“Well?” he forced her to say at last.

Leisurely he turned, as if just aware of her presence.

“Oh, it’s you.  Mornin’, Phyl.”

“What did you find out?”

“I met your friend.”

“What friend?”

“Mr. Keller, the rustler and bank robber,” he drawled insolently, looking full in her face.

“Tell me at once what you found out.”

“I found Mr. Keller riding a roan with four white stockings and a wound on its flank.”

She caught at the jamb.  “You didn’t, Brill!”

“I ce’tainly did,” he jeered.

“What—­what did you do?” Her lips were white as her cheeks.

“I haven’t done, anything—­yet.  You see, I was alone.  The other boys hadn’t arrived then.”

“And he wasn’t alone?”

“No; he had three friends with him.  I couldn’t make out whether any more of them were college chums of yours.”

Without another word, she turned her back on him and went into the store.  All night she had lain sleepless and longed for and dreaded the coming of the day.  Over the wire from Noches had come at dawn fuller details of the robbery, from her brother Phil, who was spending two or three days in town.

It appeared that none of the wounded men would die, though the president had had a narrow escape.  Posses had been out all night, and a fresh one was just starting from Noches.  It was generally believed, however, that the bandits would be able to make good their escape with the loot.

Her father was absent, making a round of his sheep camps, and would not be back for a week.  Hence her hands were very full with the store and the ranch.

She busied herself with the details of her work, nodded now and again to one of the riders as they drifted in, smiled and chatted as occasion demanded, but always with that weight upon her heart she could not shake off.  Now, and then again, came to her through the window the voices of Public Opinion on the porch.  She made out snatches of the talk, and knew the tide was running strongly against the nester.  The sound of Healy’s low, masterful voice came insistently.  Once, as she looked through the window, she saw a tilted flask at his lips.

Suddenly she became aware, without knowing why, that something was happening, something that stopped her heart and drew her feet swiftly to the door.

Conversation had ceased.  All eyes were deflected to a pair of riders coming down the Bear Creek trail with that peculiar jog that is neither a run nor a walk.  They seemed quite at ease with the world.  Speech and laughter rang languid and carefree.  But as they swung from the saddles their eyes swept the group before them with the vigilance of searchlights in time of war.

Brill Healy leaned forward, his right hand resting lightly on his thigh.

“So you’ve come back, Mr. Keller,” he said.

“As you see.”