Outside, Catherson paced back and forth, his lips forming soundless words, his big hands working as though the fingers were at the throat of the thief that had stolen into his home. His mind was going over certain words that Hagar had answered to his questions, just before Ruth's coming. He dwelt upon every slight circumstance that had occurred during the past few months. There were the tracks of horse's hoofs about the cabin, in the paths and trails leading to it. Hagar had refused to tell him. But he figured it all out for himself, as he walked. When had this thing started? At about the time that Randerson had taken Vickers' place at the Flying W! Why had not there been trouble between him and the Flying W, as under previous range bosses? What had Randerson given him money for, many times? Ah, he knew now! "The black-hearted hound!" he gritted. He reeled, and held to a corner of the cabin to steady himself, for this last access of rage came near to paralyzing him. When he recovered he drew back out of sight, and leaning against the wall of the cabin, with a pencil and a small piece of paper taken from a note book in a pocket, he wrote. He laid the piece of paper on the edge of the porch, ran to the corral and caught his pony, mounted, and rode drunkenly down the narrow path toward the break in the canyon. CHAPTER XXIII BANISHING A SHADOW Randerson could not adjust his principles to his purpose to do Masten to death while working for Ruth, and so, in the morning following his meeting with the Easterner on the trail leading to Chavis' shack, he announced to the men of the outfit that he was going to quit. He told Red Owen to take charge until Ruth could see him. Glum looks followed his announcement. They tried to dissuade him, for they did not know his thoughts, and perhaps would not have given him credit for them if they had. "Don't the outfit suit you?" asked one gently. "If it don't, we'll try to do better!" "Your conduct has been amazin' good--considerin'," grinned Randerson, light-hearted for the time; for this mark of affection was not lost upon him. "If there's anybody in the outfit that's disagreeable to you, why, say the word an' we'll make him look mighty scarce!" declared another, glancing belligerently around him. "Shucks, this outfit'll be a blamed funeral!" said Blair. "We'll be gettin' to think that we don't grade up, nohow. First Vickers packs his little war-bag an' goes hittin' the breeze out; an' now you've got some fool notion that you ought to pull _your_ freight. If it's anything botherin' you, why, open your yap, an' we'll sure salivate that thing!" "I ain't mentionin'," said Randerson. "But it ain't you boys. You've suited me mighty well. I'm sure disturbed in my mind over leavin' you." "Then why leave at all?" said Owen, his face long.