The prairie was shining white in the moonlight with the first frost when Torrance, Hetty, and Miss Schuyler drove up to Allonby’s ranch. They were late in arriving and found a company of neighbours already assembled in the big general room. It was panelled with cedar from the Pacific slope, and about the doors and windows were rich hangings of tapestry, but the dust was thick upon them and their beauty had been wasted by the moth. Tarnished silver candlesticks and lamps which might have come from England a century ago, and a scarred piano littered with tattered music, were in keeping with the tapestry; for signs of taste were balanced by those of neglect, while here and there a roughly patched piece of furniture conveyed a plainer hint that dollars were scanty with Allonby. He was from the South, a spare, grey-haired man, with a stamp of old-fashioned dignity, and in his face a sadness not far removed from apathy and which, perhaps, accounted for the condition of his property.

His guests, among whom were a number of young men and women, were, however, apparently light-hearted, and had whiled away an hour or two with song and badinage. A little removed from them, in a corner with the great dusty curtain of a window behind her, sat Hetty Torrance with Allonby’s nephew and daughter. Miss Allonby was pale and slight and silent; but her cousin united the vivacity of the Northerner with the distinction that is still common in the South, and—for he was very young—Hetty found a mischievous pleasure in noticing his almost too open admiration for Flora Schuyler, who sat close beside them. A girl was singing indifferently, and when she stopped, Miss Allonby raised her head as a rhythmical sound became audible through the closing chords of the piano.

“Somebody riding here in a hurry!” she said.

It was significant that the hum of voices which followed the music ceased as the drumming of hoofs grew louder; the women looked anxious and the men glanced at one another. Tidings brought in haste were usually of moment then. Torrance, however, stood up and smiled at the assembly.

“I guess some of those rascally rustlers have been driving off a steer again,” he said. “Can’t you sing us something, Clavering?”

Clavering understood him, and it was a rollicking ballad he trolled out with verve and spirit; but still, though none of the guests now showed it openly, the anxious suspense did not abate, and by and by Miss Allonby smiled at the lad beside her somewhat drily.

“Never mind the story, Chris. I guess we know the rest. That man is riding hard, and you are as anxious as any of us,” she said.

A minute or two later there was a murmur of voices below, and Allonby went out. Nobody appeared to notice this, but the hum of somewhat meaningless talk which followed and the strained look in one or two of the women’s faces had its meaning. Every eye was turned towards the doorway until Allonby came back and spoke with Torrance apart. Then he smiled reassuringly upon his guests.

“You will be pleased to hear that some of our comrades have laid hands upon one of the leaders in the attack upon the jail,” he said. “They want to lodge him here until they can send for the Sheriff’s posse, and of course I could only agree. Though the State seems bent on treating us somewhat meanly, we are, I believe, still loyal citizens, and I feel quite sure you will overlook any trifling inconvenience the arrival of the prisoner may cause you.”

“Doesn’t he put it just a little curiously?” suggested Flora Schuyler.

“Well,” said Christopher Allonby, “it really isn’t nice to have one of our few pleasant evenings spoiled by this kind of thing.”

“You don’t understand. I am quite pleased with your uncle, but there’s something that amuses me in the idea of jailing one’s adversary from patriotic duty.”

Christopher Allonby smiled. “There’s a good deal of human nature in most of us, and it’s about time we got even with one or two of them.”

“Find out about it, Chris,” said Miss Allonby; “then come straight back and tell us.”

The young man approached a group of his elders who were talking together, and returned by and by.

“It was done quite smartly,” he said. “One of the homestead boys who had fallen out with Larry came over to us, and I fancy it was Clavering fixed the thing up with him. The boys didn’t know he had deserted them, and the man he took the oats to believed in him.”

“I can’t remember you telling a tale so one could understand it, Chris,” said Miss Allonby. “Why did he take the oats to him?”

The lad laughed. “They have their committees and executives, and when a man has to do anything they send a few grains of oats to him. One can’t see much use in it, and we know ’most everything about them; but it makes the thing kind of impressive, and the rustler fancied our boy was square when he got them. He was to ride over alone and meet somebody from one of the other executives at night in a bluff. He went, and found a band of cattle-boys waiting for him. I believe he hadn’t a show at all, for the man who went up to talk to him grabbed his rifle, but it seems he managed to damage one or two of them.”

“You don’t know who he is?” asked Miss Allonby; and Flora Schuyler noticed a sudden intentness in Hetty’s eyes.

“No,” said the lad, “but the boys will be here with him by and by, and I’m glad they made quite sure of him, any way.”

Hetty’s eyes sparkled. “You can’t be proud of them! It wasn’t very American.”

“Well, we can’t afford to be too particular, considering what we have at stake; though it might have sounded nicer if they had managed it differently. You don’t sympathize with the homestead boys, Miss Torrance?”

“Of course not!” said Hetty, with a little impatient gesture. “Still, that kind of meanness does not appeal to me. Even the men we don’t like would despise it. They rode into the town without a cartridge in their rifles, and took out their friends in spite of the Sheriff, while the crowd looked on.”

“It was Larry Grant fixed that, and ’tisn’t every day you can find a man like him. It ’most made me sick when I heard he had gone over to the rabble.”

“You were a friend of his?” asked Flora Schuyler.

“Oh, yes;” and a little shadow crept into Allonby’s face. “But, that’s over now. When a man goes back on his own folks there’s only one way of treating him, and it’s not going to be nice for Larry if we can catch him. We’re in too tight a place to show the man who can hurt us most much consideration.”

Hetty turned her head a moment, and then changed the subject, but not before Flora Schuyler noticed the little flush in her cheek. The music, laughter, and gay talk began again, and if anyone remembered that while they chased their cares away grim men who desired their downfall toiled and planned, no sign of the fact was visible.

Twenty minutes passed, and then the thud of hoofs once more rose from the prairie. It swelled into a drumming that jarred harsh and portentous through the music, and Hetty’s attention to the observations of her companions became visibly less marked. One by one the voices also seemed to sink, and it was evidently a relief to the listeners when a girl rose and closed the piano. Somebody made an effort to secure attention to a witty story, and there was general laughter, but it also ceased, and an impressive silence followed. Out of it came the jingle of bridles and trampling of hoofs, as the men outside pulled up, followed by voices in the hall, and once more Allonby went out.

“They’re right under this window,” said his nephew. “Slip quietly behind the curtains, and I think you can see them.”

Flora Schuyler drew the tapestry back, the rest followed her and Christopher Allonby flung it behind them, so that it shut out the light. In a moment or two their eyes had become accustomed to the change, and they saw a little group of mounted men close beneath. Two of them dismounted, and appeared to be speaking to some one at the door, but the rest sat with their rifles across their saddles and a prisoner in front of them. His hat was crushed and battered, his jacket rent, and Flora Schuyler fancied there was a red trickle down his cheek; but his face was turned partly away from the window, and he sat very still, apparently with his arms bound loosely at the wrists.

“All these to make sure of one man, and they have tied his hands!” she said.

Hetty noticed the ring in her companion’s voice, and Allonby made a little deprecatory gesture.

“It’s quite evident they had too much trouble getting him to take any chances of losing him,” he said. “I wish the fellow would turn his head. I fancy I should know him.”

A tremor ran through Hetty for she also felt she recognized that tattered figure. Then one of the horsemen seized the captive’s bridle, and the man made a slight indignant gesture as the jerk flung off his hands. Flora Schuyler closed her fingers tight.

“If I were a man I should go down and talk quite straight to them,” she said.

The prisoner was sitting stiffly now, but he swayed in the saddle when one of the cattle-men struck his horse and it plunged. He turned his head as he did so, and the moonlight shone into his face. It was very white, and there was a red smear on his forehead. Hetty gasped, and Flora Schuyler felt her fingers close almost cruelly upon her arm.

“It’s Larry!” she said.

Christopher Allonby nodded. “Yes, we have him at last,” he said. “Of course, one feels sorry; but he brought it on himself. They’re going to put him into the stable.”

The men rode forward, and when they passed out of sight Hetty slipped back from behind the curtain, and, sat down, shivering as she looked up at Miss Schuyler.

“I can’t help it, Flo. If one could only make them let him go!”

“You need not let any of them see it,” said Miss Schuyler, sharply. “Sit quite still here and talk to me. Now, what right had those men to arrest him?”

The warning was sufficient. Hetty shook out her dress and laughed, though her voice was not steady.

“It’s quite simple,” she said. “The Sheriff can call out any citizen to help him or send any man off after a criminal in an emergency. Of course, being a responsible man he stands in with us, and in times like these the arrangement suits everybody. We do what seems the right thing, and the Sheriff is quite pleased when we tell him.”

Flora Schuyler smiled drily. “Yes. It’s delightfully simple. Still, wouldn’t it make the thing more square if the other men had a good-natured Sheriff, too?”

“Now you are laughing at me. The difference is that we are in the right.”

“And Larry, of course, must be quite wrong!”

“No,” said Hetty, “he is mistaken. Flo, you have got to help me—I’m going to do something for him. Try to be nice to Chris Allonby. They’ll send him to take care of Larry.”

Miss Schuyler looked steadily at her companion. “You tried to make me believe you didn’t care for the man.”

A flush stole into Hetty’s cheek, and a sparkle to her eyes. “Can’t you do a nice thing without asking questions? Larry was very good to me for years, and—I’m sorry for him. Any way, it’s so easy. Chris is young, and you could fool any man with those big blue eyes if he let you look at him.”

Flora Schuyler made a half-impatient gesture, and then, sweeping her dress aside, made room for Christopher Allonby. She also succeeded so well with him that when the guests had departed and the girls came out into the corral where he was pacing up and down, he flung his cigar away and forsook his duty to join them. It was a long ride to Cedar Range, and Torrance had decided to stay with Allonby until morning.

“It was very hot inside—they would put so much wood in the stove,” said Hetty. “Besides, Flo’s fond of the moonlight.”

“Well,” said Allonby, “it’s quite nice out here, and I guess Miss Schuyler ought to like the moonlight. It’s kind to her.”

Flora Schuyler laughed as they walked past the end of the great wooden stable together. “If you look at it in one sense, that wasn’t pretty. You are guarding the prisoner?”

“Yes,” said the lad, with evident diffidence. “The boys who brought him here had ’bout enough of him, and they’re resting, while ours are out on the range. I’m here for two hours any way. It’s not quite pleasant to remember I’m watching Larry.”

“Of course!” and Miss Schuyler nodded sympathetically. “Now, couldn’t you just let us talk to him? The boys have cut his forehead, and Hetty wanted to bring him some balsam. I believe he used to be kind to her.”

Allonby looked doubtful, but Miss Schuyler glanced at him appealingly—and she knew how to use her eyes—while Hetty said:

“Now, don’t be foolish, Chris. Of course, we had just to ask your uncle, but he would have wanted to come with us and would have asked so many questions, while we knew you would tell nobody anything. You know I can’t help being sorry for Larry, and he has done quite a few nice things for you, too.”

“Miss Schuyler is going with you?”

“Of course,” and Hetty smiled mischievously as she glanced at her companion. “Still, you needn’t be jealous, Chris. I’ll take the best care she doesn’t make love to him.”

Flora Schuyler looked away across the prairie, which was not quite what one would have expected from a young woman of her capacities; but the laughing answer served to banish the lad’s suspicions, and he walked with them towards the door. Then he stopped, and when he drew a key from an inner pocket Hetty saw something twinkle in the moonlight at his belt.

“Chris,” she said, “stand still for a minute and shut your eyes quite tight.”

The lad did as he was bidden, for a few years ago he had been the complaisant victim of Hetty’s pleasantries, and felt a light touch on his lips. Then, there was a pluck at his belt, and Hetty was several yards away when he made a step forward with his eyes wide open. She was laughing at him, but there was a pistol in her hand.

“It was only my fingers, Chris, and Flo wasn’t the least nearer than she is now,” she said. “If you dared to think anything else, you would make me too angry. We’ll bring this thing back to you in five minutes, but you wouldn’t have us go in there quite defenceless. Now you walk across the corral, and wait until we tell you.”

Allonby was very young, and somewhat susceptible. Hetty was also very pretty, and, he fancied, Miss Schuyler even prettier still; but he had a few misgivings, and when they went in closed the lower half of the door and set his back to it.

“No,” he said decisively, “I’m staying right here.”

The girls made no demur, but when they had crossed a portion of the long building Miss Schuyler touched her companion. “I’ll wait where I am,” she said drily, “you will not want me.”

Hetty went on until she came to where the light of a lantern shone faintly in a stall. A man sat there with his hands still bound and a wide red smear upon his forehead. His face flushed suddenly as he glanced at her, but he said nothing.

“I’m ever so sorry, Larry,” said the girl.

The man smiled, though it was evident to Hetty, whose heart beat fast, that it was only by an effort he retained his self-control.

“Well,” he said, “it can’t be helped, and it was my fault. Still, I never suspected that kind of thing.”

Hetty coloured. “Larry, you mustn’t be bitter—but it was horribly mean. I couldn’t help coming—I was afraid you would fancy I was proud of them.”

“No,” he said, sternly. “I couldn’t have fancied that. There was nothing else?”

“Your head. It is horribly cut. We saw you from the window, and I fancied I could tie it up for you. You wouldn’t mind if I tried, Larry? I have some balsam here, and I only want a little water.”

For a moment Grant’s face was very expressive, but once more he seemed to put a check upon himself, and his voice was almost too even as he pointed to the pitcher beside him. “There is some ready. Your friends don’t treat their prisoners very well.”

The girl winced a little, but dipping her handkerchief in the pitcher she laved his forehead, and then would have laid the dressing on it; but he caught her hand.

“No,” he said, “take mine instead.”

“You needn’t be quite too horrid, Larry,” and there was a quiver in her voice. “It wouldn’t hurt you very much to take a little thing like that from me.”

Grant smiled very gravely. “I think you had better take mine. If they found a lady’s handkerchief round my head, Allonby’s folks would wonder how it got there.”

Hetty did as he suggested, and felt a curious chagrin when he failed to look at her. “I used to wonder, Larry, how you were able to think of everything,” she said. “Now I have brought you something else; but you must promise not to hurt anybody belonging to Allonby with it.”

Grant laughed softly, partly to hide his astonishment, when he saw a pistol laid beside him.

“I haven’t grown bloodthirsty, Hetty,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

“It was Chris Allonby’s. Flo and I fooled him and took it away. It was so delightfully easy. But you will keep it?”

He shook his head. “Just try to think, Hetty.”

Hetty’s cheeks flushed. “You are horribly unkind. Can’t you take anything from me? Still—you—have got to think now. If I let you go, you will promise not to make any more trouble for my father and Allonby, or anybody?”

Grant only looked at her with an odd little smile, but the crimson grew deeper in Hetty’s cheek. “Oh, of course you couldn’t. I was sorry the last time I asked you,” she said. “Larry, you make me feel horribly mean; but you would not do anything that would hurt them, unless it was quite necessary?”

“No,” said the man drily, “I don’t think I’m going to have an opportunity.”

“You are. I came to let you go. It will be quite easy. Chris is quite foolish about Flo.”

Grant shook his head. “Doesn’t it strike you that it would be very rough on Chris?”

Hetty would not look at him, and her voice was very low. “If anyone must be hurt, I would sooner it was Chris than you.”

He did not answer for a moment, and the girl, watching him in sidelong fashion, saw the grim restraint in his face, which grew almost grey in patches.

“It is no use, Hetty,” he said very quietly. “Chris would tell them nothing. There is no meanness in his father or him; but that wouldn’t stop him thinking. Now, you will know I was right to-morrow. Take him back his pistol.”

“Larry,” said the girl, with a little quiver in her voice, “you are right again—I don’t quite know why you were friends with me.”

Grant smiled at her. “I haven’t yet seen the man who was fit to brush the dust off your little shoes; but you don’t look at these things quite as we do. Now Chris will be getting impatient. You must go.”

Hetty turned away from him, and while the man felt his heart throbbing painfully and wondered whether his resolution would support him much longer, stood very still with one hand clenched. Then she moved back towards him swiftly, with a little smile.

“There is a window above the beams, where they pitch the grain-bags through,” she said. “Chris will go away in an hour or so, and the other man will only watch the door. There are horses in the corral behind the barn, and I’ve seen you ride the wickedest broncho without a saddle.”

She whisked away before the man, who felt a little, almost caressing, touch upon his arm; and heard something drop close beside him with a rattle, could answer, and in less than a minute later smiling at Chris Allonby gave him back his pistol.

“Do you know I was ’most afraid you were going to make trouble for me?” he said.

“But if I had you wouldn’t have told.”

The lad coloured. “You have known me quite a long time, Hetty.”

Hetty laughed, but there was a thrill in her voice as she turned to Miss Schuyler. “Now,” she said, “you know the kind of men we raise on the prairie.”

As they moved away together, Flora Schuyler cast a steady, scrutinizing glance at her companion. “I could have told you, Hetty,” she said.

“Yes,” said Hetty, with a little nod. “He wouldn’t go, and I feel so mean that I’m not fit to talk to you or anybody. But wait. You’ll hear something before to-morrow.”

It was not quite daylight when Miss Schuyler was awakened by a murmur of voices and a tramp of feet on the frozen sod. Almost at the same moment the door of her room opened, and a slim, white figure glided towards the window. Flora Schuyler stood beside it in another second or two, and felt that the girl whose arm she touched was trembling. The voices below grew louder, and they could see two men come running from the stable, while one or two others were flinging saddles upon the horses brought out in haste.

“He must have got away an hour ago,” said somebody. “The best horse Allonby had in the corral isn’t there now.”

Then Hetty sat down laughing excitedly, and let her head fall back on Flora Schuyler’s shoulder when she felt the warm girdling of her arm. In another moment she was crying and gasping painfully.

“He has got away. The best horse in the corral! Ten times as many of them couldn’t bring him back,” she said.

“Hetty,” said Miss Schuyler decisively, “you are shivering all through. Go back at once. He is all right now.”

The girl gasped again, and clung closer to her companion. “Of course,” she said. “You don’t know Larry. If they had all the Cedar boys, too, he would ride straight through them.”