“I seen all that, while Dan was sittin’ at the foot of the bed.  Not that I don’t want him here.  When I see him I see the world the way it was when I was under thirty.  When there wasn’t nothin’ I wouldn’t try once, when all I wanted was a gun and a hoss and a song to keep me from tradin’ with kings.  No, it ain’t goin’ to be easy for me when Dan goes away.  But what’s my tag-end of life compared with yours?  You got to be given a chance; you got to be kept away from Dan.  That’s why I told him, finally, that I thought I could get along without him.”

“Whether or not you save me,” she answered, “you signed a death warrant for at least two men when you told him that.”

“Two men?  They’s only one he’s after—­and Buck Daniel has had a long start.  He can’t be caught!”

“That Marshal Calkins is here to-night.  He saw Buck at Rafferty’s, and he talked about it in the hearing of Dan at the table.  I watched Dan’s face.  You may read the past and see the future, Dad, but I know Dan’s face.  I can read it as the sailor reads the sea.  Before to-morrow night Buck Daniels will be dead; and Dan’s hands will be red.”

She dropped her head against the bedclothes and clasped her fingers over the bright hair.

When she could speak again she raised her head and went on in the same swift, low monotone:  “And besides, Black Bart has found the trail of the man who fired the barn and shot him.  And the body of Buck won’t be cold before Dan will be on the heels of the other man.  Oh, Dad, two lives lay in the hollow of your hand.  You could have saved them by merely asking Dan to stay with you; but you’ve thrown them away.”

“Buck Daniels!” repeated the old man, the horror of the thing dawning on him only slowly.  “Why didn’t he get farther away?  Why didn’t he ride night and day after he left us?  He’s got to be warned that Dan is coming!”

“I’ve thought of that.  I’m going into my room now to write a note and send it to Buck by one of our men.  But at the most he’ll have less than a day’s start—­and what is a day to Satan and Dan Barry?”

“I thought it was for the best,” muttered old Joe.  “I couldn’t see how it was wrong.  But I can send for Dan and tell him that I’ve changed my mind.”  He broke off in a groan.  “No, that wouldn’t be no good.  He’s set his mind on going by this time, and nothing can keep him back.  But —­Kate, maybe I can delay him.  Has he gone up to his room yet?”

“He’s in there now.  Talk softly or he’ll hear us.  He’s walking up and down, now.”

“Ay, ay, ay!” nodded old Joe, his eyes widening with horror, “and his footfall is like the padding of a big cat.  I could tell it out of a thousand steps.  And I know what’s going on inside his mind!”

“Yes, yes; he’s thinking of the blow Buck Daniels struck him; he’s thinking of the man who shot down Bart.  God save them both!”

“Listen!” whispered the cattleman.  “He’s raised the window.  I heard the rattle of the weights.  He’s standing there in front of the window, letting the wind of the night blow in his face!”