ROWAN closed the door of his bedroom with a sick heart. It was characteristic of him that he did not debate his responsibility for the death of the two sheepmen. It did not matter that he had repeatedly warned his friends not to shoot nor that from the beginning to the end of the affair he had not fired his rifle. He could not escape the conviction of guilt by pleading to himself that but for the heady folly of one man the raid would have worked out as planned. Nor did it avail to clear him that he had tried to save the life of Gilroy and had protected the herders from the blood lust of Falkner. Before the law he was a murderer. He had led a band of raiders to an attack in which two men had died. The rock upon which the venture had split was Falkner’s uncontrolled venom. But for that first shot and the triumphant shout of vengeance Tait could have been captured and held safely a prisoner. Now they all stood within the shadow of the gallows. The shock of Gilroy’s death was for the time deadened to McCoy by the obligation that lay on him to look out for the safety of his associates. The cattleman did not deceive himself for an instant. The days when men could ride to lawless murder in Wyoming were past. Tom Horn had been hanged in spite of a tremendous influence on his behalf. So it would be now. Shoshone County would flame with indignation at the outrage. A deep cry for justice upon the guilty would run from border to border. Beyond doubt suspicion would be directed toward them on account of their absence from the round-up camp at the time of the raid. But unless some of them talked there could be no proof. The snow had turned out only a flurry of an inch or two, but it was not likely Matson could reach Bald Knob before night. This would give them till to-morrow morning, by which time the trail would be obliterated. There was the taste of another storm in the air. Unless McCoy was a poor prophet, the ground would be well covered with snow before midnight. Rowan had collected all of the bandannas used as masks. He intended to burn them in the kitchen stove as he passed through to breakfast. It could not be proved that Rogers and Yerby had not slept at home unless their wives got to gossiping, nor that the others had not spent the night at the Circle Diamond. On the whole they were as safe as men could be who stood over a powder mine that might be fired at any moment. When the breakfast bell sounded McCoy descended by the back stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Stovall was just putting a batch of biscuits into the oven. “Would you mind stepping outside and ringing the bell, Mrs. Stovall?” Rowan asked. “Three of the boys are sleeping in the bunk house. They stayed there last night after we drove the bunch of cows home.” As soon as his housekeeper had left the room McCoy stepped to the stove, lifted a lid, and stuffed six coloured handkerchiefs into the fire. When Mrs. Stovall returned he was casting a casual eye over the pantry.