They were half-way along it when he pulled the horse up, and once more looked down on Winston.

“Your hand is a tolerably good one so long as you are willing to sacrifice yourself, but it has its weak points, and there is one thing I could not tolerate,” he said.

“What is that?”

Courthorne laughed wickedly.  “You wish me to be explicit?  Maud Barrington is devilishly pretty, but it is quite out of the question that you should ever marry her.”

Winston turned towards him with the veins on his forehead swollen.  “Granting that it is so, what is that to you?”

Courthorne nodded as if in comprehension.  “Well, I’m probably not consistent, but one rarely quite loses touch with everything, and if I believed that my kinswoman was growing fond of a beggarly prairie farmer, I’d venture to put a sudden stop to your love-making.  This, at least, is perfectly bona fide, Winston.”

Winston had borne a good deal of late, and his hatred of the man flared up.  He had no definite intention, but he moved a pace forward, and Courthorne touched the horse with his heel.  It backed, and then, growing afraid of the blackness about it, plunged, while Winston for the first time saw that there was a gap in the loosely-laid planking close behind it.  Another plunge or flounder, and horse and rider would go down together.

For a moment he held his breath and watched.  Then, as the beast resisting its rider’s efforts backed again, he sprang forward and seized the bridle.

“Get your spurs in!  Shove him forward for your life,” he said.

There was a momentary struggle on the slippery planking, and, almost as its hind hoofs overhung the edge, Winston dragged the horse away.  Courthorne swung himself out of the saddle, left the farmer the bridle, and glanced behind him at the gap.  Then he turned, and the two men looked at each other steadily.  Their faces were a trifle paler than usual.

“You saw it?” asked Courthorne.

“Yes, but not until you backed the beast and he commenced plunging.”

“He plunged once or twice before you caught the bridle.”

“Yes,” said Winston quietly.

Courthorne laughed.  “You are a curious man.  It would have cleared the ground for you.”

“No,” said Winston dryly.  “I don’t know that you will understand me, but I scarcely think it would.  It may have been a mistake of mine to do what I did, but I have a good deal on my shoulders already.”

Courthorne made no answer as he led his horse across, the bridge.  Then he mounted, and looked down on the farmer who stood beside him.

“I remember some things, though I don’t always let them influence me to my detriment,” he said.  “I’m going back to the railroad, and then West, and don’t quite know when you will have the pleasure of seeing me again.”

Winston watched him quietly.  “It would be wiser if you did not come back until I send for you.”