“Seems to be a partickler friend of yours,” suggested Sally. “Yes, he is; and I’ll stand by him. If that boy has been driven out of this valley, he’s been wronged, and I know it”; with these worried words she turned silently to her work, resolved in her heart to find out the truth. It was this determination that made her ready to meet Dick more than half way that night, when he, stimulated by Sally’s suggestion that Alta was “dying to make up,” invited her to dance. His delight in feeling that he had brought the independent girl to terms was doubled when she invited him to sit down with her. But his hopes were dashed when she asked abruptly, “Where is Fred to-night?” “Who, the cow-kid?” Dick stammered; “why, he’s hit the trail.” “What do you mean by that?” Alta half demanded. “Skipped the country, that’s all,” Dick was evasive and snappish. “Why did he do it?” “He lost and killed several critters out of his blooded bunch, and the boss fired him.” “Killed his cattle? How?” Alta was provokingly persistent. Dick began to get nervous. “Well, the boys found one with his rope on choked to death, and another was shot.” “Shot? Where was it?” “Up Sage Creek.” “When?” “Week or so ago.” “Oh!” Alta’s eyes flashed as a new thought struck her. “How did they know Fred shot it?” “They don’t know exactly; but it looked suspicious, and when Hanks faced him, he wouldn’t tell nuthin’ one way or the other.” “And the foreman discharged him?” “Yes, he said he’d have to tell or git.” “Where did he go?” “Nobody knows; he skipped out when everybody was away from the shack.” “Did he have any money?” “I guess not. Hanks wouldn’t pay him.” “It’s an outrage,” exclaimed Alta, “to treat him that way. That boy has been cruelly wronged.” “You seem to be takin’ his goin’ pretty rough,” Dick insinuated. “Why shouldn’t I? Fred is a friend of mine. The Bar B ranch ought to be ashamed of this business.” “What you people gittin’ so serious about?” Sally interrupted them as the next dance closed. “Come on and dance.” “All right!” said Dick, jumping up. “Miss Morgan’ll be glad to excuse me. She’s frettin’ over the cow-kid.” Alta paid no heed to his jealous tone and words. She was lost in thought. With a woman’s intuition, she had hit upon the truth. Bud Nixon was at the bottom of some of Fred’s trouble; and she innocently had been the cause. She tried to shake off her anxiety and join in the rollicking fun; but though she seemed happy, a cruel worry was in her heart. When the celebration finally broke up and the merry noises had faded with the echoes into silence, she stood again by the window looking into the depths of the starry sky above her while she thought of Fred somewhere battling alone with his trouble and hers. It was in that hour that Alta began to learn how much she cared. At last she turned to her couch, and knelt and prayed God to protect and comfort him. CHAPTER XVIII BY THE CABIN FIRE