He said as much to Rose on the way home.  She agreed.  For the first time since she left Cheyenne the girl was her old self.  Esther’s problem had been solved far more happily than she had dared to hope.

“I’m goin’ to have a gay time apologizin’ to Jack,” said Kirby, his eyes dancing.  “It’s not so blamed funny at that, but I can’t help laughin’ every time I think of how he must ‘a’ been grinnin’ up his sleeve at me for my fool mistake.  I’ll say he brought it on himself, though.  He was feelin’ guilty on his brother’s account, an’ I didn’t get his embarrassment right.  James is a pretty cool customer.  From first to last he never turned a hair when the subject was mentioned.”

“What about him?” Rose asked.

The cattleman pretended alarm.  “Now, don’t you,” he remonstrated.  “Don’t you expect me to manhandle James, too.  I’m like Napoleon.  Another victory like the battle of last night would sure put me in the hospital.  I’m a peaceable citizen, a poor, lone cowboy far away from home.  Where I come from it’s as quiet as a peace conference.  This wildest-Denver stuff gets my nerve.”

She smiled into his battered face.  A dimple nestled in her soft, warm cheek.  “I see it does.  It’s a pity about you.  I didn’t suppose your cousin Jack had it in him to spoil your beauty like that.”

“Neither did I,” he said, answering her smile.  “I sure picked on the wrong man.  He’s one handy lad with his dibs—­put me down twice before we decided to call it off.  I like that young fellow.”

“Better not like him too much.  You may have to work against him yet.”

“True enough,” he admitted, falling grave again.  “As to James, we’ll ride close herd on him for a while, but we’ll ride wide.  Looks to me like he may have to face a jury an’ fight for his life right soon.”

“Do you think he killed your uncle?”

“I don’t want to think so.  He’s a bad egg, I’m afraid.  But my father’s sister was his mother.  I’d hate to have to believe it.”

“But in your heart you do believe it,” she said gently.

He looked at her.  “I’m afraid so.  But that’s a long way from knowing it.”

They parted at her boarding-house.

A man rose to meet Kirby when he stepped into the rotunda of his hotel.  He was a gaunt, broad-shouldered man with ragged eyebrows.

“Well, I came,” he said, and his voice was harsh.

“Glad to see you, Mr. Olson.  Come up to my room.  We can talk there more freely.”

The Scandinavian rancher followed him to the elevator and from there to his room.

“Why don’t they arrest Hull?” he demanded as soon as the door was closed.

“Not evidence enough.”

“Suppose I can give evidence.  Say I practically saw Hull do it.  Would they arrest him—­or me?”

“They’d arrest him,” Kirby answered.  “They don’t know you’re the man who wrote the threatening letter.”