"Kane Lawler was here this mornin'--he come here to see me about a Circle L cow that I was runnin' my brand on the night before. He talked mighty plain to me--an' earnest. He offered me a job over to the Circle L, an' I took it. I rode over there this afternoon an' Lawler's straw boss put me to work. Then tonight Lawler rode in an' took me out by the corral. He gave it to me straight there. He's goin' to restock my place an' give me a chance to get on my feet. He's goin' to put his shoulder behind me, he says, an' make me run a straight trail--takin' a mortgage on the place to secure him. He give me a letter to his mother, sayin' I was to have what stock I wanted. An' I'm to repay him when I get around to it. Honey, I've got a chance, an' I'm never goin' to slip again!" Ruth walked to the door and threw it open, standing on the threshold and gazing out into the dull moonlight, across the vast sweep of plain from which came the low moaning of the night wind, laden with mystery. For a long time, as she stood there, pride fought a savage battle with duty. Her face was pallid, her lips tight-clenched, and shame unutterable gripped her. To be sure, Lawler had enjoined her father to silence, and it was evident that she was not to know. Still, she did know; and Lawler had added an obligation, a debt, to the already high barrier that was between them. Yet she dared not evade the obligation, for that would be robbing her father of a chance over which he seemed to exult, a chance which promised the reformation, for which she had prayed. Her heart was like lead within her--a dull weight that threatened to drag her down. And yet she felt a pulse of thankfulness. For if her father really meant to try--if he should succeed in redeeming himself in Lawler's eyes and in her own, she might one day be able to go to Lawler with no shame in her eyes, with the comforting assurance that her father had earned the right to hold his head up among men. To be sure, there always would be the shadow of the past mistake lurking behind; but it would be the shadow of a mistake corrected, of a black gulf bridged. Her father was waiting when she finally turned to him--waiting, his chin on his chest, his face crimson with shame. "Ruth, girl--you ain't goin' to judge me too harsh, are you?" he begged. Once more she yielded to the pathetic appeal in his eyes. She ran to him again, holding him tightly to her. A cool gust swept in through the open doorway--the night wind, laden with mystery. But the girl laughed and snuggled closer to the man; and the man laughed hoarsely, vibrantly, in a voice that threatened to break. CHAPTER XIII THE INVISIBLE MENACE At the close of the second day the big trail herd halted at the edge of the vast level over which it had come. The herd had been driven forty miles. Cattle, men, and horses had passed through a country which was familiar to them; a country featured by long grama grass, greasewood, and cactus plants.