Shortly after Abe Catherson's departure from the cabin, Ruth came to the door and looked out. Her face was whiter than it had been when she had reached the cabin, she was more composed, and her eyes were alight with mingled resignation and thankfulness. For Hagar had yielded her secret, and Ruth had realized how near she had come to linking her life with that of the despicable creature who had preyed on her friend. The son of this great waste of world loomed big in her thoughts as she stood in the doorway; she saw now that those outward graces which had charmed her, in Masten, had been made to seem mockeries in contrast to the inward cleanness and manliness of the man that she had condemned for merely defending himself when attacked. She went back into the cabin and sat beside Hagar, a queer sensation of joy possessing her, despite her pity for Hagar and her disgust for Masten, for she knew in this instant that she would never allow Randerson to quit the Flying W. Her joy was infectious; it brought a fugitive smile to the face of the nester's daughter, and as Ruth led her out upon the porch, her arms around her, Hagar looked at her worshipfully. Out at the edge of the porch, Hagar shot a dreading glance around. She started, and her eyes filled with anxiety as her gaze rested on the corral. She seized Ruth's arm tightly. "Dad's gone!" she said gulpingly. "Well, perhaps it is all for the best, Hagar," consoled Ruth. "He will ride for a while, and he will come back to forgive you." But the girl's eyes grew wide with fear. "Oh, I'm afraid he'll do somethin' terrible!" she faltered. "Before you came, he asked me if--if it had been Randerson. I told him no, but he didn't seem satisfied, an' when I wouldn't tell him who it was, he went out, cursin' Rex. I'm afraid, Ruth--I'm afraid!" She glanced wildly around, and her gaze rested on the piece of paper that Catherson had left on the edge of the porch. In an instant she had pounced upon it. "He's gone to kill Randerson!" she screamed shrilly. She did not seem to see Ruth; the madness of hysterical fear was upon her; her eyes were brilliant, wide and glaring. She was in her bare feet, but she darted past Ruth, disregarding the rocks and miscellaneous litter that stretched before her, reached Ruth's pony and flung herself into the saddle, her lips moving soundlessly as she set the animal's head toward the path. "You stay here!" she shouted to Ruth as the Flying W girl, stunned to inaction by the other's manner, watched her. "I'm goin' to ketch dad. Oh, durn him, the mis'able hot head!" She hit the pony a vicious slap with a bare hand. It lunged, as the reins loosened, reaching its best speed within a hundred yards, but urged to increasing effort by voice and hand and heel, the girl leaning far over its mane, riding as she had never ridden before. But up at the Flying W ranchhouse, a tall, grim, bearded giant of a horseman was just dismounting, his pony trembling because of heart-breaking effort.