Ruth must by this time have been half asleep. Her feet moved almost of their own volition, as if by clockwork. She went forward like an automaton wound up by a set will that had become comatose. A startled shout brought her back to life abruptly. A man with a raised rifle was standing near the bunk house. He was covering Falkner. Swift as a panther, Falkner rid himself gently of the baby and turned to Ruth. He ripped out a sudden furious oath. She was empty-handed. Somewhere between the spot where she stood and the line fence the rifle had slipped unnoticed from her cramped fingers. The outlaw was trapped. “Throw up your hands!” came the curt order. Instantly the convict swerved and began running to the right. Ruth stood directly in the line of fire. The man with the gun took a dozen quick steps to one side. “Stop or I’ll fire!” he shouted. Falkner paid no attention. He was making for a cottonwood arroyo back of the house. The rifleman took a long aim and fired. The hunted man stumbled, fell, scrambled to his feet again, ran almost to the edge of the gulch, and sank down once more. The man who had fired ran past Ruth toward the fallen man. She noticed that he was Sheriff Matson. It is doubtful if he saw her at all. Men emerged from the bunk house, the stable, the corral, and the house. Some were armed, the rest apparently were not. One had been shaving. He had finished one cheek, and the lather was still moist on the other. The half-shaved man was her foreman, Jennings. At sight of the mistress of the ranch he stopped. She had knelt to pick up the crying baby. “What’s the row?” he asked. “Sheriff Matson has just shot Mr. Falkner.” She could hardly speak the words from her dry throat. “Falkner! How did he come here?” “Baby and I were snowbound in the old Potier cabin. He broke trail down for us and carried Baby.” “Gad! And ran right into Matson.” “What is the sheriff doing here?” “Came in late last night with a posse. Word had been ’phoned him that Falkner had been seen in the hills heading for the Montana line. He aimed to close the passes, I reckon.” Mrs. Stovall bore down upon them from the back door of the house. Ruth cut her off without allowing the housekeeper a word. “No time to talk now, Mrs. Stovall. Feed Baby. He’s about starved. I’ll look after this business.” With Jennings striding beside her, Ruth went across to the group surrounding the wounded man. “Is he badly hurt?” she demanded. One of her own punchers looked up and answered gravely: “Looks like, ma’am. In the leg. He’s bleeding a lot.” The sight of the blood trickling down to the white snow for an instant sickened Ruth. But she repressed at once any weakness. Matson she ousted from command. “Stop the bleeding with a tourniquet, Jennings; then have him carried to the house—to Rowan’s room. Sheriff, ’phone Doctor Irwin to come at once. Better send one of your men to meet him.”