“He may last an hour or two, but I don’t think he will speak again,” he said.

In the meanwhile Alton strode with hands clenched into the shadows of the silent pines.  He had long been troubled by vague suspicions, and had driven them away, but he could not doubt what Damer had told him, and groaned as he stood face to face with the verity.  He had been too proud to stoop at any time to take an unfair advantage of an enemy, but he could not lightly forget a wrong, and there was a trace of stubborn vindictiveness within him.  Hallam had brought him down to ruin, and thrice struck at his life by treachery, and now Damer’s testimony had placed his enemy in his hand.  He had but to close it and crush him, but he also realized with fierce anger what this would cost him, for Hallam had, it seemed, protected himself effectively.  If he dragged Hallam down Deringham must fall with him, and while that consideration alone would not have stayed him in spite of the curious pride of race and family which he had become sensible of of late, it was evident that his daughter must suffer too.  She had done no wrong, and Alton, who thought of her with a great tenderness, dare not contemplate all that the revelation would cost her.

It would have been bitter to let his enemy go free, had he stood alone, but that was, he realized, what no man can do, and there were behind him with their future linked to his the ranchers of Somasco whose safety demanded that he should put it out of Hallam’s power to do them a further injury.  It would also be so simple.  He had but to hold his hand, and Horton would take all the action that was needful.

Then it became more plain to him that even at the cost of his loyalty to his comrades he could not allow the woman he loved to suffer with the guilty.  He knew her pride and that the blow would crush her, but again through all his pity for her a gust of rage shook him, and he ground the soft cedar-twigs viciously beneath his heel.  He could not face the thought of the woman’s humiliation.  Everything must go, his pride, his faith, his vengeance, before that came about, and he stopped in his restless pacing and leaned against a pine as the conflicting emotions gave place to a quiet resolution.  At last he could see the stars between the great branches high above him, and shivered a little as a chilly breeze sighed across the silent bush.  Something in its stillness reacted upon him, and the last trace of his passion melted away.  If he did wrong he alone would be responsible, and at least his enemy’s daughter should not suffer.

Walking very slowly he went back to the hotel, and found Horton writing.  He glanced at Alton curiously and then answered the unasked question.

“Yes,” he said; “he’s out on the trail now, and one would kind of wonder where it was taking him.  Where have you been all this time, Harry?”

“How long have I been?” said Alton.