"Plain as if we seen it done!" exclaimed Holley. There was fire in the clear, hawk eyes. "Cordts!" cried Bostil, hoarsely. "Mebbe--mebbe. But thet ain't my idee.... Come on." Holley went so fast he almost ran, and he got ahead of Bostil. Finally several hundred yards out in the sage he halted, and again dropped to his knees. Bostil and the riders hurried on. "Keep back; don't stamp round so close," ordered Holley. Then like a man searching for lost gold in sand and grass he searched the ground. To Bostil it seemed a long time before he got through. When he arose there was a dark and deadly certainty in his face, by which Bostil knew the worst had befallen Lucy. "Four mustangs an' two men last night," said Holley, rapidly. "Here's where Lucy was set down on her feet. Here's where she mounted.... An' here's the tracks of a third man--tracks made this mornin'." Bostil straightened up and faced Holley as if ready to take a death-blow. "I'm reckonin' them last is Slone's tracks." "Yes, I know them," replied Holley. "An'--them--other tracks? Who made them?" "CREECH AN' HIS SON!" Bostil felt swept away by a dark, whirling flame. And when it passed he lay in his barn, in the shade of the loft, prostrate on the fragrant hay. His strength with his passion was spent. A dull ache remained. The fight was gone from him. His spirit was broken. And he looked down into that dark abyss which was his own soul. By and by the riders came for him, got him up, and led him out. He shook them off and stood breathing slowly. The air felt refreshing; it cooled his hot, tired brain. It did not surprise him to see Joel Creech there, cringing behind Holley. Bostil lifted a hand for some one to speak. And Holley came a step forward. His face was haggard, but its white tenseness was gone. He seemed as if he were reluctant to speak, to inflict more pain. "Bostil," he began, huskily, "you're to send the King--an' Sarch--an' Ben an' Two Face an' Plume to ransom Lucy! ... If you won't--then Creech'll sell her to Cordts!" What a strange look came into the faces of the riders! Did, they think he cared more for horseflesh than for his own flesh and blood? "Send the King--an' all he wants.... An' send word fer Creech to come back to the Ford.... Tell him I said--my sin found me out!" Bostil watched Joel Creech ride the King out upon the slope, driving the others ahead. Sage King wanted to run. Sarchedon was wild and unruly. They passed out of sight. Then Bostil turned to his silent riders. "Boys, seein' the King go thet way wasn't nothin'.... But what crucifies me is--WILL THET FETCH HER BACK?"