The color slowly left Randerson's face as he watched. He had no nice scruples about eavesdropping at this moment--here was no time for manners; the cold, contemptuous rage that fought within him was too deep and gripping to permit of any thought that would not center about the two figures on the path. He watched them, screened by the brush, with the deadly concentration of newly aroused murder-lust. Once, as he saw them halt at the edge of the grass plot, and he observed Masten draw Hagar close to him and kiss her, his right hand dropped to the butt of his pistol at his right hip, and he fingered it uncertainly. He drew the hand away at last, though, with a bitter, twisting smile. Five minutes later, his face still stony and expressionless, he dismounted lightly and with infinite care and caution led Patches away from the knoll and far back into the timber. When he was certain there was no chance of his being seen or heard by Masten and Hagar, he mounted, urged Patches forward and made a wide detour which brought him at length to the path which had been followed by Masten and Hagar in reaching the grass plot. He loped the pony along this path, and presently he came upon them--Hagar standing directly in the path, watching him, red with embarrassment which she was trying hard to conceal; Masten standing on the grass plot near her, staring into the timber opposite; Randerson, trying to appear unconcerned and making a failure of it. "It's Rex!" ejaculated the girl. Her hands had been clasped in front of her; they dropped to her sides when she saw Randerson, and her fingers began to twist nervously into the edges of her apron. A deep breath, which was almost a sigh of relief, escaped her. "I thought it was Dad!" she said. Evidently Masten had likewise expected the horseman to be her father, for at her exclamation he turned swiftly. His gaze met Randerson's, his shoulders sagged a little, his eyes wavered and shifted from the steady ones that watched him. His composure returned quickly, however, and he smiled blandly, but there was a trace of derision in his voice: "You've strayed off your range, haven't you, Randerson?" he said smoothly. "Why, I reckon I have." Randerson's voice was low, almost gentle, and he smiled mildly at Hagar, who blushingly returned it but immediately looked downward. "I expect dad must be gone somewhere--that you're lookin' for him," Randerson said. "I thought mebbe I'd ketch him here." "He went to Red Rock this mornin'," said the girl. She looked up, and this time met Randerson's gaze with more confidence, for his pretense of casualness had set her fears at rest. "Mr. Masten come over to see him, too." The lie came hesitatingly through her lips. She looked at Masten as though for confirmation, and the latter nodded.