” she said slowly. “Does that mean——” Mullarky scratched his head and looked downward, not meeting her eyes. “Squint Taylor would tell you the story, ma’am,” he said. “You see, ma’am, he worked for Squint, an’ Squint was with him when it happened.” “He’s dead, then?” She stood rigid, tense, searching Mullarky’s face with wide, dreading eyes, and when she saw his gaze shift under hers she drew a deep sigh and leaned against Billy, covering her face with her hands. Mullarky did not attempt to disturb her; he stood, looking glumly at her, reproaching himself for his awkwardness in breaking the news to her. It was some minutes before she faced him again, and then she was pale and composed, except for the haunting sadness that had come into her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Taylor—‘Squint,’ you called him? Is that the Taylor who was elected mayor—last week?” “The same, ma’am.” He turned and pointed southward, into the big, level country that she admired so much. “Do you see that big timber grove ’way off there—where the crick doubles to the north—with that big green patch beyond?” She nodded. “That’s Taylor’s ranch—the Arrow. You’ll find him there. He’s a mighty fine man, ma’am. Larry Harlan would tell you that if he was here. Taylor was the best friend that Larry Harlan ever had—out here.” He looked at her pityingly. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to be the bearer of ill news; but when I heard you was in town, lookin’ for your father, I couldn’t help comin’ to see you.” She asked some questions about her father—which Mullarky answered; though he could tell her nothing that would acquaint her with the details of her father’s life between the time he had left Westwood and the day of his appearance in this section of the world. “Mebbe Taylor will know, ma’am,” he repeated again and again. And then, when she thanked him once more and mounted her horse, he said: