She smiled at his earnestness. But that spark which he had tried in vain to fan into flame still smoldered. She felt no responsive impulse; a strange reluctance dragged at her. "Wait, Willard," she said, "until after the fall round-up. There is no hurry. We are sure of each other." They went on toward the ranchhouse. When they passed the bunkhouse, and through the open door saw Randerson and Uncle Jepson sitting on a bench smoking, Ruth quickened her step, and Masten made a grimace of hatred. * * * * * Inside the bunkhouse, Uncle Jepson, who had been speaking, paused long enough to wrinkle his nose at Masten. Randerson's expression did not change; it was one of grave expectancy. "You was sayin'--" he prompted, looking at Uncle Jepson. "That the whole darned deal was a frame-up," declared Uncle Jepson. "I was settin' in the messhouse along in the afternoon of the day of the killin'--smokin' an' thinkin', but most of the time just settin', I cal'late, when I heard Chavis an' Pickett talkin' low an' easy outside. They was a crack in the wall, an' I plastered one ear up ag'in it, an' took in all they was sayin'. First, they was talkin' about the bad feelin' between you an' Pickett. Pickett said he wanted to 'git' you, an' that Masten wanted to get you out of the way because of what you'd done to him at Calamity. But I reckon that ain't the real reason; he's got some idea that you an' Ruth--" "Shucks," said Randerson impatiently. "Anyway," grinned Uncle Jepson, "for some reason, he don't want you hangin' around. Far as I could gather, Pickett wanted some excuse to have you fire him, so's he could shoot you. He talked some to Masten about it, an' Masten told him to tackle Ruth, but not to get too rough about it, an' not to go too far." "Great guns! The low-down, mean, sneakin'--" said Randerson. His eyes were glowing; his words came with difficulty through his straightened lips. "Masten wouldn't take it up, he told Pickett," went on Uncle Jepson. "He'd put it up to you. An' when you'd tackle Pickett about it, Pickett would shoot you. If they was any chance for Chavis to help along, he'd do it. But mostly, Pickett was to do the job. I cal'late that's about all--except that I layed for you an' told you to look out." "You heard this talk after--after Pickett had--" "Of course," growled Uncle Jepson, a venomous flash in his eyes, slightly reproachful. "Sure--of course," agreed Randerson. He was grim-eyed; there was cold contempt in the twist of his lips. He sat for a long time, silent, staring out through the door, Uncle Jepson watching him, subdued by the look in his eyes. When he spoke at last, there was a cold, bitter humor in his voice.