The occasion when nine men with their hands tied behind them arrived at the Bar T ranch, accompanied by six others with Winchesters across their saddle bows, was an extremely happy one for Juliet Bissell. This happiness was not associated, except superficially, with the capture of the rustlers, but had to do especially with the receipt of a certain smeared and blackened journal from a certain tall and generously proportioned young man.

The captives arrived at noon, but it was nearly supper-time before she had finished reading, around, amid, among and between the lines, despite the fact that the lines themselves left very little doubt as to the writer’s meaning.

This was not the same beautiful girl Bud Larkin had left behind him that early morning of his escape. Since that time she had changed. The eyes that had formerly been but the beautiful abode of allurement and half-spoken promises, had taken on a sweet and patient seriousness. The corners 254 of her mouth still turned up as though she were about to smile, but there was a firmer set to them that spoke of suppressed impulses.

She moved with a greater dignity, and for the first time became aware of the real worth of her mother, who until now she had somehow taken for granted. Martha’s consternation and grief at her husband’s sudden and prolonged disappearance, only broken by the visit of Skidmore and his camera, had been really pitiful, and the girl’s eyes were opened to the real value and beauty of an undying love.

Her own misery, after the receipt of the letter brought by Skidmore, she had faced alone, and in her, as in all good and true natures, it had worked a change. It had softened her to the grief of another, and showed her, for the first time, that happiness is only really great when in sharp contrast with pain.

So this long and simple love-letter from Bud, while satisfying the cravings of the lover, stirred up again the misgivings of the doubter. And her cogitations resulted in the admission that Bud must be either one of two things. Either he was absolutely innocent of the imputations contained in the letter that Skidmore brought, or he was one of the most consummate villains at large. 255

There were grounds for both suppositions, and the girl, after hours of vain struggle, found herself still in the middle ground, but more nervous and anxious than she had ever been.

The arrival of Mike Stelton under guard two days after that of the other rustlers created a sensation. For the girl it was the blow that shattered another illusion, for although she had never cared for the foreman, her belief in his unswerving faithfulness to the Bissell house was absolute. Now to see him the admitted leader of the gang that had steadily impoverished her father was almost unbelievable.

The man who brought Stelton in also brought a hurried scrawl to Juliet from Bud, which read:

Probably the most miserable man in the whole cow country at this time was Smithy Caldwell. Aside from the fate he feared, his position among the captured rustlers was one of utter torture. 256 The men had discovered that it was through his selfish scheming that Stelton had been betrayed, and they treated him with the cruelty and scorn of rough, savage men.

So, when Stelton appeared, Caldwell fairly cringed. With the strange, unreasoning terror of a coward he feared bodily harm at the hands of the foreman, forgetting that, in all probability, his life was forfeit sooner or later.

His fear was all but realized, for no sooner were Stelton’s hands unbound as he caught sight of Caldwell than he made a leap for him and would have strangled him then and there had not others pulled the two apart.

“There, you whelp!” bellowed Stelton. “That’s a sample of what you’ll get later on. All I ask is to see you kickin’ at the end of a rope, you yellow-bellied traitor!” And Smithy, clutching at his throat, staggered, whimpering, away.

The day after Stelton’s arrival Juliet conceived the idea of questioning the foreman about the letter that she knew Smithy Caldwell had written her. At her request he was brought into the living-room of the ranch house with his hands tied to permit of the guard leaving them together.

Now that all Bud’s prophecies in regard to the 257 man had been fulfilled, she feared him, and one glance at his dark, contorted face as he was led in increased this fear.

For his part the very sight of this sweet, quiet girl for whom he had waited so long, and through whose lover he was now doomed, brought a very eruption of rage. His lips parted and bared his teeth, his eyes were bloodshot, and his swarthy face worked with fury.

“Mike, I’m sorry to see you here like this,” said Juliet gently.

“A lot you are!” he sneered brutally. “You’re tickled to death. Hope to see me swing, too, I suppose?”

“Don’t talk like that,” she protested, horrified at the change in the man. “I’m going to try to see what I can do for you, though Heaven knows you don’t deserve much.”

Fury choked him and prevented a reply. At last he managed to articulate.

“What do yuh want of me?” he growled.

“I want you to tell me about a letter that I received a few days ago. It was brought here by a man by the name of Skidmore, who takes pictures.”

At the identification of the letter, Stelton’s eyes glittered and his mouth grinned cruelly. 258

“What do yuh want to know about it?” he asked.

“First I want to know why you wrote it?”

“I didn’t write it,” he snarled.

“Well, then, why you had Caldwell write it?”

“How do you know I had Caldwell write it?”

His tone was nasty and she could see that he was enjoying the misery he caused her.

But though Juliet was humbled, she was none the less a daughter of her father, and at Stelton’s tone and manner her imperious anger flashed up.

“Look here, Stelton,” she said in a cold, even tone, “please remember who I am and treat me with respect. If you speak to me again as you have this afternoon I will call those men in and have you quirted up against a tree. If you don’t believe me, try it.”

But Stelton was beyond speech. All the blood in him seemed to rush to his head and distend the veins there. He struggled with his bonds so furiously that the girl rose to her feet in alarm. Then she walked to the library table, opened the drawer and took out a long, wooden-handled .45.

With this in her possession she resumed her seat. Presently the foreman, unable to free his hands, ceased his struggles through sheer exhaustion. 259

“I know you made Caldwell write that letter,” she said, balancing the gun, “and I want to know why you did it?”

Stelton, finding physical intimidation impossible, resorted to mental craft.

“I didn’t want you to love that sheepman,” he replied sullenly.

“Why not?”

“Because all those things about him are true, and I thought I’d let yuh know before yuh broke yore heart.”

She searched his face keenly and had to confess to herself that he spoke with absolute sincerity. Her face slowly paled, and for a moment the room seemed to whirl about her. The world appeared peopled with horrible gargoyles that resembled Stelton and that leered and gibbered at her everywhere.

The foreman saw her wince and grow pallid, and his fury was cooled with the ice of fiendish satisfaction. He could hurt her now.

“Because you say so doesn’t prove it to me,” she managed to say at last, though she scarcely recognized the voice that came from her tremulous lips.

“I can give you proof enough if you want it,” he snapped, suddenly taken with an idea. 260

“You can?” The words were pitiful, and her voice broke with the stress of her misery.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Get Smithy Caldwell in here. He knew that lover of yore’s when he wasn’t quite such a sheepman. He’ll tell yuh things that’ll make yore hair stand on end.”

In his delight at his plan Stelton could not keep the exultant cruelty out of his voice.

Juliet pounded on the floor with the butt of her weapon (this was the signal agreed upon for the removal of Stelton), and a sheepman almost immediately thrust his head in at the door.

“Yes, ma’am?” he inquired.

“Bring Smithy Caldwell in, please,” she requested, “and tie his hands.”

When the miserable fellow was pushed through the doorway and saw Stelton standing inside he shrank back against the wall and stood looking from one to the other with the quick, white eyes of a trapped animal. The thought came to him that perhaps these two were already deciding his fate, and his weak chin quivered.

“Sit down, Caldwell,” said Juliet, coolly motioning him to one of the rough chairs. He slunk into it obediently. 261

“I want to ask you about that letter you sent me in which you said several things about Mr. Larkin,” she went on not unkindly, her heart going out to the wretch, so abject was his misery.

“Mike here says that everything in that letter is true, and that you can prove it,” she continued. “Is that so?”

Involuntarily Caldwell looked toward Stelton for orders, as he had always done, and in those beetling brows and threatening eyes saw a menace of personal injury that indicated his course at once.

“No, don’t look at Mike; look at me,” cried Juliet, and Caldwell obediently switched his gaze back. “Are those things true?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Caldwell without hesitation.

“You mean to tell me that he was married before?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where?”

“In Chicago to a woman by the name of Mary. She was a cousin of mine.”

“Oh, God!” The low cry burst from Juliet’s pale lips before she could recover herself, and Stelton lay back in his chair, feeding his unspeakable nature upon the girl’s torture.

“Shall I tell you about it?” Caldwell, seeing 262 his former chief was pleased, now took the initiative.

“Oh, no, no!” she cried frantically. “I don’t want to hear. I never want to hear!”

For a few moments there was silence in the low, bare room while Juliet recovered herself. Then she said:

“And about that other thing in the letter. Why are the officers after Bud?”

“For forgery, ma’am. That is, I mean, they would be after him if they knew everything.” A cunning smirk crossed Smithy’s countenance.

“Why don’t they know everything?” asked the girl.

“Because I haven’t told ’em,” was the reply.

“And so you blackmailed him under threat of telling, did you?”

“Well, he seemed to be willin’,” countered Smithy evasively, “or he wouldn’t have paid.”

“Why did you write me that letter, Caldwell?”

“The boss here told me to,” motioning toward Stelton.

“What reason did he give for telling you?”

Caldwell did not like this question. He turned and twisted in his seat without replying, and shot a quick glance at Stelton, uncertain what reply 263 was expected of him. But he got no help there.

Stelton was relishing the fear and anxiety of his tool and watched to see which way the other’s cowardice would lead him. He was quite unprepared for the answer that came.

“It is a long worm that has no turning,” someone has remarked, and Caldwell had reached his length. The pure cruelty of Stelton’s conduct revolted him, and now, sure that Stelton could do him no harm because of his tied hands, he took a vicious dig at his former leader.

“He wanted to marry you himself,” he said, “and offered me a hundred dollars to write you that letter.”

Stelton sat for a moment open-mouthed at the temerity of his subordinate and then leaped up with a roar like the bellow of a bull.

Juliet pounded hastily on the floor, and the sheepmen appeared just as Stelton fetched Caldwell a kick that sent him half-way across the room.

“Take them both away,” ordered the girl, suddenly feeling faint and ill after the mental and physical struggle of the interview.

When the two had gone she sank back in her chair and faced the awful facts that these men had given her. 264

“Bud! Bud! My lover!” she cried brokenly to herself. “I want you, I need you now to tell me it is all a lie!”

She remained for several minutes sunk in a kind of torpor. Then, as though she had suddenly arrived at some great decision, she rose slowly, but determinedly, and left the room. Finding one of the men, she ordered her horse saddled and retired to change her clothes.

Her mother came in and asked if she were going riding alone.

“Yes, mother,” replied the girl quietly. “I am going to Bud and find out the truth about him. I cannot live like this any longer. I shall go crazy or kill myself. But I promise you this, that I will find father and bring him home to you.”

The eyes of Martha Bissell clouded with long-suppressed tears.

“God bless you, Juliet,” she said. “I can’t live without him any longer.”