“I wonder how far I am to blame,” she said.  “A man came here a day or two ago, and apparently endeavoured to tell me something.  He was, however, unintelligible, and I fancy somebody had been giving him whisky.”

“Mounted?” said Alton.  “What kind of horse?”

Miss Deringham considered for a moment, and then possibly deciding that
Alton would have no difficulty in ascertaining elsewhere, told him. 
“Tom!” he said grimly.  “Well, I’ll talk to him.  You’ll take Miss
Deringham home, Charley, and then come on to Townshead’s after me.”

He swung away into the bush next moment, and Seaforth followed him more slowly with Miss Deringham.  Neither of them spoke, but though the man’s thoughts were busy with other affairs, he noticed that his companion glanced at him covertly.  “The girl could have told us something more,” he said to himself, and put a stern check on his impatience as he kept pace with her.

When they came out into the clearing they heard the thud of hoofs, and saw a mounted man send a horse at the tall split fence.  The slip-rails were up, and the fence was unusually well put together, but there was a crash as the top bar flew apart, and presently the thud of hoofs grew fainter down the fir-shadowed trail.  Miss Deringham now appeared quite serene again.

“Has he ridden off wet through as he was?” she said.

“I expect so,” said Seaforth dryly.  “Harry does not usually let trifles of that kind worry him, nor do I think there are many men who would have ridden at that fence.”

Alice Deringham said nothing, but though she smiled Seaforth fancied that she was not pleased.  Her thoughts were, however, of small importance to him, and he hastened fuming with impatience towards the stables.

It was some time later when Nellie Townshead stood by a window of her father’s ranch.  Jean-clad stock breeders and axemen hung about the clearing, and a little knot of men from the cities stood apart from them.  A wagon, implements out of repair, old sets of harness, axes, saws, and shovels were littered about the front of the house, and there were two or three horses and a few poor cattle in the corral.  The ranchers spoke slowly to one another, and their faces were sombre, but Hallam, who stood amidst the other men, was smiling over a big cigar.  The girl clenched her hands as she watched him, and then turning her head looked down the valley.

“I fancy I hear hoofs.  He told me he would come,” she said, but Townshead, who sat apathetically in the old leather chair, shook his head.

“He has, of course, forgotten if he did,” he said.

“No,” said the girl with a trace of harshness in her voice.  “Mr. Alton never forgets a promise.  That must be the drumming of hoofs.  Can you hear nothing?”

“The river,” said Townshead despondently.  “He will be too late directly.  They are putting up the ranch.”