Sterry’s intention was to make his way to the ranch of his friend, Dick Hawkridge, which lay to the westward.  He began veering in that direction, so that it may be said that while Inman and his band were riding toward him, he was approaching them.  Two causes, however, prevented a meeting of the parties.

Sterry was much further out than the rustlers, and in the darkness they could see nothing, if indeed they could hear anything of each other.  Then he had not ridden far when he was checked by an unexpected sight.

A bright red glow appeared to the northward in the sky.  It was too vivid, distinct and near for him to mistake its nature.  It was a burning building, the flames showing so strongly that, aware as he was of the deceptive nature of such a light, he knew it was no more than a mile away.  He turned the head of his mare in that direction.

“Things seem to be stirring to-night,” was his thought as he galloped forward, with his gaze fixed on the burning structure.  “That may be an accident, but such accidents are not common in this part of the world.”

His supposition was that it was the work of the rustlers, but he was mistaken.

The building was similar to that occupied by the Whitneys, though somewhat smaller, and burned so fast that when he reached the spot it was a mass of blazing embers, with hardly a semblance of the original structure remaining.

The sight was interesting of itself, but the attention of Sterry was riveted by the figure of a man lying motionless on the ground, only a few paces in front of where the door had been.  His nerveless right hand still grasped the Winchester with which he had evidently made a sturdy fight when stricken down.

Sterry did not dismount, but, sitting in the saddle, looked on the sorrowful sight as revealed by the glow of the burning building.  He was saddened that such things should be.

Little time, however, was given him for gloomy reverie, when Queenie sniffed the air and turned her head a little to one side.  Looking in that direction, the rider saw the figure of a horseman assume shape in the glow as his animal advanced at a slow step.  He must have detected Sterry before the latter saw him, and was studying him with close attention, his rifle supported across his saddle in front, ready for instant use.

Reading his suspicion, the young man called out: 

“Come on, partner!  You and I cannot be enemies at such a time as this.”

The salutation reassured the other, who increased his pace.

Before he reached Sterry the latter half-regretted his action, for he recognized the man as Duke Vesey, one of the most notorious of rustlers and a bitter personal enemy.  But a certain chivalry rules among such people, and after the greeting of Sterry to Vesey there was little danger of the latter taking unfair advantage of it.

“This is bad business,” remarked the younger, pointing to the figure on the ground.