“I thought this would be the end of it,” he announced.

“The devil and all hell plays on the side of Bard,” answered the foreman.  “I had him safe—­almost tied hand and foot.  He got away.”

“Got away?”

“Shot the rope in two.”

The other placed a book-mark, closed the volume, and looked up with the utmost serenity.

“Try again,” he said quietly.  “Take half a dozen men with you, surprise him in the night——­”

“Surprise a wolf,” growled Nash.  “It’s just the same.”

The shaggy eyebrows stirred.

“How far is he away?”

“Two or three miles—­maybe half a dozen—­I don’t know.  He’ll be here before night.”

The big man changed colour and gripped the edge of the desk.  Nash had never dreamed that it would be possible to so stir him.

“Coming here?”

“Yes.”

“Nash—­you infernal fool!  Did you let him know where you were taking him?”

“No.  He was already on the way here.”

Once more Drew winced.  He rose now and strode across the room and back; from the wall the heavy echo of his footfall came sharply back.  And he paused in front of Nash, looming above his foreman like some primitive monster, or as the Grecian heroes loomed above the rank and file at the siege of Troy.  He was like a relic of some earlier period when bigger men were needed for a greater physical labour.

“What does he want?”

“I don’t know.  Says he wants to ask for the right of hunting on your old place on the other side of the range.  Which I’d tell a man it’s jest a lie.  He knows he can hunt there if he wants to.”

“Does he know me?”

“Just your name.”

“Did he ask many questions about me?”

“Wanted to know what you looked like.”

“And you told him?”

“A lot of things.  Said you were big and grey.  And I told him that story about you and John Bard.”

Drew slumped into a chair and ground the knuckles of his right hand across his forehead.  The white marks remained as he looked up again.

“What was that?”

“Why, how you happened to marry Joan Piotto and how Bard left the country.”

“That was all?”

“Is there any more, sir?”

The other stared into the distance, overlooking the question.

“Tell me what you’ve found out about him.”

“I been after him these three days.  Logan tipped him wrong, and he started the south trail for Eldara.  I got on his trail three times and couldn’t catch him till we hit Eldara.”

“I thought your roan was the most durable horse on the range, Steve.  You’ve often told me so.”

“He is.”

“But you couldn’t catch—­Bard?”

“He was on a faster horse than mine—­for a while.”

“Well?  Isn’t he now?’

“I killed the horse.”

“You showed your hand, then?  He knows you were sent after him?”