The winter was relaxing its iron grip at last and there were alternations of snow and thaw and frost when one evening a few of his scattered neighbours assembled at Allonby’s ranch. Clavering was there, with Torrance, Hetty, and Miss Schuyler, among the rest; but though the guests made a spirited attempt to appear unconcerned, the signs of care were plainer in their faces than when they last met, and there were times when the witty sally fell curiously flat. The strain was beginning to tell, and even the most optimistic realized that the legislature of the State was more inclined to resent than yield to any further pressure that could be exerted by the cattle-barons. The latter were, however, proud and stubborn men, who had unostentatiously directed affairs so long that they found it difficult to grasp the fact that their ascendancy was vanishing. Showing a bold front still, they stubbornly disputed possession of every acre of land the homesteaders laid claim upon. The latters’ patience was almost gone, and the more fiery spirits were commencing to obstruct their leader’s schemes by individual retaliation and occasionally purposeless aggression.

Torrance seemed older and grimmer, his daughter paler, and there were moments when anxiety was apparent even in Clavering’s usually careless face. He at least, was already feeling the pinch of straitened finances, and his only consolations were the increasing confidence that Torrance reposed in him, and Hetty’s graciousness since his capture by the homesteaders. It was, perhaps, not astonishing that he should mistake its meaning, for he had no means of knowing, as Miss Schuyler did, that the cattle-baron’s daughter met Larry Grant now and then.

Hetty was sitting in a corner of the big room, with Flo Schuyler and Christopher Allonby close at hand, and during a lull in the conversation she turned to him with a smile.

“You find us a little dull to-night, Chris?” she said.

Allonby laughed. “There was a time when you delighted in trapping me into admissions of that kind, but I’m growing wise,” he said. “In fact, another year like this one would make an old man of me. I don’t mind admitting that there is something wrong with the rest. I have told them the stories they have laughed over the last three years, and could not raise a smile from one of them; and when I got my uncle started playing cards I actually believe your father forgot what trumps were, for the first time in his life!”

“That is significant,” said Hetty, whose face had grown serious. “Nothing has gone well for us lately, Chris.”

Allonby sighed. “We don’t like to acknowledge it, but it’s a fact,” he said. “Still, there’s hope yet, if we can just stir up the homestead-boys into wrecking a railroad bridge or burning somebody’s ranch.”

“It is a little difficult to understand how that would improve affairs, especially for the man whose place was burned,” said Miss Schuyler drily.

“One can’t afford to be too particular,” said Allonby, with a deprecating gesture. “You see, once they started in to do that kind of thing the State would have to crush them, which, of course, would suit us quite nicely. As it is, after the last affair at Hamlin’s, they have sent in a draft of cavalry.”

“And you are naturally taking steps to bring about the things that would suit you?” asked Flora Schuyler.

Allonby did not see the snare. “Well,” he said, “I am not an admirer of Clavering, but I’m willing to admit that he has done everything he could; in fact, I’m ’most astonished they have stood him so long, and I don’t think they would have done so, but for Larry. Anyway, it’s comforting to know Larry is rapidly making himself unpopular among them.”

A spot of colour showed in Hetty’s cheek, and there was a little gleam in Flora Schuyler’s eyes as she fixed them on the lad.

“You evidently consider Mr. Grant is taking an unwarranted liberty in persuading his friends to behave themselves as lawful citizens should?” she said.

“I don’t quite think you understand me, of course, one could scarcely expect it from a lady; but if you look at the thing from our point of view, it’s quite easy.”

Flora Schuyler smiled satirically. “I fancy I do, though I may be mistaken. Subtleties of this kind are, as you suggest, beyond the average woman.”

“You are laughing at me, and it’s quite likely I deserve it. We will talk of something else. I was telling you about the cavalry officer.”

“No,” said Hetty, “I don’t think you were.”

“Then I meant to. He has just come up from the Apache country—a kind of quiet man, with a good deal in him and a way of making you listen when you once start him talking. We half expect him here this evening, and if he comes, I want you to be nice to him. You could make him believe we are in the right quite easily.”

“From the Apache country?” and Flora Schuyler glanced at Hetty.

Allonby nodded. “New Mexico, Arizona, or somewhere there. Now, just when you were beginning to listen, there’s Mr. Torrance wanting me.”

He rose with evident reluctance, and Miss Schuyler sat reflectively silent when he moved away.

“What are you thinking of?” asked Hetty sharply.

“That the United States is not after all such a very big country. One is apt to run across a friend everywhere.”

Hetty did not answer, but Miss Schuyler knew that she was also wondering about the cavalry officer, when half an hour later it became evident, from the sounds outside, that a sleigh had reached the door, and when a little further time had passed Allonby ushered a man in blue uniform into the room. Hetty set her lips when she saw him.

“Oh!” said Miss Schuyler. “I felt quite sure of it. This is the kind of thing that not infrequently happens, and it is only the natural sequence that he should turn up on the opposite side to Larry.”

“Flo,” said Hetty sharply, “what do you mean?”

“Well,” she said lazily, “I fancy that you should know better than I do. I have only my suspicions and some little knowledge of human nature to guide me. Now, of course, you convinced us that you didn’t care for Cheyne, but we have only your word to go upon in regard to Larry.”

Hetty turned upon her with a flash in her eyes. “Don’t try to make me angry, Flo. It’s going to be difficult to meet him as it is.”

“I don’t think you need worry,” and Flora Schuyler laughed. “He is probably cured by this time, and has found somebody else. They usually do. That ought to please you.”

In the meantime, Allonby and the man he was presenting to his friends were drawing nearer. Hetty rose when the pair stopped in front of them.

“Captain Jackson Cheyne, who is coming to help us. Miss Torrance and Miss Schuyler, the daughter and guest of our leader,” said Allonby, and the soldierly man with the quiet, brown face, smiling, held out his hand.

“We are friends already,” he said, and passed on with Allonby.

“Was it very dreadful, Hetty?” said Flora Schuyler. “I could see he means to come back and talk to you.”

Hetty also fancied Cheyne wished to do so, and spent the next hour or two in avoiding the encounter. With this purpose she contrived to draw Chris Allonby into one of the smaller rooms where the card-tables were then untenanted, and listened with becoming patience to stories she had often heard before. She, however, found it a little difficult to laugh at the right places, and at last the lad glanced reproachfully at her.

“It spoils everything when one has to show you where the point is,” he said; and Hetty, looking up, saw Cheyne and Flora Schuyler in the doorway.

“Miss Newcombe is looking for you, Mr. Allonby,” said the latter.

There was very little approval in the glance Hetty bestowed upon Miss Schuyler and Allonby seemed to understand it.

“She generally is, and that is why I’m here,” he said. “I don’t feel like hearing about any more lepidoptera to-night, and you can take her Captain Cheyne instead. He must have found out quite a lot about beetles and other things that bite you down in Arizona.”

Miss Schuyler, disregarding Hetty, laughed. “You had better go,” she said. “I see her coming in this direction now, and she has something which apparently contains specimens in her hand.”

Allonby fled, but he turned a moment in the doorway. “Do you think you could get me a real lively tarantula, Captain Cheyne?” he said. “If a young lady with a preoccupied manner asks you anything about insects, tell her you have one in your pocket. It’s the only thing that will save you.”

He vanished with Miss Schuyler, and Hetty, somewhat against her wishes, found herself alone with Cheyne. He was deeply sunburned, and his face thinner than it had been, but the quiet smile she had once found pleasure in was still in his eyes.

“Your young friend did his best, and I am half afraid he had a hint,” he said.

Hetty blushed. “I am very pleased to see you,” she said hastily. “How did you like New Mexico?”

“As well as I expected,” Cheyne answered with a dry smile. “It is not exactly an enchanting place—deformed mountains, sun glare, adobe houses, loneliness, and dust. My chief trouble, however, was that I had too much time to think.”

“But you must have seen somebody and had something to do.”

“Yes,” Cheyne admitted. “There was a mining fellow who used to come over and clean out my whiskey, and sing gruesome songs for hours together to a banjo that had, I think, two strings. I stayed out all night quite frequently when I had reason to believe that he was coming. Then, we killed a good many tarantulas—and a few equally venomous pests—but when all was done it left one hours to sit staring at the sage-brush and wonder whether one would ever shake off the dreariness of it again.”

“It must have been horribly lonely,” Hetty said.

“Well,” said Cheyne, very slowly, “there was just one faint hope that now and then brightened everything for me. I thought you might change. Perhaps I was foolish—but that hope would have meant so much to me. I could not let it go.”

Hetty turned and looked at him with a softness in her eyes, for the little tremor in his voice had touched her.

“And I was hoping you had forgotten,” she said.

“No,” said Cheyne quietly. “I don’t think I ever shall. You haven’t a grain of comfort to offer me?”

Hetty shook her head, and involuntarily one hand went up and rested a moment on something that lay beneath the laces at her neck. “No,” she said. “I am ever so sorry, Jake, but I have nothing whatever to offer you—now.”

“Then,” said Cheyne, with a little gesture of resignation, “I suppose it can be borne because it must be—and I think I understand. I know he must be a good man—or you would never have cared for him.”

Hetty looked at him steadily, but the colour that had crept into her cheek spread to her forehead. “Jake,” she said, “no doubt there are more, but I have met two Americans who are, I think, without reproach. I shall always be glad I knew them—and it is not your fault that you are not the right one.”

Cheyne made her a little grave inclination. “Then, I hope we shall be good friends when I meet the other one. I am going to stay some little time in the cattle country.”

“I almost hope you will not meet just yet,” Hetty said anxiously, “and you must never mention what I have told you to anybody.”

“You have only told me that I was one of two good Americans,” said Cheyne, with a quiet smile which the girl found reassuring. “Now, you don’t want to send me away?”

“No,” said Hetty. “It is so long since I have seen you. You have come to help us against our enemies?”

Cheyne saw the girl’s intention, and was glad to fall in with it, but he betrayed a little embarrassment. “Not exactly, though I should be content if my duty amounts to the same thing,” he said. “We have been sent in to help to restore order, and it is my business just now to inquire into the doings of a certain Larry Grant. I wonder if you could tell me anything about him?”

He noticed the sudden intentness of Hetty’s face, though it was gone in an instant.

“What have you found out?” she asked.

“Very little that one could rely upon. Everybody I ask tells me something different, he seems a compound of the qualities of Coleman the Vigilante, our first President, and the notorious James boys. As they were gentlemen of quite different character, it seems to me that some of my informants are either prejudiced or mistaken.”

“Yes,” said Hetty. “He is like none of them. Larry is just a plain American who is fearlessly trying to do what he feels is right, though it is costing him a good deal. You see, I met him quite often before the trouble began.”

Cheyne glanced at her sharply, but Hetty met his gaze. “I don’t know,” he answered, “that one could say much more of any man.”

Just then Flora Schuyler and Miss Allonby came in. “Hetty,” said the latter, “everybody is waiting for you to sing.”

In the meanwhile, Allonby and his nephew sat with Torrance and Clavering, and one or two of the older men, in his office room. Clavering had just finished speaking when Allonby answered Torrance’s questioning glance.

“I have no use for beating round the bush,” he said. “Dollars are getting scarce with me, and, like some of my neighbours, I had to sell out a draft of stock. The fact that I’m throwing them on the market now is significant.”

One of the men nodded. “Allonby has put it straight,” he said. “I was over fixing things with the station agent, and he is going to send the first drafts through to Omaha in one lot if two of his biggest locomotives can haul the cars. Still, if Clavering has got hold of the right story, how the devil did the homestead-boys hear of it?”

Clavering glanced at Torrance with a little sardonic smile on his lips. “I don’t quite know, but a good many of our secrets have been leaking out.”

“You’re quite sure you are right, Clavering?” somebody asked.

“Yes. The information is worth the fifty dollars I paid for it. The homestead-boys mean to run that stock train through the Bitter Creek bridge. As you know, it’s a good big trestle, and it is scarcely likely we would get a head of stock out of the wreck alive.”

There were angry ejaculations and the faces round the table grew set and stern. Some of the men had seen what happens when a heavy train goes through a railroad trestle.

“It’s devilish!” said Allonby. “Larry is in the thing?”

“Well,” said Clavering drily, “it appears the boys can’t do anything unless they have an order from their executive, and the man who told me declared he had seen one signed by him. Still, one has to be fair to Larry, and it is quite likely some of the foreign Reds drove him into it. Any way, if we could get that paper—and I think I can—it would fix the affair on him.”

Torrance nodded. “Now we have the cavalry here, it would be enough to have him shot,” he said. “Well, this is going to suit us. But there must be no fooling. We want to lay hands upon them when they are at work on the trestle.”

The other men seemed doubtful, and Allonby made a protest. “It is by no means plain how it’s going to suit me to have my steers run through the bridge,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Clavering laughed. “You will not lose one of them,” he said. “Now, don’t ask any questions, but listen to me.”

There were objections to the scheme he suggested, but he won over the men who raised them, and when all had been arranged and Allonby had gone back to his other guests, Clavering appeared satisfied and Torrance very grim. Unfortunately, however, they had not bound Christopher Allonby to silence, and when he contrived to find a place near Miss Schuyler and Hetty he could not refrain from mentioning what he had heard. This was, however, the less astonishing since the cattle-barons’ wives and daughters shared their anxieties and were conversant with most of what happened.

“You have a kind of belief in the homestead-boys, Hetty?” he said.

“Yes, but everybody knows who I belong to.”

“Of course! Well, I guess you are not going to have any kind of belief in them now. They’re planning to run our big stock train through the Bitter Creek bridge.”

Hetty turned white. “They would never do that. Their leaders would not let them.”

“No?” said Allonby. “I’m sorry to mention it, but it seems they have Larry’s order.”

A little flush crept into Flora Schuyler’s face, but Hetty’s grew still more colourless and her dark eyes glowed. Then she shook her shoulders, and said with a scornful quietness, “Larry would not have a hand in it to save his life. There is not a semblance of truth in that story, Chris.”

Allonby glanced up in astonishment, but he was youthful, and that Hetty could have more than a casual interest in her old companion appeared improbable to him.

“It is quite a long time since you and Larry were on good terms, and no doubt he has changed,” he said. “Any way, his friends are going to try giant powder on the bridge, and if we are fortunate Cheyne will get the whole of them, and Larry, too. Now, we’ll change the topic, since it does not seem to please you.”

He changed it several times, but his companions, though they sat and even smiled now and then, heard very few of his remarks.

“I’m going,” he said at last, reproachfully. “I am sorry if I have bored you, but it is really quite difficult to talk to people who are thinking about another thing. It seems to me you are both in love with somebody, and it very clearly isn’t me.”

He moved away, and for a moment Hetty and Miss Schuyler did not look at one another. Then Hetty stood up.

“I should have screamed if he had stayed any longer,” she said. “The thing is just too horrible—but it is quite certain Larry does not know. I have got to tell him somehow. Think, Flo.”