WITH the news that Rowan would not have to pay with his life, Ruth’s anxiety took on another phase. Their happiness had come to grief. It was likely that the tentative separation caused by her anger at his unfaithfulness would prove to be a final one. But her imperative need was to demand the truth about the sheep raid killings. At the bottom of her heart was still a residuum of deep respect for him. It was impossible to believe that this clean, lean-flanked Westerner with the steadfast eyes was a common murderer who had stolen up at night to compass the death of his enemy from cover. Moreover, there was a reason—a vital, urgent, compelling one—why she must think the best she could of the man she had married. This reason took her to Sam Yerby’s cell at the county jail. She and the Texan had struck up one of the quick, instinctive friendships that were scattered along Ruth’s pathway. They had a common sense of humor. When she poked friendly fun at his speech he did not resent it. The girl had completed her conquest of him by taking a great interest in Missie and the baby. She had embroidered for the little fellow a dress which Sam thought the daintiest in the world. The tired eyes of the old cattleman lit when she came to the door of his prison. “It’s right good of you, Miss Ruth, to come and see the old man before he goes over the road.” “I’m so sorry, Mr. Yerby.” She choked up. “But everybody tells me you won’t have to stay in very long, and I’m going to look out for Missie and Boy.” Tears filmed his eyes. The muscles of the leathery face worked with emotion. “I cain’t thank you, Miss Ruth, but I reckon you know what I’m thinking.” “Missie is going to teach Boy what a good man his father is, and when you come out you and he will be great friends.” He nodded. Speech at that moment was beyond him. “All the boys are going to look after your stock just as if it belonged to them. They’ll take care of your brand at the round-up and make the beef cut for you just the same.” “That’s right kind of them. I sure do feel grateful.” He looked shyly at his visitor. Sam knew that all was not well between her and Rowan. “What about you, Miss Ruth? You-all are losing a better man than Missie ever had. He’s a pure, Mac is.” Her live eyes fixed themselves on him. “There’s something I want to know, Mr. Yerby—something I have a right to know. It’s—it’s about the sheep raid.” “Why don’t you-all go to Mac and ask him?” “I’ve been to him. He wouldn’t tell me; said he couldn’t.” A puzzled expression of doubt lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t reckon I can tell you then.” “You’ve got to tell me. I’ve a right to know. I’m going to know.” She said it with an imperious little accent of feminine ferocity. “O’ course in regards to what took place——” “Did you start that night intending to kill Joe Tait?” “No, ma’am, we didn’t. Rowan told the boys time and again there wasn’t to be any killing. He planned it so it wouldn’t be necessary.” “Then how was it?”