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THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
• • •• • 
 
 AhttMAmuk^S^..' 
 
 4 IF YOU WANT THE PARSON TO DIE, DON'T LOOK AT ME WHEN HE STEPS IN." 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 The Trail to Yesterday. 
 
The Trail To 
 Yesterday 
 
 By Charles Alden Seltzer 
 
 Author of 
 
 "The Two -Gun Man/' 
 
 "The Coming of the Law," 
 
 Etc. 
 
 With Three Illustrations 
 
 A. t. BURT COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
Copyright, 1913, by 
 OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 • • • . • 
 
I 
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGJE 
 
 I. A Woman on the Trail .... n 
 
 II. The Dim Trail 40 
 
 III. Converging Trails 53 
 
 IV. This Picture and That . ... . 72 
 V. Dakota Evens a Score . . ... .. 88 
 
 VI. Kindred Spirits . . . ., . . Ill 
 
 VII. Bogged Down ...... 121 
 
 VIII. Sheila Fans a Flame . ,., . . 146 
 
 IX. Strictly Business 163 
 
 X. Duncan Adds Two and Two . . 196 
 
 XI. A Parting and a Visit .... 215 
 
 XII. A Meeting on the River Trail . 231 
 
 XIII. The Shot in the Back .... 254 
 
 XIV. Langford Lays Off the Mask . . 275 
 XV. The Parting on the River Trail . 303 
 
 XVI. Sheriff Allen Takes a Hand . . 310 
 
 XVII. Doubler Talks 323 
 
 XVIII. For Dakota 336 
 
 XIX. Some Memories 344 
 
 XX. Into the Unknown $59 
 
 M40254 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " If you want the Parson to 
 die, don't look at me when 
 he steps in." . Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "Won't you please get us out of 
 this?" * 134 
 
 Duncan grasped for his pistol, but 
 the hand holding it was stamped 
 violently into the earth, . . ..-. 161 
 
THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
THE TRAIL TO 
 YESTERDAY 
 
 CHAPTER I - 
 
 A WOMAN ON THE-^R^I^ ' r ^ 
 
 MANY disquieting thoughts oppressed 
 Miss Sheila Langford as she halted 
 her pony on the crest of a slight rise 
 and swept the desolate and slumberous 
 world with an anxious glance. Quite the 
 most appalling of these thoughts developed 
 from a realization of the fact that she had 
 lost the trail. The whole categorical array 
 of inconveniences incidental to traveling in 
 a new, unsettled country paled into insig- 
 nificance when she considered this horrify- 
 ing and entirely unromantic fact. She was 
 lost ; she had strayed from the trail, she was 
 alone and night was coming. 
 
 She would not have cared so much about 
 the darkness, for she had never been a cow- 
 ard, and had conditions been normal she 
 would have asked nothing better than a 
 
 11 
 
12 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 rapid gallop over the dim plains. But as 
 she drew her pony up on the crest of the 
 rise a rumble of thunder reached her ears. 
 Of course it would rain, now that she had 
 lost the trail, she decided, yielding to a sud- 
 den, bitter anger. It usually did rain when 
 one was abroad without prospect of shelter; 
 it always rained when one was lost. 
 
 Well, there was no help for it, of course, 
 and she had only herself to blame for the 
 blunder. For the other — not unusual — irri- 
 tating details that had combined to place her 
 in this awkward position she could blame, 
 first Duncan, the manager of the Double 
 R — who should have sent someone to meet 
 her at the station; the station agent — who 
 had allowed her to set forth in search of the 
 Double R without a guide, — though even 
 now, considering this phase of the situation, 
 she remembered that the agent had told her 
 there was no one to send — and certainly the 
 desolate appearance of Lazette had borne 
 out this statement ; and last, she could blame 
 the country itself for being an unfeatured 
 wilderness. 
 
 Something might be said in extenuation 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 13 
 
 of the station agent's and the Double R 
 manager's sins of omission, but without 
 doubt the country was what she had termed 
 it — an unfeatured wilderness. Her first 
 sensation upon getting a view of the coun- 
 try had been one of deep disappointment. 
 There was plenty of it, she had decided, — 
 enough to make one shrink from its very 
 bigness; yet because it was different from 
 the land she had been accustomed to she felt 
 that somehow it was inferior. Her father 
 had assured her of its beauty, and she had 
 come prepared to fall in love with it, but 
 within the last half hour — when she had be- 
 gun to realize that she had lost the trail — 
 she had grown to hate it. 
 
 She hated the desolation, the space, the si- 
 lence, the arid stretches ; she had made grim- 
 aces at the " cactuses " with their forbidding 
 pricklers — though she could not help ad- 
 miring them, they seemed to be the only 
 growing thing in the country capable of de- 
 fying the heat and the sun. Most of all she 
 hated the alkali dust. All afternoon she had 
 kept brushing it off her clothing and clear- 
 ing it out of her throat, and only within the 
 
14 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 last half hour she had begun to realize that 
 her efforts had been without result — it lay 
 thick all over her; her throat was dry and 
 parched with it, and her eyes burned. 
 
 She sat erect, flushed and indignant, to 
 look around at the country. A premonitory 
 calm had succeeded the warning rumble. 
 Ominous black clouds were scurrying, wind- 
 whipped, spreading fan-like through the 
 sky, blotting out the colors of the sunset, 
 darkening the plains, creating weird shad- 
 ows. Objects that Sheila had been able to 
 see quite distinctly when she had reined in 
 her pony were no longer visible. She stirred 
 uneasily. 
 
 " We'll go somewhere," she said aloud to 
 the pony, as she urged the animal down the 
 slope. " If it rains we'll get just as wet 
 here as we would anywhere else." She was 
 surprised at the queer quiver in her voice. 
 She was going to be brave, of course, but 
 somehow there seemed to be little consola- 
 tion in the logic of her remark. 
 
 The pony shambled forward, carefully 
 picking its way, and Sheila mentally thanked 
 the station agent for providing her with so 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 15 
 
 reliable a beast. There was one consoling 
 fact at any rate, and she retracted many 
 hard things she had said in the early part of 
 her ride about the agent. 
 
 Shuffling down the slope the pony struck 
 a level. After traveling over this for a quar- 
 ter of an hour Sheila became aware of an 
 odd silence; looking upward she saw that 
 the clouds were no longer in motion; that 
 they were hovering, low and black, directly 
 overhead. A flash of lightning suddenly 
 illuminated the sky, showing Sheila a great 
 waste of world that stretched to four hori- 
 zons. It revealed, in the distance, the naked 
 peaks of some hills; a few frowning buttes 
 that seemed to fringe a river ; some gullies in 
 which lurked forbidding shadows; clumps 
 of desert growth — the cactus — now seeming 
 grotesque and mocking; the snaky octilla; 
 the filmy, rustling mesquite; the dust-laden 
 sage-brush ; the soap weed ; the sentinel lance 
 of the yucca. Then the light was gone and 
 darkness came again. 
 
 Sheila shuddered and vainly tried to force 
 down a queer lump that had risen in her 
 throat over the desolation of it all. It way 
 
16 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 not anything like her father had pictured it! 
 Men had the silly habit of exaggerating in 
 these things, she decided — they were rough 
 themselves and they made the mistake of 
 thinking that great, grim things were at- 
 tractive. What beauty was there, for in- 
 stance, in a country where there was noth- 
 ing but space and silence and grotesque 
 weeds — and rain? Before she could answer 
 this question a sudden breeze swept over 
 her; a few large drops of rain dashed into 
 her face, and her thoughts returned to her- 
 self. 
 
 The pony broke into a sharp lope and she 
 allowed it to hold the pace, wisely conclud- 
 ing that the animal was probably more fa- 
 miliar with the country than she. She found 
 her self wondering why she had not thought 
 of that before — when, for example, a few 
 miles back she had deliberately guided it 
 out of a beaten trail toward a section of 
 country where, she had imagined, the trav- 
 eling would be better. No doubt she had 
 strayed from the trail just there. 
 
 The drops of rain grew more frequent; 
 they splashed into her face; she could feel 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 17 
 
 them striking her arms and shoulders. The 
 pony's neck and mane became moist under 
 her hand, the darkness increased for a time 
 and the continuing rumble in the heavens 
 presaged a steady downpour. 
 
 The pony moved faster now; it needed no 
 urging, and Sheila held her breath for fear 
 that it might fall, straining her eyes to watch 
 its limbs as they moved with the sure regu- 
 larity of an automaton. After a time they 
 reached the end of the level; Sheila could 
 tell that the pony was negotiating another 
 rise, for it slackened speed appreciably and 
 she felt herself settling back against the 
 cantle of the saddle. A little later she real- 
 ized that they were going down the opposite 
 side of the rise, and a moment later they 
 were again on a level. A deeper blackness 
 than they had yet encountered rose on their 
 right, and Sheila correctly decided it to be 
 caused by a stretch of wood that she had ob- 
 served from the crest of the rise where she 
 had halted her pony for a view of the coun- 
 try. After an interval, during which she de- 
 bated the wisdom of directing her pony into 
 jjtfae wood for protection from the rain which 
 
18 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 was now coming against her face in vicious 
 slants, her pony nickered shrilly! 
 
 A thrill of fear assailed Sheila. She knew 
 horses and was certain that some living thing 
 was on the trail in front of her. Halting 
 the pony, she held tightly to the reins 
 through a short, tense silence. Then pres- 
 ently, from a point just ahead on the trail, 
 came an answering nicker in the horse lan- 
 guage. Sheila's pony cavorted nervously 
 and broke into a lope, sharper this time in 
 spite of the tight rein she kept on it. Her 
 fear grew, though mingling with it was a 
 devout hope. If only the animal which had 
 answered her own pony belonged to the 
 Double R! She would take back many of 
 the unkind and uncharitable things she had 
 said about the country since she had lost 
 the trail. 
 
 The pony's gait had quickened into a gal- 
 lop — which she could not check. In the past 
 few minutes the darkness had lifted a little ; 
 she saw that the pony was making a gradual 
 turn, following a bend in the river. Then 
 came a flash of lightning and she saw, a 
 short distance ahead, a pony and rider, sta- 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 19 
 
 tionary, watching. With an effort she suc- 
 ceeded in reining in her own animal, and 
 while she sat in the saddle, trembling and 
 anxious, there came another flash of light- 
 ning and she saw the rider's face. 
 
 The rider was a cowboy. She had dis- 
 tinctly seen the leathern chaps on his legs; 
 the broad hat, the scarf at his throat. Doubt 
 and fear assailed her. What if the man did 
 not belong to the Double R? What if he 
 were a road agent — an outlaw? Immedi- 
 ately she heard an exclamation from him in 
 which she detected much surprise and not a 
 little amusement. 
 
 " Shucks ! " he said. f. It's a woman ! " 
 There came a slow movement. In the lift- 
 ing darkness Sheila saw the man return a 
 pistol to the holster that swung at his right 
 hip. He carelessly threw one leg over the 
 pommel of his saddle and looked at her. She 
 sat very rigid, debating a sudden impulse to 
 urge her pony past him and escape the dan- 
 ger that seemed to threaten. While she 
 watched he shoved the broad brimmed hat 
 back from his forehead. He was not over 
 five feet distant from her; she could feel her 
 
20 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 pony nuzzling his with an inquisitive muzzle, 
 and she could dimly see the rider's face. It 
 belonged to a man of probably twenty-eight 
 or thirty; it had regular features, keen, level 
 eyes and a firm mouth. There was a slight 
 smile on his face and somehow the fear that 
 had oppressed Sheila began to take flight. 
 And while she sat awaiting the turn of 
 events his voice again startled her: 
 
 " I reckon you've stampeded off your 
 range, ma'am?" 
 
 A sigh of relief escaped Sheila. The 
 voice was very gentle and friendly. 
 
 " I don't think that I have stampeded— 
 whatever that means," she returned, reas- 
 sured now that the stranger gave promise of 
 being none of the dire figures of her imagi- 
 nation ; " I am lost merely. You see, I am 
 looking for the Double R ranch." 
 
 "Oh," he said inexpressively; "the 
 Double R." 
 
 There ensued a short silence and she could 
 not see his face for he had bowed his head 
 a little and the broad brimmed hat inter- 
 vened. 
 
 " Do you know where the Double R ranch 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 21 
 
 is?" There was a slight impatience in her 
 voice. 
 
 "Sure," came ^ his voice. "It's up the 
 crick a ways." 
 
 "How far?" 
 " Twenty miles." 
 
 "Oh!" This information was disheart- 
 ening. Twenty miles! And the rain was 
 coming steadily down ; she could feel it soak- 
 ing through her clothing. A bitter, unrea- 
 soning anger against nature, against the cir- 
 cumstances which had conspired to place her 
 in this position ; against the man for his ap- 
 parent lack of interest in her welfare, moved 
 her, though she might have left the man out 
 of it, for certainly he could not be held re- 
 sponsible. Yet his nonchalance, his serenity 
 — something about him — irritated her. 
 Didn't he know she was getting wet ? Why 
 didn't he offer her shelter? It did not occur 
 to her that perhaps he knew of no shelter. 
 But while her indignation over his inaction 
 grew she saw that he was doing something — 
 fumbling at a bundle that seemed to be 
 strapped to the cantle of his saddle. And 
 then he leaned forward — very close to her — 
 
22 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 and she saw that he was offering her a tar- 
 paulin. 
 
 " Wrap yourself in this," he directed. " It 
 ain't pretty, of course, but it'll keep you 
 from getting drenched. Rain ain't no re- 
 specter of persons." 
 
 She detected a compliment in this but ig- 
 nored it and placed the tarpaulin around 
 her shoulders. Then it suddenly occurred 
 to her that he was without protection. She 
 hesitated. 
 
 " Thank you," she said, " but I can't take 
 this. You haven't anything for yourself." 
 
 A careless laugh reached her. " That's 
 all right; I don't need anything." 
 
 There was silence again. He broke it 
 with a question. 
 
 " What are you figuring to do now? " 
 
 What was she going to do? The prospect 
 of a twenty-mile ride through a strange 
 country in a drenching rain was far from 
 appealing to her. Her hesitation was elo- 
 quent. 
 
 " I do not know," she answered, no way 
 of escape from the dilemma presenting 
 itself. 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 23 
 
 6 You can go on, of course," he said, " and 
 get lost, or hurt — or killed. It's a bad trail. 
 Or " — he continued, hesitating a little and 
 appearing to speak with an effort— there's 
 my shack. You can have that." 
 
 Then he did have a dwelling place. This 
 voluntary information removed another of 
 the fearsome doubts that had beset her. She 
 had been afraid that he might prove to be 
 an irresponsible wanderer, but when a man 
 kept a house it gave to his character a cer- 
 tain recommendation, it suggested stability, 
 more, it indicated honesty. 
 
 Of course she would have to accept the 
 shelter of his " shack." There was no help 
 for it, for it was impossible for her to enter- 
 tain the idea of riding twenty miles over an 
 unknown trail, through the rain and dark- 
 ness. Moreover, she was not afraid of the 
 stranger now, for in spite of his easy, serene 
 movements, his quiet composure, his sup- 
 pressed amusement, Sheila detected a note 
 in his voice which told her that he was deeply 
 concerned over her welfare — even though 
 he seemed to be enjoying her. In any event 
 she could not go forward, for the unknown 
 
24 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 terrified her and she felt that in accepting 
 the proffered shelter of his " shack " she was 
 choosing the lesser of two dangers. She de- 
 cided quickly. 
 
 " I shall accept — I think. Will you please 
 hurry? I am getting wet in spite of this — 
 this covering." 
 
 Wheeling without a word he proceeded 
 down the trail, following the river. The 
 darkness had abated somewhat, the low- 
 hanging clouds had taken on a grayish- 
 white hue, and the rain was coming down in 
 torrents. Sheila pulled the tarpaulin tighter 
 about her shoulders and clung desperately 
 to the saddle, listening to the whining of the 
 wind through the trees that flanked her, 
 keeping a watchful eye on the tall, swaying, 
 indistinct figure of her guide. 
 
 After riding for a quarter of an hour they 
 reached a little clearing near the river and 
 Sheila saw her guide halt his pony and dis- 
 mount. A squat, black shape loomed out of 
 the darkness near her and, riding closer, she 
 saw a small cabin, of the lean-to type, con- 
 structed of adobe bricks. A dog barked in 
 front of her and she heard the stranger 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 25 
 
 speak sharply to it. He silently approached 
 and helped her down from the saddle. Then 
 he led both horses away into the darkness on 
 the other side of the cabin. During his ab- 
 sence she found time to glance about her. 
 It was a desolate place. Did he live here 
 alone? 
 
 The silence brought no answer to this 
 question, and while she continued to search 
 out objects in the darkness she saw the 
 stranger reappear around the corner of the 
 cabin and approach the door. He fumbled 
 at it for a moment and threw it open. He 
 disappeared within and an instant later 
 Sheila heard the scratch of a match and saw 
 a feeble glimmer of light shoot out through 
 the doorway. Then the stranger's voice: 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 He had lighted a candle that stood on a 
 table in the center of the room, and in its 
 glaring flicker as she stepped inside Sheila 
 caught her first good view of the stranger's 
 face. She felt reassured instantly, for it 
 was a good face, with lines denoting strength 
 of character. The drooping mustache did 
 not quite conceal his lips, which were straight 
 
26 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 and firm. Sheila was a little disturbed over 
 the hard expression in them, however, 
 though she had heard that the men of the 
 West lived rather hazardous lives and she 
 supposed that in time their faces showed it. 
 It was his eyes, though, that gave her a fleet- 
 ing glimpse of his character. They were 
 blue — a steely, fathomless blue; baffling, 
 mocking; swimming — as she looked into 
 them now — with an expression that she 
 could not attempt to analyze. One thing 
 she saw in them only, — recklessness— and 
 she drew a slow, deep breath. 
 
 They were standing very close together. 
 He caught the deep-drawn breath and 
 looked quickly at her, his eyes alight and 
 narrowed with an expression which was a 
 curious mingling of quizzical humor and 
 grim enjoyment. Her own eyes did not 
 waver, though his were boring into hers 
 steadily, as though he were trying to read 
 her thoughts. 
 
 " Afraid? " he questioned, with a sugges- 
 tion of sarcasm in the curl of his lips. 
 
 Sheila stiffened, her eyes flashing defiance. 
 She studied him steadily, her spirit battling 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 27 
 
 his over the few feet that separated them. 
 Then she spoke deliberately, evenly: " I 
 am not afraid of you! " 
 
 " That's right/' A gratified smile broke 
 on the straight, hard lips. A new expres- 
 sion came into his eyes — admiration. 
   You've got nerve, ma'am. I'm some 
 pleased that you've got that much trust in 
 me. You don't need to be scared. You're 
 as safe here as you'd be out there." He 
 nodded toward the open door. " Safer," he 
 added with a grave smile ; " you might get 
 hurt out there." 
 
 He turned abruptly and went to the door, 
 where he stood for a long time looking out 
 into the darkness. She watched him for a 
 moment and then removed the tarpaulin and 
 hung it from a nail in the wall of the cabin. 
 Standing near the table she glanced about 
 her. There was only one room in the cabin, 
 but it was large — about twenty by twenty, 
 she estimated. Beside an open fireplace in a 
 corner were several pots and pans — his cook- 
 ing utensils. On a shelf were some dishes. A 
 guitar swung from a gaudy string suspended 
 from the wall. A tin of tobacco and a pipe 
 
28 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 reposed on another shelf beside a box of 
 matches. A bunk filled a corner and she 
 went over to it, fearing. But it was clean 
 and the bed clothing fresh and she smiled a 
 little as she continued her examination. 
 
 The latter finished she went to a small 
 window above the bunk, looking out into the 
 night. The rain came against the glass in 
 stinging slants, and watching it she found 
 herself feeling very grateful to the man who 
 stood in the doorway. Turning abruptly, 
 she caught him watching her, an appraising 
 smile on his face. 
 
 " You ought to be hungry by now," he 
 said. " There's a fireplace and some wood. 
 Do you want a fire? " 
 
 In response to her nod he kindled a fire, 
 she standing beside the window watching 
 him, noting his lithe, easy movements. She 
 could not mistake the strength and virility 
 of his figure, even with his back turned to 
 her, but it seemed to her that there was a 
 certain recklessness in his actions — as though 
 his every movement advertised a careless re- 
 gard for consequences. She held her breath 
 when he split a short log into slender splin- 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 29 
 
 ters, for he swung the short-handled axe 
 with a loose grasp, as though he cared very 
 little where its sharp blade landed. But she 
 noted that he struck with precision despite 
 his apparent carelessness, every blow falling 
 true. His manner of handling the axe re- 
 flected the spirit that shone in his eyes when, 
 after kindling the fire, he stood up and 
 looked at her, 
 
 " There's grub in the chuck box," he 
 stated shortly. " There's some pans and 
 things. It ain't what you might call elegant 
 — not what you've been used to, I expect. 
 But it's a heap better than nothing, and I 
 reckon you'll be able to get along." He 
 turned and walked to the doorway, standing 
 in it for an instant, facing out. " Good- 
 night," he added. The tarpaulin dangled 
 from his arm. 
 
 Evidently he intended going away. A 
 sudden dread of being alone filled her. 
 " Wait ! " she cried involuntarily. " Where 
 are you going? " 
 
 He halted and looked back at her, an odd 
 smile on his face. 
 
 " To my bunk." 
 
30 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " Oh! " She could not analyze the smile 
 on his face, but in it she thought she detected 
 something subtle — untruthfulness perhaps. 
 She glanced at the tarpaulin and from it to 
 his eyes, holding her gaze steadily. 
 
 " You are going to sleep in the open," she 
 said. 
 
 He caught the accusation in her eyes and 
 his face reddened. 
 
 " Well," he admitted, " I've done it be- 
 fore." 
 
 " Perhaps," she said, a little doubtfully. 
 " But I do not care to feel that I am driving 
 you out into the storm. You might catch 
 cold and die. And I should not want to 
 think that I was responsibe for your death." 
 
 " A little wetting wouldn't hurt me." He 
 looked at her appraisingly, a glint of sym- 
 pathy in his eyes. Standing there, framed 
 in the darkness, the flickering light from the 
 candle on his strong, grave face, he made a 
 picture that, she felt, she would not soon 
 forget. 
 
 "I reckon you ain't afraid to stay here 
 alone, ma'am," he said. 
 
 " Yes," she returned frankly, " I am 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 31 
 
 afraid. I do not want to stay here alone." 
 
 A pistol flashed in his hand, its butt to- 
 ward her, and now for the first time she saw 
 another at his hip. She repressed a desire 
 to shudder and stared with dilated eyes at 
 the extended weapon. 
 
 " Take this gun," he offered. " It ain't 
 much for looks, but it'll go right handy. 
 You can bar the door, too, and the window." 
 
 She refused to take the weapon. " I 
 wouldn't know how to use it if I had occa- 
 sion to. I prefer to have you remain in the 
 cabin — for protection." 
 
 He bowed. " I thought you'd — " he be- 
 gan, and then smiled wryly. " It certainly 
 would be some wet outside," he admitted., 
 " It wouldn't be pleasant sleeping. I'll lay 
 over here by the door when I get my blan- 
 kets." 
 
 He went outside and in a few minutes re- 
 appeared with his blankets and saddle. 
 Without speaking a word to Sheila he laid 
 the saddle down, spread the blanket over it, 
 and stretched himself out on his back. 
 
 " I don't know about the light," he said 
 after an interval of silence, during which 
 
32 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Sheila sat on the edge of the bunk and re- 
 garded his profile appraisingly. You can 
 blow it out if you like." 
 
 " I prefer to have it burning." 
 
 " Suit yourself." 
 
 Sheila got up and placed the candle in a 
 tin dish as a precaution against fire. Then, 
 when its position satisfied her she left the 
 table and went to the bunk, stretching her- 
 self out on it, fully dressed. 
 
 For a long time she lay, listening to the 
 soft patter of the rain on the roof, looking 
 upward at the drops that splashed against 
 the window, listening to the fitful whining 
 of the wind through the trees near the cabin. 
 Her eyes closed presently, sleep was fast 
 claiming her. Then sjie heard her host's 
 voice : 
 
 " You're from the East, I reckon." 
 
 "Yes," 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " New York." 
 
 "City?" 
 
 " Albany." 
 
 There was a silence. Sheila was thor- 
 oughly awake again, and once more her gaze 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 33 
 
 went to the window, where unceasing 
 streams trickled down the glass. Whatever 
 fear she had had of the owner of the cabin 
 had long ago been dispelled by his manner 
 which, though puzzling, hinted of the gen- 
 tleman. She would have liked him better 
 were it not for the reckless gleam in his eyes ; 
 that gleam, it seemed to her, indicated a 
 trait of character which was not wholly ad* 
 mirable. 
 
 " What have you come out here for? * 
 Sheila smiled at the rain-spattered win- 
 dow, a flash of pleased vanity in her eyes. 
 His voice had been low, but in it she detected 
 much curiosity, even interest. It was not 
 surprising, of course, that he should feel an 
 interest in her; other men had been inter- 
 ested in her too, only they had not been men 
 that lived in romantic wildernesses, — ob- 
 serve that she did not make use of the term 
 " unfeatured," which she had manufactured 
 soon after realizing that she was lost — nor 
 had they carried big revolvers, like this man, 
 who seemed also to know very well how to 
 use them. 
 
 Those other men who had been interested 
 
34 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 in her had had a way of looking at her ; there 
 had always been a significant boldness in 
 their eyes which belied the gentleness of de- 
 meanor which, she had always been sure, 
 merely masked their real characters. She 
 had never been able to look squarely at any 
 of those men, the men of her circle who had 
 danced attendance upon her at the social 
 functions that had formerly filled her exis- 
 tence — without a feeling of repugnance. 
 
 They had worn man-shapes, of course, 
 but somehow they had seemed to lack some- 
 thing real and vital ; seemed to have pos- 
 sessed nothing of that forceful, magnetic 
 personality which was needed to arouse her 
 sympathy and interest. Not that the man 
 on the floor in front of the door interested 
 her — she could not admit that! But she had 
 felt a sympathy for him in his loneliness, 
 and she had looked into his eyes — had been 
 able to look steadily into them, and though 
 she had seen expressions that had puzzled 
 her, she had at least seen nothing to cause 
 her to feel any uneasiness. She had seen 
 manliness there, and indomitability, and 
 force, and it had seemed to her to be suffi- 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 35 
 
 cient. His would be an ideal face were it 
 not for the expression that lingered about 
 the lips, were it not for the reckless glint in 
 his eyes — a glint that revealed an untamed 
 spirit. 
 
 His question remained unanswered. He 
 stirred impatiently, and glancing at him 
 Sheila saw that he had raised himself so 
 that his chin rested in his hand, his elbow 
 supported by the saddle. 
 
 " You here for a visit? " he questioned. 
 
 " Perhaps," she said. " I do not know 
 how long I shall stay. My father has bought 
 the Double R ." 
 
 For a long time it seemed that he would 
 have no comment to make on this and 
 Sheila's lips took on a decidedly petulant 
 expression. Apparently he was not inter- 
 ested in her after all. 
 
 "Then Duncan has sold out?" There 
 was satisfaction in his voice. 
 
 " You are keen," she mocked. 
 
 " And tickled," he added. 
 
 His short laugh brought a sudden interest 
 into her eyes. " Then you don't like Dun- 
 can," she said. 
 
36 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 "I reckon you're some keen too," came 
 the mocking response. 
 
 Sheila flushed, turned and looked defiantly 
 at him. His hand still supported his head 
 and there was an unmistakable interest in 
 his eyes as he caught her glance at him and 
 smiled. 
 
 " You got any objections to telling me 
 your name? We ain't been introduced, you 
 know? " he said. 
 
 " It is Sheila Langford." 
 
 She had turned her head and was giving 
 her attention to the window above her. The 
 fingers of the hand that had been support- 
 ing his head slowly clenched, he raised him- 
 self slightly, his body rigid, his chin thrust- 
 ing, his face pale, his eyes burning with a 
 sudden fierce fire. Once he opened his lips 
 to speak, but instantly closed them again, 
 and a smile wreathed them — a mirthless 
 smile that had in it a certain cold caution 
 and cunning. After a silence that lasted 
 long his voice came again, drawling, well- 
 controlled, revealing nothing of the emotion 
 which had previously affected him. 
 
 " What is your father's name? " 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 37 
 
 "David Dowd Langford. An uncom- 
 mon middle name, isn't it? " 
 
 " Yes. Uncommon," came his reply. His 
 face, with the light of the candle gleaming 
 full upon it, bore a queer pallor — the white 
 of cold ashes. His right hand, which had 
 been resting carelessly on the blanket, was 
 now gripping it, the muscles tense and knot- 
 ted. Yet after another long silence his voice 
 came again — drawling, well-controlled, as 
 before: 
 
 " What is he coming out here for ? " 
 
 " He has retired from business and is com- 
 ing out here for his health." 
 
 " What business was he in? " 
 
 " Wholesale hardware." 
 
 He was silent again and presently, hear- 
 ing him stir, Sheila looked covertly at him. 
 He had turned, his back was toward her, 
 and he was stretched out on the blanket as 
 though, fully satisfied with the result of his 
 questioning, he intended going to sleep. For 
 several minutes Sheila watched him with a 
 growing curiosity. It was like a man to ask 
 all and give nothing. He had questioned 
 her to his complete satisfaction but had told 
 
38 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 nothing of himself. She was determined to 
 discover something about him. 
 
 " Who are you? " she questioned, 
 
 " Dakota/ 5 he said shortly. 
 
 " Dakota? " she repeated, puzzled. " That 
 isn't a name ; it's a State — or a Territory." 
 
 " I'm Dakota. Ask anybody." There 
 was a decided drawl in his voice. 
 
 This information was far from being sat- 
 isfactory, but she supposed it must answer. 
 Still, she persisted. " Where are you 
 from?" 
 
 " Dakota." 
 
 That seemed to end it. It had been a 
 short quest and an unsatisfactory one. It 
 was perfectly plain to her that he was some 
 sort of a rancher — at the least a cowboy. It 
 was also plain that he had been a cowboy be- 
 fore coming to this section of the country — 
 probably in Dakota. She was perplexed 
 and vexed and nibbled impatiently at her 
 lips. 
 
 " Dakota isn't your real name," she de- 
 clared sharply. 
 
 " Ain't it? " There came the drawl again. 
 It irritated her this time. 
 
A WOMAN ON THE TRAIL 39 
 
 " No! " she snapped, 
 
 " Well, it's as good as any other. Good- 
 night." 
 
 Sheila did not answer. Five minutes later 
 she was asleep. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE DIM TRAIL 
 
 SHEILA had been dreaming of a world 
 in which there was nothing but rain 
 and mud and clouds and reckless-eyed 
 individuals who conversed in irritating 
 drawls when a sharp crash of thunder 
 awakened her. During her sleep she had 
 turned her face to the wall, and when her 
 eyes opened the first thing that her gaze 
 rested on was the small window above her 
 head. She regarded it for some time, fol- 
 lowing with her eyes the erratic streams 
 that trickled down the glass, stretching out 
 wearily, listening to the wind. It was cold 
 and bleak outside and she had much to be 
 thankful for. 
 
 She was glad that she had not allowed the 
 mysterious inhabitant of the cabin to sleep 
 out in his tarpaulin, for the howling of the 
 wind brought weird thoughts into her mind ; 
 
 40 
 
THE DIM TRAIL 41 
 
 she reflected upon her helplessness and it 
 was extremely satisfying to know that within 
 ten feet of her lay a man whose two big re- 
 volvers — even though she feared them — 
 seemed to insure protection. It was odd, 
 she told herself, that she should place so 
 much confidence in Dakota, and her pres- 
 ence in the cabin with him was certainly a 
 breach of propriety which — were her friends 
 in the East to hear of it — would arouse much 
 comment — entirely unfavorable to her. Yes, 
 it was odd, yet considering Dakota, she was 
 not in the least disturbed. So far his con- 
 duct toward her had been that of the perfect 
 gentleman, and in spite of the recklessness 
 that gleamed in his eyes whenever he looked 
 at her she was certain that he would continue 
 to be a gentleman. 
 
 It was restful to lie and listen to the rain 
 splashing on the roof and against the win- 
 dow, but sleep, for some unaccountable rea- 
 son, seemed to grow farther from her — the 
 recollection of events during the past few 
 hours left no room in her thoughts for sleep. 
 Turning, after a while, to seek a more com- 
 fortable position, she saw Dakota sitting at 
 
42 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 the table, on the side opposite her, watching 
 her intently. 
 
 " Can't sleep, eh?" he said, when he saw 
 her looking at him. " Storm bother you? " 
 
 " I think it was the thunder that awak- 
 ened me," she returned. " Thunder always 
 does. Evidently it disturbs you too." 
 
 " I haven't been asleep," he said in a curt 
 tone. 
 
 He continued to watch her with a quiet, 
 appraising gaze. It was evident that he 
 had been thinking of her when she had 
 turned to look at him. She flushed with em- 
 barrassment over the thought that while she 
 had been asleep he must have been consider- 
 ing her, and yet, looking closely at him now, 
 she decided that his expression was frankly 
 impersonal. 
 
 He glanced at his watch. " You've been 
 asleep two hours," he said. " I've been 
 watching you — and envying you." 
 
 " Envying me? Why? Are you troubled 
 with insomnia? " 
 
 He laughed. " Nothing so serious as that. 
 It's just thoughts." 
 
 " Pleasant ones, of course." 
 
THE DIM TRAIL 43 
 
 " You might call them pleasant, I've 
 beer* thinking of you." 
 
 Sheila found no reply to make to this, but 
 blushed again. 
 
 " Thinking of you," repeated Dakota. 
 " Of the chance you took in coming out here 
 alone — in coming into my shack. We*re 
 twenty miles from town here — twenty miles 
 from the Double R — the nearest ranch. It 
 isn't likely that a soul will pass here for a 
 month. Suppose " 
 
 " We won't ' suppose/ if you please," said 
 Sheila. Her face had grown slowly pale, 
 but there was a confident smile on her lips 
 as she looked at him. 
 
 "No?" he said, watching her steadily. 
 " Why? Isn't it quite possible that you 
 could have fallen in with a sort of man " 
 
 " As it happens, I did not," interrupted 
 Sheila. 
 
 " How do you know? " 
 
 Sheila's gaze met his unwaveringly. " Be- 
 cause you are the man," she said slowly. 
 
 She thought she saw a glint of pleasure 
 in his eyes, but was not quite certain, for his 
 expression changed instantly. 
 
44 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " Fate, or Providence — or whatever you 
 are pleased to call the power that shuffles us 
 flesh and blood mannikins around — has a 
 way of putting us all in the right places. I 
 expect that's one of the reasons why you 
 didn't fall in with the sort of man I was go- 
 ing to tell you about," said Dakota. 
 
 " I don't see what Fate has to do — " be- 
 gan Sheila, wondering at his serious tone. 
 
 " Odd, isn't it? " he drawled. 
 
 "What is odd?" 
 
 " That you don't see. But lots of people 
 don't see. They're chucked and shoved 
 around like men on a chess board, and 
 though they're always interested they don't 
 usually know what it's all about. Just as 
 well too — usually." 
 
 " I don't see " 
 
 He smiled mysteriously. "Did I say 
 that I expected you to see?" he said. 
 " There isn't anything personal in this, aside 
 from the fact that I was trying to show you 
 that some one was foolish in sending you out 
 here alone. Some day you'll look back on 
 your visit here and then you'll understand." 
 
 He got up and walked to the door, open- 
 
THE DIM TRAIL 45 
 
 ing it and standing there looking put into 
 the darkness. Shelia watched him, puzzled 
 by his mysterious manner, though not in the 
 least afraid of him. Several times while 
 he stood at the door he turned and looked at 
 her and presently, when a gust of wind 
 rushed in and Sheila shivered, he abruptly 
 closed the door, barred it, and strode to the 
 fireplace, throwing a fresh log into it. For 
 a time he stood silently in front of the fire, 
 his figure casting a long, gaunt shadow at 
 Sheila's feet, his gaze on her, grim, somber 
 lines in his face* Presently he cleared his 
 throat. 
 
 " How old are you? " he said shortly. 
 
 " Twenty-two." 
 
 "And you've lived East all your life. 
 Lived well, too, I suppose — plenty of 
 money, luxuries, happiness? " 
 
 He caught her nod and continued, his lips 
 curling a little. " Your father too, I 
 reckon — has he been happy?" 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " That's odd." He had spoken more to 
 himself than to Sheila and he looked at her 
 with narrowed eyes when she answered. 
 
46 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " What is odd? That my father should 
 be happy — that I should? " 
 
 " Odd that anyone who is happy in one 
 place should want to leave that place and 
 go to another. Maybe the place he went 
 to wouldn't be just right for him. What 
 makes people want to move around like 
 that?" 
 
 " Perhaps you could answer that your- 
 self," suggested Sheila. " I am sure that 
 you haven't lived here in this part of the 
 country all your life. 
 
 "How do you know that?" His gaze 
 was quizzical and mocking. 
 
 " I don't know. But you haven't." 
 
 " Well," he said we'll say I haven't. But 
 I wasn't happy where I came from and I 
 came here looking for happiness — and some- 
 thing else. That I didn't find what I was 
 looking for isn't the question — mostly none 
 of us find the things we're looking for. But 
 if I had been happy where I was I wouldn't 
 have come here. You say your father has 
 been happy there; that he's got plenty of 
 money and all that. Then why should he 
 want to live here? " 
 
THE DIM TRAIL 47 
 
 " I believe I told you that he is coming 
 here for his health." 
 
 His eyes lighted savagely. But Sheila 
 did not catch their expression for at that 
 moment she was looking at his shadow on 
 the floor. How long, how grotesque, it 
 seemed, and forbidding — like its owner. 
 
 " So he's got everything he wants but his 
 health. What made him lose that? " 
 
 "How should I know?" 
 
 "Just lost it, I reckon," said Dakota 
 subtly. " Cares and Worry? " 
 
 "I presume. His health has been failing 
 for about ten years." 
 
 Sheila was looking straight at Dakota 
 now and she saw his face whiten, his lips 
 harden. And when he spoke again there 
 was a chill in his voice and a distinct pause 
 between his words. 
 
 " Ten years," he said. " That's a long 
 time, isn't it? A long time for a man who 
 
 has been losing his health. And yet " 
 
 There was a mirthless smile on Dakota's 
 face — " ten years is a longer time for a man 
 in good health who hasn't been happy. 
 Couldn't your father have doctored — gone 
 
48 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 abroad — to recover his health? Or was his 
 a mental sickness?" 
 
 "Mental, I think. He worried quite a 
 little." 
 
 Dakota turned from her, but not quickly- 
 enough to conceal the light of savage joy 
 that flashed suddenly into his eyes. 
 
 "Why!" exclaimed Sheila, voicing her 
 surprise at the startling change in his man- 
 ner; " that seems to please you! " 
 
 "It does." He laughed oddly. "It 
 pleases me to find that I'm to have a neigh- 
 bor who is afflicted with the sort of sickness 
 that has been bothering me for — for a good 
 many years." 
 
 There was a silence, during which Sheila 
 yawned and Dakota stood motionless, look- 
 ing straight ahead. 
 
 " You like your father, I reckon?" came 
 his voice presently, as his gaze went to her 
 again. 
 
 " Of course." She looked up at him in 
 surprise. "Why shouldn't I like him?" 
 
 " Of course you like him. Mostly chil- 
 dren like their fathers." 
 
 "Children!" She glared scornfully at 
 
THE DIM TRAIL 49 
 
 him. "I am twenty-two! I told you that 
 before!" 
 
 " So you did," he returned, unruffled. 
 " When is he coming out here? " 
 
 "In a month — a month from to-day." 
 She regarded him with a sudden, new in- 
 terest. " You are betraying a great deal of 
 curiosity," she accused. " Why? " 
 
 " Why," he answered slowly, " I reckon 
 that isn't odd, is it? He's going to be my 
 neighbor, isn't he?" 
 
 "Oh!" she said with emphasis of mock- 
 ery which equalled his. " And you are gos- 
 siping about your neighbor even before he 
 comes." 
 
 " Like a woman," he said with a smile. 
 
 " An impertinent one," she retorted. 
 
 " Your father," he said in accents of sar- 
 casm, ignoring the jibe, " seems to think a 
 heap of you — sending you all the way out 
 here alone." 
 
 " I came against his wish; he wanted me 
 to wait and come with him." 
 
 Her defense of her parent seemed to 
 amuse him. He smiled mysteriously. 
 "Then he likes you?" 
 
50 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 "Is that strange? He hasn't any one 
 else — no relative. I am the only one." 
 
 " You're the only one." He repeated 
 her words slowly, regarding her narrowly, 
 " And he likes you. I reckon he'd be hurt 
 quite a little if you had fallen in with the 
 sort of man I was going to tell you about." 
 
 " Naturally." Sheila was tapping with 
 her booted foot on his shadow on the floor 
 and did not look at him. 
 
 " It's a curious thing," he said slowly, af- 
 ter an interval, " that a man who has got a 
 treasure grows careless of it in time. It's 
 natural, too. But I reckon fate has some- 
 thing to do with it. Ten chances to one if 
 nothing happens to you your father will con- 
 sider himself lucky. But suppose you had 
 happened to fall in with a different man 
 than me — we'll say, for instance, a man who 
 had a grudge against your father — and that 
 man didn't have that uncommon quality 
 called ' mercy/ What then? Ten chances 
 to one your father would say it was fate that 
 had led you to him." 
 
 " I think," she said scornfully, " that you 
 
THE DIM TRAIL 51 
 
 are talking silly! In the first place, I don't 
 believe my father thinks that I am a treas- 
 ure, though he likes me very much. In the 
 second place, if he does think that I am a 
 treasure, he is very much mistaken, for I am 
 not — I am a woman and quite able to take 
 care of myself. You have exhibited a won- 
 derful curiosity over my father and me, and 
 though it has all been mystifying and en- 
 tertaining, I don't purpose to talk to you 
 all night." 
 
 " I didn't waken you," he mocked. 
 
 Sheila swung around on the bunk, her 
 back to him. " You are keeping me awake," 
 she retorted. 
 
 "Well, good night then," he laughed, 
 "Miss Sheila." 
 
 " Good night, Mr. — Mr. Dakota," she re- 
 turned. 
 
 Sheila did not hear him again. Her 
 thoughts dwelt for a little time on him and 
 his mysterious manner, then they strayed. 
 They returned presently and she concen- 
 trated her attention on the rain; she could 
 hear the soft, steady patter of it on the roof; 
 
52 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 she listened to it trickling from the eaves and 
 striking the glass in the window above her 
 head. Gradually the soft patter seemed to 
 draw farther away, became faint, and more 
 faint, and finally she heard it no more. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 CONVERGING TKAILS 
 
 IT was the barking of a dog that brought 
 Sheila out of a sleep — dreamless this 
 time — into a state of semi-consciousness. 
 It was Dakota's dog surely, she decided 
 sleepily. She sighed and twisted to a more 
 comfortable position. The effort awakened 
 her and she opened her eyes, her gaze rest- 
 ing immediately on Dakota. He still sat at 
 the table, silent, immovable, as before. But 
 now he was sitting erect, his muscles tensed, 
 his chin thrust out aggressively, his gaze on 
 the door — listening. He seemed to be un- 
 aware of Sheila's presence; the sound that 
 she had made in turning he apparently had 
 not heard. 
 
 There was an interval of silence and then 
 came a knocking on the door — loud, unmis- 
 takable. Some one desired admittance. 
 After the knock came a voice: 
 
 58 
 
54 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 "Hello inside !' 
 
 " Hello yourself! " Dakota's voice came 
 with a truculent snap. "What's up?" 
 
 " Lookin' for a dry place," came the voice 
 from without. " Mebbe you don't know it's 
 wet out here ! " 
 
 Sheila's gaze was riveted on Dakota. He 
 arose and noiselessly moved his chair back 
 from the table and she saw a saturnine smile 
 on his face, yet in his eyes there shone a 
 glint of intolerance that mingled oddly with 
 his gravity. 
 
 " You alone? " he questioned, his gaze on 
 the door. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 " Campbellite preacher." 
 
 For the first time since she had been 
 awake Dakota turned and looked at Sheila. 
 The expression of his face puzzled her. " A 
 parson ! " he sneered in a low voice. " I 
 reckon we'll have some praying now." He 
 took a step forward, hesitated, and looked 
 back at Sheila. "Do you want him in 
 here?" 
 
 Sheila's nod brought a whimsical, shallow 
 
CONVERGING TRAILS 55 
 
 smile to his face. " Of course you do — 
 you're lonesome in here." There was 
 mockery in his voice. He deliberately 
 drew out his two guns, examined them min- 
 utely, returned one to his holster, retaining 
 the other in his right hand. With a cold 
 grin at Sheila he snuffed out the candle be- 
 tween a finger and a thumb and strode to 
 the door — Sheila could hear him fumbling 
 at the fastenings. He spoke to the man out- 
 side sharply. 
 
 "Come in!" 
 
 There was a movement ; a square of light 
 appeared in the wall of darkness; there 
 came a step on the threshold. Watching, 
 Sheila saw, framed in the open doorway, the 
 dim outlines of a figure — a man. 
 
 " Stand right there," came Dakota's voice 
 from somewhere in the impenetrable dark- 
 ness of the interior, and Sheila wondered at 
 the hospitality that greeted a stranger with 
 total darkness and a revolver. " Light a 
 match." 
 
 After a short interval of silence there 
 came the sound of a match scratching on 
 the wall, and a light flared up, showing 
 
56 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Sheila the face of a man of sixty, bronzed, 
 bearded, with gentle, quizzical eyes. 
 
 The light died down, the man waited. 
 Sheila had forgotten — in her desire to see 
 the face of the visitor — to look for Dakota, 
 but presently she heard his voice : 
 
 " I reckon you're a parson, all right. 
 Close the door." 
 
 The parson obeyed the command. " Light 
 the candle on the table!" came the order 
 from Dakota. " I'm not taking any 
 chances until I get a better look at you." 
 
 Another match flared up and the parson 
 advanced to the table and lighted the candle. 
 He smiled while applying the match to the 
 wick. * Don't pay to take no chances — on 
 anything," he agreed. He stood jsrect, a 
 tall man, rugged and active for his sixty 
 years, and threw off a rain-soaked tarpau- 
 lin. Some traces of dampness were visible 
 on his clothing, but in the circumstances he 
 had not fared so badly. 
 
 " It's a new trail to me — I don't know the 
 country," he went on. "If I hadn't seen 
 your light I reckon I'd have been goin' yet. 
 I was thinkin' that it was mighty queer that 
 
CONVERGING TRAILS 57 
 
 you'd have a light goin' so " He 
 
 stopped short, seeing Sheila sitting on the 
 bunk. " Shucks, ma'am," he apologized, 
 " I didn't know you were there," His hat 
 came off and dangled in his left hand; with 
 the other he brushed back the hair from his 
 forehead, smiling meanwhile at Sheila. 
 
 " Why, ma'am," he said apologetically, 
 " if your husband had told me you was here 
 I'd have gone right on an' not bothered 
 you." 
 
 Sheila's gaze went from the parson's face 
 and sought Dakota's, a crimson flood 
 spreading over her face and temples. A 
 slow, amused gleam filled Dakota's eyes. 
 But plainly he did not intend to set the par- 
 son right — he was enjoying Sheila's confu- 
 sion. The color fled from her face as sud- 
 denly as it had come and was succeeded by 
 the pallor of a cold indignation. 
 
 " I'm not married," she said instantly to 
 the parson; "this gentleman is not my hus- 
 band." 
 
 "Not?" questioned the parson. "Then 
 how — " He hesitated and looked quickly 
 at Dakota, but the latter was watching 
 
58 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Sheila with an odd smile and the parson 
 looked puzzled. 
 
 " This is my first day in this country/ 5 
 explained Sheila. 
 
 The parson did not reply to this, though 
 he continued to watch her intently. She 
 met his gaze steadily and he smiled. " I 
 reckon you've been caught on the trail too," 
 he said, " by the storm." 
 
 Sheila nodded. 
 
 " Well, it's been right wet to-night, an' it 
 ain't no night to be galivantin 'around the 
 country. Where you goin' to?" 
 
 " To the Double R ranch." 
 
 " Where's the Double R? " asked the par- 
 son. 
 
 "West," Dakota answered for Sheila; 
 " twenty miles." 
 
 11 Off my trail," said the parson. " I'm 
 travelin' to Lazette." He laughed, shortly. 
 " I'm askin' your pardon, ma'am, for takin' 
 you to be married; you don't look like you 
 belonged here — I ought to have knowed 
 that right off." 
 
 Sheila told him that he was forgiven and 
 he had no comment to make on this, but 
 
CONVERGING TRAILS 59 
 
 looked at her appraisingly. He drew a 
 bench up near the fire and sat looking at 
 the licking flames, the heat drawing the 
 steam from his clothing as the latter dried. 
 Dakota supplied him with soda biscuit and 
 cold bacon, and these he munched in content- 
 ment, talking meanwhile of his travels. Sev- 
 eral times while he sat before the fire Da- 
 kota spoke to him, and finally he pulled his 
 chair over near the wall opposite the bunk 
 on which Sheila sat, tilted it back, and 
 dropped into it, stretching out comfortably. 
 After seating himself, Dakota's gaze 
 sought Sheila. It was evident to Sheila that 
 he was thinking pleasant thoughts, for sev- 
 eral times she looked quickly at him to catch 
 him smiling. Once she met his gaze fairly 
 and was certain that she saw a crafty, calcu- 
 lating gleam in his eyes. She was puzzled, 
 though there was nothing of fear from Da- 
 kota now; the presence of the parson in the 
 cabin assured her of safety. 
 
 A half hour dragged by. The parson 
 did not appear to be sleepy. Sheila glanced 
 at her watch and saw that it was midnight. 
 She wondered much at the parson's wake- 
 
60 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 fulness and her own weariness. But she 
 could safely go to sleep now, she told her- 
 self, and she stretched noiselessly out on the 
 bunk and with one arm bent under her head 
 listened to the parson. 
 
 Evidently the parson was itinerant; he 
 spoke of many places — Wyoming, Colo- 
 rado, Nevada, Arizona, Texas; of towns in 
 New Mexico. To Sheila, her senses dulled 
 by the drowsiness that was stealing over her, 
 it appeared that the parson was a foe to 
 Science. His volubility filled the cabin; he 
 contended sonorously that the earth was not 
 round. The Scriptures, he maintained, 
 held otherwise. He called Dakota's atten- 
 tion to the seventh chapter of Revelation, 
 verse one : 
 
 " And after these things I saw four an- 
 gels standing on the four corners of the 
 earth, holding the four winds of the earth, 
 that the wind should not blow on the earth, 
 nor on the sea, nor on any tree." 
 
 Several times Sheila heard Dakota laugh, 
 mockingly; he was skeptical, caustic even, 
 and he took issue with the parson. Be- 
 tween them they managed to prevent her 
 
CONVERGING TRAILS 61 
 
 falling asleep ; kept her in a semidoze which 
 was very near to complete wakefulness. 
 
 After a time, though, the argument grew 
 monotonous; the droning of their voices 
 seemed gradually to grow distant; Sheila 
 lost interest in the conversation and sank 
 deeper into her doze. How long she had 
 been unconscious of them she did not know, 
 but presently she was awake again and lis- 
 tening. Dakota's laugh had awakened her. 
 Out of the corners of her eyes she saw that 
 he was still seated in the chair beside the 
 wall and that his eyes were alight with in- 
 terest as he watched the parson. 
 
 " So you're going to Lazette, taking it on 
 to him?" 
 
 The parson nodded, smiling. "When a 
 man wants to get married he'll not care 
 much about the arrangements — how it gets 
 done. What he wants to do is to get mar- 
 ried." 
 
 "That's a queer angle," Dakota observed. 
 He laughed immoderately. 
 
 The parson laughed with him. It was an 
 odd situation, he agreed. Never, in all his 
 experience, had he heard of anything like it. 
 
62 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 He had stopped for a few hours at Dry 
 Bottom. While there a rider had passed 
 through, carrying word that a certain man 
 in Lazette, called "Baldy," desired to get 
 married. There was no minister in Lazette, 
 not even a justice of the peace. But Baldy 
 wanted to be married, and his bride-to-be 
 objected to making the trip to Dry Bottom, 
 where there were both a parson and a justice 
 of the peace. Therefore, failing to induce 
 the lady to go to the parson, it followed that 
 Baldy must contrive to have the parson 
 come to the lady. He dispatched the rider 
 to Dry Bottom on this quest. 
 
 The rider had found that there was no 
 regular parson in Dry Bottom and that the 
 justice of the peace had departed the day 
 before to some distant town for a visit. 
 Luckily for Baldy's matrimonial plans, the 
 parson had been in Dry Bottom when the 
 rider arrived, and he readily consented — as 
 he intended to pass through Lazette anyway 
 — to carry Baldy's license to him and per- 
 form the ceremony. 
 
 "Odd, ain't it?" remarked the parson, 
 after he had concluded. 
 
CONVERGING TRAILS 63 
 
 " That's a queer angle," repeated Dakota. 
 c You got the license? " he inquired softly. 
 " Mebbe you've lost it." 
 
 " I reckon not." The parson fumbled in 
 a pocket, drawing out a folded paper. " I've 
 got it, right enough." 
 
 'You've got no objections to me looking 
 at it?" came Dakota's voice. Sheila saw 
 him rise. There was a strange smile on his 
 face. 
 
 " No objections. I reckon you'll be usin' 
 one yourself one of these days." 
 
 " One of these days," echoed Dakota with 
 a laugh as strange as his smile a moment be- 
 fore. "Yes — I'm thinking of using one 
 one of these days." 
 
 The parson spread the paper out on the 
 table. Together he and Dakota bent their 
 heads over it. After reading the license Da- 
 kota stood erect. He laughed, looking at 
 the parson. 
 
 " There ain't a name on it," he said, " not 
 a name." 
 
 " They're reckonin* to fill in the names 
 when they're married," explained the par- 
 son. " That there rider ought to have 
 
64 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 knowed the names, but he didn't. Only 
 knowed that the man was called * Baldy.' 
 Didn't know the bride's name at all. But it 
 don't make any difference; they wouldn't 
 have had to have a license at all in this Ter- 
 ritory. But it makes it look more regular 
 when they've got one. All that's got to be 
 done is for Baldy to go over to Dry Bottom 
 an' have the names recorded. Bern' as I 
 can't go, I'm to certify in the license." 
 
 " Sure," said Dakota slowly. " It makes 
 things more regular to have a license — more 
 regular to have you certify." 
 
 Looking at Dakota, Sheila thought she 
 saw in his face a certain preoccupation; he 
 was evidently not thinking of what he was 
 saying at all; the words had come involun- 
 tarily, automatically almost, it seemed, so 
 inexpressive were they. " Sure," he re- 
 peated, " you're to certify, in the license." 
 
 It was as though he were reading aloud 
 from a printed page, his thoughts elsewhere, 
 and seeing only the words and uttering them 
 unconsciously. Some idea had formed in his 
 brain, he meditated some surprising action. 
 That she was concerned in his thoughts 
 
CONVERGING TRAILS 65 
 
 Sheila did not doubt, for he presently turned 
 and looked straight at her and in his eyes she 
 saw a new expression — a cold, designing 
 gleam that frightened her. 
 
 Five minutes later, when the parson an- 
 nounced his intention to care for his horse 
 before retiring and stood in the doorway 
 preparatory to going out, Sheila restrained 
 an impulse to call to him to remain. She 
 succeeded in quieting her fears, however, by 
 assuring herself that nothing could happen 
 now, with the parson so near. Thus forti- 
 fied, she smiled at Dakota as the parson 
 stepped down and closed the door. 
 
 She drew a startled breath in the next in- 
 stant, though, for without noticing her smile 
 Dakota stepped to the door and barred it. 
 Turning, he stood with his back against it, 
 his lips in straight, hard lines, his eyes steady 
 and gleaming brightly. 
 
 He caught Sheila's gaze and held it; she 
 trembled and sat erect. 
 
 " It's odd, ain't it? " he said, in the mock- 
 ing voice that he had used when using the 
 same words earlier in the evening. 
 
 "What is odd?" Hers was the same 
 
m THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 answer that she had used before, too — she 
 could think of nothing else to say, 
 
 " Odd that he should come along just at 
 this time." He indicated the door through 
 which the parson had disappeared. " You 
 and me are here, and he comes. Who sent 
 him?" 
 
 " Chance, I suppose," Sheila answered, 
 though she could feel that there was a subtle 
 undercurrent in his speech, and she felt 
 again the strange unrest that had affected 
 her several times before. 
 
 " You think it was chance," he said, drawl- 
 ing his words. " Well, maybe that's just as 
 good a name for it as any other. But we 
 don't all see things the same way, do we? 
 We couldn't, of course, because we've all 
 got different things to do. We think this is 
 a big world and that we play a big game. 
 But it's a little world and a little game when 
 Fate takes a hand in it. I told you a while 
 ago that Fate had a queer way of shuffling 
 us around. That's a fact. And Fate is 
 running this game." His mocking laugh 
 had a note of grimness in it, which brought 
 a chill over Sheila. " Just now, Miss 
 
CONVERGING TRAILS 67 
 
 Sheila, Fate is playing with brides and 
 bridegrooms and marriages and parsons. 
 That's what is so odd. Fate has supplied 
 the parson and the license; we'll supply the 
 names. Look at the bridegroom, Shelia," 
 he directed, tapping his breast with a finger ; 
 " this is your wedding day ! " 
 
 " What do you mean? " Sheila was on her 
 feet, trembling, her face white with fear and 
 dread. 
 
 " That we're to be married," he said, smil- 
 ing at her, and she noted with a qualm that 
 there was no mirth in the smile, " you and 
 me. The parson will tie the knot." 
 
 "This is a joke, I suppose?" she said 
 scornfully, attempting a lightness that she 
 did not feel ; " a crude one, to be sure, for 
 you certainly cannot be serious." 
 
 11 1 was never more serious in my life," 
 he said slowly. " We are to be married 
 when the parson comes in." 
 
 " How do you purpose to accomplish 
 this?" she jeered. "The parson certainly 
 will not perform a marriage ceremony with- 
 out the consent of — without my consent." 
 
 " I think," he said coldly, " that you will 
 
68 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 consent. I am not in a trifling mood. Just 
 now it pleases me to imagine that I am an 
 instrument of Fate. Maybe that sounds 
 mysterious to you, but some day you will be 
 able to see just how logical it all seems to me 
 now, that Fate has sent me a pawn — a sub- 
 ject, if you please — to sacrifice, that the 
 game which I have been playing may be car- 
 ried to its conclusion." 
 
 Outside they heard the dog bark, heard 
 the parson speak to it. 
 
 " The parson is coming," said Sheila, her 
 joy over the impending interruption show- 
 ing in her eyes. 
 
 " Yes, he is coming." Still with his back 
 to the door, Dakota deliberately drew out 
 one of his heavy pistols and examined it min- 
 utely, paying no attention to Sheila. Her 
 eyes widened with fear as the hand holding 
 the weapon dropped to his side and he 
 looked at her again. 
 
 "What are you doing to do?" she de- 
 manded, watching these forbidding prepara- 
 tions with dilated eyes. 
 
 "That depends," he returned with a 
 chilling laugh. "Have you ever seen a 
 
CONVERGING TRAILS 69 
 
 man die? No?" he continued as she shud- 
 dered. "Well, if you don't consent to 
 marry me you will see the parson die. I 
 have decided to give you the choice, ma'am," 
 he went on in a quiet, determined voice, en- 
 tirely free from emotion. " Sacrifice your- 
 self and the parson lives ; refuse and I shoot 
 the parson down the instant he steps inside 
 the door." 
 
 " Oh!" she cried in horror, taking a step 
 toward him and looking into his eyes for evi- 
 dence of insincerity — for the slightest sign 
 that would tell her that he was merely try- 
 ing to scare her. " Oh! you — you coward! " 
 she cried, for she saw nothing in his eyes but 
 cold resolution. 
 
 He smiled with straight lips. " You 
 see," he mocked, " how odd it is ? Fate is 
 shuffling us three in this game. You have 
 your choice. Do you care to be responsible 
 for the death of a fellow being? " 
 
 For a tense instant she looked at him, 
 and seeing the hard, inexorable glitter in his 
 eyes she cringed away from him and sank to 
 the edge of the bunk, covering her face with 
 her hands. 
 
70 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 During the silence that followed she 
 could hear the parson outside — his voice, and 
 the yelping of the dog — evidently they had 
 formed a friendship. The sounds came 
 nearer ; Sheila heard the parson try the door. 
 She became aware that Dakota was stand- 
 ing over her and she looked up, shivering, 
 to see his face, still hard and unyielding. 
 
 " I am going to open the door," he said. 
 " Is it you or the parson?" 
 
 At that word she was on her feet, stand- 
 ing before him, rigid with anger, her eyes 
 flaming with scorn and hatred. 
 
 "You wouldn't dare to do it!" she said 
 
 hoarsely; "you — you " She snatched 
 
 suddenly for the butt of the weapon that 
 swung at his left hip, but with a quick mo- 
 tion he evaded the hand and stepped back 
 a pace, smiling coldly. 
 
 " I reckon it's the parson," he said in a 
 low voice, which carried an air of finality. 
 He started for the door, hesitated, and came 
 back to the bunk, standing in front of Sheila, 
 looking down into her eyes. 
 
 "I am giving you one last chance," He 
 told her. " I am going to open the door. 
 
CONVERGING TRAILS 71 
 
 If you want the parson to die, don't look at 
 me when he steps in. If you want him to 
 live, turn your back to him and walk to the 
 fireplace." 
 
 He walked to the door, unlocked it, and 
 stepped back, his gaze on Sheila. Then the 
 door opened slowly and the parson stood on 
 the threshold, smiling. 
 
 " It's sure some wet outside," he said. 
 
 Dakota was fingering the cylinder of his 
 revolver, his gaze now riveted on the parson. 
 
 "Why," said the latter, in surprise, see- 
 ing the attitudes of Dakota and his guest, 
 " what in the name of " 
 
 There came a movement, and Sheila stood 
 in front of Dakota, between him and the 
 parson. For an instant she stood, looking 
 at Dakota with a scornful, loathing gaze. 
 Then with a dry sob, which caught in her 
 throat, she moved past him and went to the 
 fireplace, where she stood looking down at 
 the flames. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THIS PICTURE AND THAT 
 
 IT was a scene of wild, virgin beauty 
 upon which Sheila Langford looked as 
 she sat on the edge of a grassy butte 
 overlooking the Ute River, with Duncan, 
 the Double R manager stretched out, full 
 length beside her, a gigantic picture on Na- 
 ture's canvas, glowing with colors which the 
 gods had spread with a generous touch. 
 
 A hundred feet below Sheila and Dun- 
 can the waters of the river swept around the 
 base of the butte, racing over a rocky bed 
 toward a deep, narrow canyon farther down. 
 Directly opposite the butte . rose a short 
 slope, forming the other bank of the river. 
 From the crest of the slope began a plain 
 that stretched for many miles, merging at 
 the horizon into some pine-clad foothills. 
 Behind the foothills were the ^mountains, 
 their snow peaks shimmering in a white sky 
 
 72 
 
THIS PICTURE AND THAT, 73 
 
 * — remote, mysterious, seeming like guar- 
 dians of another world. The chill of the 
 mountains contrasted sharply with the slum- 
 berous luxuriance and color of the plains. 
 
 Miles of grass, its green but slightly 
 dulled with a thin covering of alkali dust, 
 spread over the plain ; here and there a grove 
 of trees rose, it seemed, to break the monot- 
 ony of space. To the right the river doubled 
 sharply, the farther bank fringed with alder 
 and aspen, their tall stalks nodding above 
 the nondescript river weeds ; the near bank a 
 continuing wall of painted buttes — red, pic- 
 turesque, ragged, thrusting upward and out- 
 ward over the waters of the river. On the 
 left was a stretch of broken country. Mam- 
 moth boulders were strewn here ; weird rocks 
 arose in inconceivably grotesque formations ; 
 lava beds, dull and gray, circled the bald 
 knobs of some low hills. Above it all swam 
 the sun, filling the world with a clear, white 
 light. It made a picture whose beauty 
 might have impressed the most unrespon- 
 sive. Yet, though Sheila was looking upon 
 the picture, her thoughts were dwelling upon 
 another. 
 
74 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 This other picture was not so beautiful, 
 and a vague unrest gripped Sheila's heart 
 as she reviewed it, carefully going over each 
 gloomy detail. It was framed in the rain 
 and the darkness of a yesterday. There 
 was a small clearing there — a clearing in a 
 dense wood beside a river — the same river 
 which she could have seen below her now, 
 had she looked. In the foreground was a 
 cabin. She entered the cabin and stood be- 
 side a table upon which burned a candle. 
 A man stood beside the table also — a reck- 
 less-eyed man, holding a heavy revolver. 
 Another man stood there, too — a man of 
 God. While Shelia watched the man's lips 
 opened ; she could hear the words that came 
 through them — she would never forget them: 
 
 "To have and to hold from this day forth 
 * • i till death do you part. . ." 
 
 It was not a dream, it was the picture 
 of an actual occurrence. She saw every de- 
 tail of it. She could hear her own protests, 
 her threats, her pleadings; she lived over 
 again her terror as she had crouched in the 
 bunk until the dawn. 
 
 The man had not molested her, had not 
 
THIS PICTURE AND THAT 75 
 
 even spoken to her after the ceremony; had 
 ignored her entirely. When the dawn came 
 she had heard him talking to the parson, but 
 could not catch their words. Later she had 
 mounted her pony and had ridden away 
 through the sunshine of the morning. She 
 had been married — it was her wedding day. 
 When she had reached the crest of a long 
 rise after her departure from the cabin she 
 had halted her pony to look back, hoping 
 that it all might have been a dream. But it 
 had not been a dream. There was the dense 
 wood, the clearing, and the cabin. Beside 
 them was the river. And there, riding 
 slowly away over the narrow trail which she 
 had traveled the night before, was the par- 
 son — she could see his gray beard in the 
 white sunlight. Dry eyed, she had turned 
 from the scene. A little later, turning 
 again, she saw the parson fade into the hori- 
 zon. That, she knew, was the last she 
 would ever see of him. He had gone out 
 of her life forever — the desert had swallowed 
 him up. 
 
 But the picture was still vivid ; she had 
 Seen it during every waking moment of the 
 
76 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 month that she had been at the Double R 
 ranch; it was before her every night in her 
 dreams. It would not fade. 
 
 She knew that the other picture was beau- 
 tiful — the picture of this world into which 
 she had ridden so confidently, yet she was 
 afraid to dwell upon it for fear that its 
 beauty would seem to mock her. For had 
 not nature conspired against her? Yet she 
 knew that she alone was to blame — she, ob- 
 stinate, willful, heedless. Had not her 
 father warned her? "Wait," he had said, 
 and the words flamed before her eyes — 
 " wait until I go. Wait a month. The 
 West is a new country; anything, every- 
 thing, can happen to you out there — alone." 
 
 " Nothing can happen," had been her 
 reply. " I will go straight from Lazette 
 to the Double R. See that you telegraph 
 instructions to Duncan to meet me. It will 
 be a change; I am tired of the East and im- 
 patient to be away from it." 
 
 Well, she had found a change. What 
 would her father say when he heard of it — 
 of her marriage to a cowboy, an unprincipled 
 Scoundrel? What could he say? The mar- 
 
THIS PICTURE AND THAT 77 
 
 riage could be annulled, of course! it was 
 not legal, could not be legal. No law could 
 be drawn which would recognize a marriage 
 of that character, and she knew that she had 
 only to tell her father to have the machinery 
 of the law set in motion. Could she tell 
 him? Could she bear his reproaches, his 
 pity, after her heedlessness? 
 
 What would her friends say when they 
 heard of it — as they must hear if she went 
 to the law for redress? Her friends in the 
 East whose good wishes, whose respect, she 
 desired ? Mockers there would be among 
 them, she was certain; there were mockers 
 everywhere, and she feared their taunts, the 
 shafts of sarcasm that would be launched at 
 her — aye, that would strike her — when they 
 heard that she had passed a night in a lone 
 cabin with a strange cowboy — had been mar- 
 ried to him ! 
 
 A month had passed since the afternoon 
 on which she had ridden up to the porch of 
 the Double R ranchhouse to be greeted by 
 Duncan with the information that he had 
 that morning received a telegram from her 
 father announcing her coming. It had been 
 
78 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 brought from Lazette by a puncher who had 
 gone there for the mail, and Duncan was at 
 that moment preparing to drive to Lazette 
 to meet her, under the impression that she 
 would arrive that day. There had been a 
 mistake, of course, but what did it matter 
 now? The damage had been wrought and 
 she closed her lips. A month had passed 
 and she had not told — she would never tell. 
 
 Conversations she had had with Duncan; 
 he seemed a gentleman, living at the Double 
 R ranchhouse with his sister, but in no con- 
 versation with anyone had Sheila even men- 
 tioned Dakota's name, fearing that some- 
 thing in her manner might betray her secret. 
 To everyone but herself the picture of her 
 adventure that night on the trail must re- 
 main invisible. 
 
 She looked furtively at Duncan, stretched 
 out beside her on the grass. What would he 
 say if he knew? He would not be pleased, 
 she was certain, for during the month that 
 she had been at the Double R — riding out 
 almost daily with him — he had fdrced her 
 to see that he had taken a liking to her — 
 more, she herself had observed the telltale 
 
THIS PICTURE AND THAT 79 
 
 signs of something deeper than mere liking. 
 
 She had not encouraged this, of course, 
 for she was not certain that she liked Dun- 
 can, though he had treated her well — almost 
 too well, in fact, for she had at times felt a 
 certain reluctance in accepting his little at- 
 tentions — such personal service as kept him 
 almost constantly at her side. His manner, 
 too, was ingratiating; he smiled too much 
 to suit her; his presumption of proprietor- 
 ship over her irritated her not a little. 
 
 As she sat beside him on the grass she 
 found herself studying him, as she had done 
 many times when he had not been conscious 
 of her gaze. 
 
 He was thirty-two, — he had told her so 
 himself in a burst of confidence — though she 
 believed him to be much older. The sprink- 
 ling of gray hair at his temples had caused 
 her to place his age at thirty-seven or eight. 
 Besides, there were the lines of his face — 
 the set lines of character — indicating estab- 
 lished habits of thought which would not 
 show so deeply in a younger face. His 
 mouth, she thought, was a trifle weak, yet 
 not exactly weak either, but full-lipped and 
 
80 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 sensual, with little curves at the corners 
 which, she was sure, indicated either vindic- 
 tiveness or cruelty, perhaps both. 
 
 Taken altogether his was not a face to 
 trust fully; its owner might be too easily 
 guided by selfish considerations. Duncan 
 liked to talk about himself ; he had been talk- 
 ing about himself all the time that Shelia 
 had sat beside him reviewing the mental 
 picture. But apparently he had about ex- 
 hausted that subject now, and presently he 
 looked up at her, his eyes narrowing quizz- 
 ically. 
 
 " You have been here a month now," he 
 said. " How do you like the country? " 
 
 " I like it," she returned. 
 
 She was looking now at the other picture, 
 watching the shimmer of the sun on the dis- 
 tant mountain peaks. 
 
 "It improves," he said, " on acquain- 
 tance — like the people." He flashed a smile 
 at her, showing his teeth. 
 
 "I haven't seen very many people," she 
 returned, not looking at him, but determined 
 to ignore the personal allusion, to which, 
 plainly, he had meant to guide her. 
 
THIS PICTURE AND THAT 81 
 
 " But those that you have seen? " he per- 
 sisted. 
 
 " I have formed no opinions." 
 
 She had formed an opinion, though, a 
 conclusive one — concerning Dakota. But 
 she had no idea of communicating it to Dun- 
 can. Until now, strangely enough, she had 
 had no curiosity concerning him. Bitter 
 hatred and resentment had been so active in 
 her brain that the latter had held no place 
 for curiosity. Or at least, if it had been 
 there, it had been a subconscious emotion, 
 entirely overshadowed by bitterness. Of 
 late, though her resentment toward Dakota 
 had not abated, she had been able to review 
 the incident of her marriage to him with 
 more composure, and therefore a growing 
 curiosity toward the man seemed perfectly 
 justifiable. Curiosity moved her now as she 
 smiled deliberately at Duncan. 
 
 " I have seen no one except your sister, 
 a few cowboys, and yourself. I haven't paid 
 much attention to the cowboys, I like your 
 sister, and I am not in the habit of telling 
 people to their faces what I think of them. 
 The country does not appear to be densely 
 
82 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 populated. Are there no other ranches 
 around here — no other cattlemen?" 
 
 " The Double R ranch covers an area of 
 one hundred and sixty square miles," said 
 Duncan. " The ranchhouse is right near 
 the center of it. For about twenty miles in 
 every direction you won't find anybody but 
 Double R men. There are line-camps, of 
 course — dugouts where the men hang out 
 over night sometimes — but that's all. To 
 my knowledge there are only two men with 
 shacks around here, and they're mostly of 
 no account. One of them is Doubler — Ben 
 Doubler — who hangs out near Two Forks, 
 and the other is a fellow who calls himself 
 Dakota, who's got a shack about twenty 
 miles down the Ute, a little off the Lazette 
 trail." 
 
 " They are ranchers, I suppose? " 
 
 Sheila's face was averted so that Duncan 
 might not see the interest in her eyes, or 
 the red which had suddenly come into her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Ranchers? " There was a sneer in Dun- 
 can's laugh. " Well, you might call them 
 that. But they're only nesters. They've 
 got a few head of cattle and a brand. It's 
 
THIS PICTURE AND THAT 83 
 
 likely they've put their brands on quite a 
 few of the Double R cattle." 
 
 " You mean " began Sheila in a low 
 
 voice. 
 
 " I mean that I think they're rustlers — 
 cattle thieves! " said Duncan venomously. 
 
 The flush had gone from Sheila's cheeks; 
 she turned a pale face to the Double R man- 
 ager. 
 
 " How long have these men lived in the 
 vicinity of the Double R? " 
 
 " Doubler has been hanging around here 
 for seven or eight years. He was here when 
 I came and mebbe he's been here longer. 
 Dakota's been here about five years. He 
 bought his brand — the Star — from another 
 nester — Texas Blanca." 
 
 " They've been stealing the Double R 
 cattle, you say? " questioned Sheila. 
 
 " That's what I think." 
 
 " Why don't you have them arrested? " 
 
 Duncan laughed mockingly. " Arrested! 
 That's good. You've been living where 
 there's law. But there's no law out here; 
 no law to cover cattle stealing, except our 
 own. And then we've got to have the goods. 
 uThe sheriff won't do anything when cattle 
 
84 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 are stolen, but he acts mighty sudden when 
 a man's hung for stealing cattle, if the man 
 ain't caught with the goods." 
 
 "Caught with the goods?" 
 
 " Caught in the act of stealing. If we 
 catch a man with the goods and hang him 
 there ain't usually anything said." 
 
 " And you haven't been able to catch 
 these men, Dakota and Doubler, in the act 
 of stealing." 
 
 " They're too foxy." 
 
 " If I were manager of this ranch and 
 suspected anyone of stealing any of its cat- 
 tle, I would catch them! " There was a note 
 of angry impatience in Sheila's voice which 
 caused Duncan to look sharply at her. He 
 reddened, suspecting disparagement of his 
 managerial ability in the speech. 
 
 " Mebbe," he said, with an attempt at 
 lightness. " But as a general thing nosing 
 out a rustler is a pretty ticklish proposition. 
 Nobody goes about that work with a whole 
 lot of enthusiasm." 
 
 " Why? " There was scorn in Sheila's 
 voice, scorn in her uplifted chin. But she 
 did not look at Duncan. 
 
THIS PICTURE AND THAT 85 
 
 " Why? " he repeated. " Well, because 
 it's perfectly natural for a man to want to 
 live as long as he can, I don't like them 
 nesters — Dakota especially — and I'd like 
 mighty well to get something on them But 
 I ain't taking any chances on Dakota." 
 
 "Why?" Again the monosyllable was 
 pregnant with scorn. 
 
 " I forgot that you ain't acquainted out 
 here," laughed the manager. " No one is 
 taking any chances with Dakota — not even 
 the sheriff. There's something about the 
 cuss which seems to discourage a man when 
 he's close to him — close enough to do any 
 shooting. I've seen Dakota throw down on 
 a man so quick that it would make you 
 dizzy." 
 
 "Throw down?" 
 
 " Shoot at a man. There was a gambler 
 over in Lazette thought to euchre Dakota. 
 A gun-man he was, from Texas, and — well, 
 they carried the gambler out. It was done 
 so sudden that nobody saw it." 
 
 "Killed him?" There was repressed 
 horror in Sheila's voice. 
 
 " No, he wasn't entirely put out of busi- 
 
86 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 ness. Dakota only made him feel cheap. 
 Creased him." 
 
 "Creased him? " 
 
 " Grazed his head with the bullet. Done 
 it intentionally, they say. Told folks he 
 didn't have any desire to send the gambler 
 over the divide; just wanted to show him 
 that when he was playin' with fire he ought 
 to be careful. There ain't no telling what 
 Dakota'd do if he got riled, though." 
 
 Sheila's gaze was on Duncan fairly, her 
 eyes alight with contempt. "So you are 
 all afraid of him? " she said, with a bitter- 
 ness that surprised the manager. 
 
 " Well, I reckon it would amount to 
 about that, if you come right down to the 
 truth," he confessed, reddening a little. 
 
 " You are afraid of him, too I suppose? *' 
 
 " I reckon it ain't just that," he parried, 
 " but I ain't taking any foolish risks." 
 
 Sheila rose and walked to her pony, which 
 was browsing the tops of some mesquite 
 near by. She reached the animal, mounted, 
 and then turned and looked at Duncan 
 scornfully. 
 
 " A while ago you asked for my opinion 
 
THIS PICTURE AND THAT 87 
 
 of the people of this country/' she said. " I 
 am going to express that opinion now. It 
 is that, in spite of his unsavory reputation, 
 Dakota appears to be the only man here!" 
 
 She took up the reins and urged her pony 
 away from the butte and toward the level 
 that stretched away to the Double R build- 
 ings in the distance. For an instant Dun- 
 can stood looking after her, his face red with 
 embarrassment, and then with a puzzled 
 frown he mounted and followed her. 
 
 Later he came up with her at the Double 
 R corral gate and resumed the conversation. 
 
 " Then I reckon you ain't got no use for 
 rustlers? " he said. 
 
 "Meaning Dakota?" she questioned, a 
 smoldering fire in her eyes. 
 
 " I reckon." 
 
 " I wish," she said, facing Duncan, her 
 eyes flashing, "that you would kill him!" 
 
 " Why " said Duncan, changing 
 
 color. 
 
 But Sheila had dismounted and was walk- 
 ing rapidly toward the ranchhouse, leaving 
 Duncan alone with his unfinished speech and 
 his wonder. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 
 
 WITH the thermometer at one hun- 
 dred and five it was not to be ex- 
 pected that there would be much 
 movement in Lazette. As a matter of fact, 
 there was little movement anywhere. On 
 the plains, which began at the edge of town, 
 there was no movement, no life except 
 when a lizard, seeking a retreat from the 
 blistering sun, removed itself to a deeper 
 shade under the leaves of the sage-brush, or 
 a prairie-dog, popping its head above the 
 surface of the sand, took a lightning survey 
 of its surroundings, and apparently dissat- 
 isfied with the outlook whisked back into 
 the bowels of the earth. 
 
 There was no wind, no motion; the little 
 whirlwinds of dust that arose settled quickly 
 down, the desultory breezes which had 
 caused them departing as mysteriously as 
 
 88 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 89 
 
 they had come. In the blighting heat the 
 country lay, dead, spreading to the infinite 
 horizons ; in the sky no speck floated against 
 the dome of blue. More desolate than a 
 derelict on the calm surface of the trackless 
 ocean Lazette lay, its huddled buildings 
 dingy with the dust of a continuing dry sea- 
 son, squatting in their dismal lonesomeness 
 in the shimmering, blinding sun. 
 
 In a strip of shade under the eaves of 
 the station sat the station agent, gazing 
 drowisly from under the wide brim of his 
 hat at the two glistening lines of steel that 
 stretched into the interminable distance. 
 Some cowponies, hitched to rails in front 
 of the saloons and the stores, stood with 
 drooping heads, tormented by myriad flies; 
 a wagon or two, minus horses, occupied a 
 space in front of a blacksmith shop. 
 
 In the Red Dog saloon some punchers on 
 a holiday played cards at various tables, 
 quietly drinking. Behind the rough bar 
 Pete Moulin, the proprietor stood, talking 
 to his bartender, Blacky. 
 
 " So that jasper's back again," com- 
 mented the proprietor. 
 
90 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " Which?" The bartender followed the 
 proprietor's gaze, which was on a man 
 seated at a card table, his profile toward 
 them, playing cards with several other men. 
 The bartender's face showed perplexity. 
 
 Moulin laughed. " I forgot you ain't 
 been here that long," he said. " That was 
 before your time. That fellow settin' side- 
 ways to us is Texas Blanca." 
 
 " What's he callin' himself < Texas ' for? " 
 queried the bartender. " He looks more like 
 a greaser." 
 
 "Breed, I reckon," offered the proprie- 
 tor. " Claims to have punched cows in 
 Texas before he come here." 
 
 " What's he allowin' to be now? " 
 
 " Nobody knows. Used to own the Star 
 — Dakota's brand. Sold out to Dakota five 
 years ago. Country got too hot for him an' 
 he had to pull his freight." 
 
 "Rustler?" 
 
 " You've said something. He's been sus- 
 pected of it. But nobody's talkin' very loud 
 about it." 
 
 "Not safe?" 
 
 "Not safe. He's lightning with a six. 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 91 
 
 Got his nerve to come back here, though." 
 
 "How's that?" 
 
 "Ain't you heard about it? I thought 
 everybody'd heard about that deal. Blanca 
 sold Dakota the Star. Then he pulled his 
 freight immediate. A week or so later Dun- 
 can, of the Double R, rides up to Dakota's 
 shack with a bunch of Double R boys an' 
 accuses Dakota of rustlin' Double R cattle. 
 Duncan had found twenty Double R calves 
 runnin' with the Star cattle which had been 
 marked secret. Blanca had run his iron on 
 them an' sold them to Dakota for Star stock. 
 Dakota showed Duncan his bill of sale, all 
 regular, an' of course Duncan couldn't 
 blame him. But there was some hard words 
 passed between Duncan an' Dakota, an' 
 Dakota ain't allowin' they're particular 
 friends since. 
 
 "Dakota had to give up the calves, sure 
 enough, an' he did. But sore! Dakota was 
 sure some disturbed in his mind. He didn't 
 show it much, bein' one of them quiet kind, 
 but he says to me one day not long after 
 Duncan had got the calves back: 'I've 
 been stung, Pete/ he says, soft an' even like ; 
 
92 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 'I've been stung proper, by that damned 
 oiler. Not that I'm carin' for the money- 
 end of it; Duncan findin' them calves with 
 my stock has damaged my reputation/ 
 Then he laffed — one of them little short 
 laffs which he gets off sometimes when 
 things don't just suit him — the way he's 
 laffed a couple of times when someone's 
 tried to run a cold lead proposition in on 
 him. He fair freezes my blood when he 
 gets it off. 
 
 "Well, he says to me: 'Mebbe I'll be 
 runnin' in with Blanca one of these days/ 
 An' that's all he ever says about it. Likely 
 he expected Blanca to come back. An' sure 
 enough he has. Reckon he thinks that 
 mebbe Dakota didn't get wise to the calf 
 deal." 
 
 " In his place," said Blacky, eyeing 
 Blanca furtively, " I'd be makin' some in- 
 quiries. Dakota ain't no man to trifle 
 with." 
 
 " Trifle! " Moulin's voice was pregnant 
 with awed admiration. " I reckon there 
 ain't no one who knows Dakota's goin' to 
 trifle with him — he's discouraged that long 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 93 
 
 ago. Square, too, square as they make 'em." 
 
 "The Lord knows the country needs 
 square men," observed Blacky. 
 
 He caught a sign from a man seated 
 at a table and went over to him with a bottle 
 and a glass. While Blacky was engaged in 
 this task the door opened and Dakota came 
 in. 
 
 Moulin's admiration and friendship for 
 Dakota might have impelled him to warn 
 Dakota of the presence of Blanca, and he 
 did hold up a covert finger, but Dakota at 
 that moment was looking in another direc- 
 tion and did not observe the signal. 
 
 He continued to approach the bar and 
 Blacky, having a leisure moment, came for- 
 ward and stood ready to serve him. A short 
 nod of greeting passed between the three, 
 and Blacky placed a bottle on the bar and 
 reached for a glass. Dakota made a nega- 
 tive sign with his head— short and resolute. 
 
 " I'm in for supplies," he laughed, " but 
 not that." 
 
 "Not drinkin'?" queried Moulin. 
 
 " I'm pure as the driven snow," drawled 
 Dakota. 
 
94 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 "How long has that been goin* on?" 
 Moulin's grin was skeptical. 
 
 " A month." 
 
 Moulin looked searchingly at Dakota, 
 saw that he was in earnest, and suddenly- 
 reached a hand over the bar. 
 
 " Shake! " he said. " I hate to knock my 
 own business, an' you've been a pretty good 
 customer, but if you mean it, it's the most 
 sensible thing you ever done. Of course you 
 didn't hit it regular, but there's been times 
 when I've thought that if I could have three 
 or four customers like you I'd retire in a 
 year an' spend the rest of my life countin' 
 my dust! " He was suddenly serious, catch- 
 ing Dakota's gaze and winking expres- 
 sively. 
 
 " Friend of yourn here," he said. 
 
 Dakota took a flashing glance at the men 
 at the card tables and Moulin saw his lips 
 straighten and harden. But in the next 
 instant he was smiling gravely aii the pro- 
 prietor. 
 
 " Thanks, Pete," he said quietly. " But 
 you're some reckless with the English lan- 
 guage when you're calling him my friend. 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 95 
 
 Maybe he'll be proving that he didn't mean 
 to skin me on that deal." 
 
 He smiled again and then left the bar and 
 strode toward Blanca. The latter contin- 
 ued his card playing, apparently unaware 
 of Dakota's approach, but at the sound of 
 his former victim's voice he turned and 
 looked up slowly, his face wearing a bland 
 smile. 
 
 It was plain to Moulin that Blanca had 
 known all along of Dakota's presence in the 
 saloon — -perhaps he had seen him enter. 
 The other card players ceased playing and 
 leaned back in their chairs, watching, for 
 some of them knew something of the calf 
 deal, and there was that in Dakota's greet- 
 ing to Blanca which warned them of im- 
 pending trouble. 
 
 " Blanca," said Dakota quietly, " you can 
 pay for those calves now." 
 
 It pleased Blanca to dissemble. But it 
 was plain to Moulin — as it must have been 
 plain to everybody who watched Blanca — 
 that a shadow crossed his face at Dakota's 
 words. Evidently he had entertained a hope 
 that his duplicity had not been discovered. 
 
96 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 "Calves?" he said. "What calves, my 
 frien'? " He dropped his cards to the table 
 and turned his chair around, leaning far 
 back in it and hooking his right thumb in 
 his cartridge belt, just above the holster 
 of his pistol. " I theenk it mus' be mis- 
 tak'." 
 
 " Yes," returned Dakota, a slow, grimly 
 humorous smile reaching his face, " it was 
 a mistake. You made it, Blanca. Duncan 
 found it out. Duncan took the calves — they 
 belonged to him. You're going to pay for 
 them." 
 
 " I pay for heem? " The bland smile on 
 Blanca's face had slowly faded with the real- 
 ization that his victim was not to be further 
 misled by him. In place of the smile his 
 face now wore an expression of sneering 
 contempt, and his black eyes had taken on 
 a watchful glitter. He spoke slowly: "I 
 pay for no calves, my frien'." 
 
 " You'll pay," said Dakota, an ominously 
 quiet drawl in his voice, " or " 
 
 "Or what?" Blanca showed his white 
 teeth in a tigerish smirk. 
 
 " This town ain't big enough for both of 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 97 
 
 us," said Dakota, his eyes cold and alert as 
 they watched Blanca's hand at his cartridge 
 belt. " One of us will leave it by sundown. 
 I reckon that's all." 
 
 He deliberately turned his back on 
 Blanca and walked to the door, stepping 
 down into the street. Blanca looked after 
 him, sneering. An instant later Blanca 
 turned and smiled at his companions at the 
 table. 
 
 " It ain't my funeral," said one of the 
 card players, "but if I was in your place 
 I'd begin to think that me stayin' here was 
 crowdin' the population of this town by 
 one." 
 
 Blanca's teeth gleamed. " My frien'," he 
 said insinuatingly, "it's your deal." His 
 smile grew. " Thees is a nize country," he 
 continued. " I like it ver' much. I come 
 back here to stay. Dakota — hees got the 
 Star too cheap." He tapped his gun hol- 
 ster significantly. " To-night Dakota hees 
 go somewhere else. To-morrow who takes 
 the Star? You?" He pointed to each of 
 the card players in turn. " You? " he ques- 
 tioned. " You take it? " He smiled at their 
 
98 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 negative signs. " Well, then, Blanca take 
 it. Peste! Dakota give himself till sun- 
 down!" 
 
 • • • • . 
 
 The six-o'clock was an hour and thirty 
 minutes late. For two hours Sheila Lang- 
 ford had been on the station platform await- 
 ing its coming. For a full half hour she had 
 stood at one corner of the platform strain- 
 ing her eyes to watch a thin skein of smoke 
 that trailed off down the horizon, but which 
 told her that the train was coming. It 
 crawled slowly — like a huge serpent — over 
 the wilderness of space, growing always 
 larger, steaming its way through the golden 
 sunshine of the afternoon, and after a time, 
 with a grinding of brakes and the shrill hiss 
 of escaping air, it drew alongside the station 
 platform. 
 
 A brakeman descended, the conductor 
 strode stiffly to the telegrapher's window, 
 two trunks came out of the baggage car, 
 and a tall man of fifty alighted and was 
 folded into Sheila's welcoming arms. For a 
 moment the two stood thus, while the pas- 
 sengers smiled sympathetically. Then the 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 99 
 
 man held Sheila off at arm's length and 
 looked searchingly at her, 
 
 " Crying? " he said. " What a welcome! " 
 
 "Oh, daddy!" said Sheila. In this mo- 
 ment she was very near to telling him what 
 had happened to her on the day of her 
 arrival at Lazette, but she felt that it was 
 impossible with him looking at her; she 
 could not at a blow cast a shadow over the 
 joy of his first day in the country where, 
 henceforth, he was to make his home. And 
 so she stood sobbing softly on his shoulder 
 while he, aware of his inability to cope with 
 anything so mysterious as a woman's tears, 
 caressed her gently and waited patiently for 
 her to regain her composure. 
 
 " Then nothing happened to you after 
 all," he laughed, patting her cheeks. 
 " Nothing, in spite of my croaking." 
 
 " Nothing," she answered. The opportu- 
 nity was gone now; she was committed 
 irrevocably to her secret. 
 
 "You like it here? Duncan has made 
 himself agreeable?" 
 
 " It is a beautiful country, though a little 
 lonesome after — after Albany. I miss my 
 
100 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 friends, of course. But Duncan's sister has 
 done her best, and I have been able to get 
 along." 
 
 The engine bell clanged and they stood 
 side by side as the train pulled slowly away 
 from the platform. Langford solemnly 
 waved a farewell to it. 
 
 " This is the moment for which I have 
 been looking for months," he said, with 
 what, it seemed to Sheila, was almost a sigh 
 of relief. He turned to her with a smile. 
 " I will look after the baggage," he said, 
 and leaving her he approached the station 
 agent and together they examined the 
 trunks which had come out of the baggage 
 car. 
 
 Sheila watched him while he engaged in 
 this task. His face seemed a trifle drawn; 
 he had aged much during the month that 
 she had been separated from him. The lines 
 of his face had grown deeper; he seemed, 
 now that she saw him at a distance, to be 
 care-worn — tired. She had heard people 
 call him a hard man; she knew that business 
 associates had complained of what they were 
 pleased to call his " sharp methods " ; it had 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 101 
 
 even been hinted that his " methods " were 
 irregular. 
 
 It made no difference to her, however, 
 what people thought of him, or what they 
 said of him, he had been a kind and indul- | 
 gent parent to her and she supposed that in 
 business it was everybody's business to look 
 sharply after their own interests. For there 
 were jealous people everywhere; envy stalks 
 rampant through the world ; failure cavils at 
 mediocrity, mediocrity sneers at genius. 
 And Sheila had always considered her 
 father a genius, and the carping of those 
 over whom her father had ridden rough- 
 shod had always sounded in her ears like 
 tributes. 
 
 As quite unconsciously we are prone to 
 place the interests of self above considera- 
 tions for the comfort and the convenience 
 of others, so Sheila had grown to judge her 
 father through the medium of his treatment 
 of her. Her own father — who had died dur- 
 ing her infancy — could not have treated her 
 better than had Langford. Since her 
 mother's death some years before, Langford 
 had been both father and mother to her, and 
 
102 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 her affection for him had flourished in the 
 sunshine of his. No matter what other 
 people thought, she was satisfied with him. 
 
 As a matter of fact David Dowd Lang- 
 ford allowed no one — not even Sheila — to 
 look into his soul. What emotions slum- 
 bered beneath the mask of his habitual im- 
 perturbability no one save Langford him- 
 self knew. During all his days he had suc- 
 cessfully fought against betraying his emo- 
 tions and now, at the age of fifty, there was 
 nothing of his character revealed in his face 
 except sternness. If addicted to sharp prac- 
 tice in business no one would be likely to sus- 
 pect it, not even his victim. Could one have 
 looked steadily into his eyes one might find 
 there a certain gleam to warn one of trick- 
 ery, only one would not be able to look 
 steadily into them, for the reason that they 
 would not allow you. They were shifty, 
 crafty eyes that took one's measure when 
 one least expected them to do so. 
 
 Over the motive which had moved her 
 father to retire from business while still in 
 his prime Sheila did not speculate. Nor had 
 she speculated when he had bought the 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 103 
 
 Double R ranch and announced his inten- 
 tion to spend the remainder of his days on 
 it. She supposed that he had grown tired 
 of the unceasing bustle and activity of city 
 life, as had she, and longed for something 
 different, and she had been quite as eager 
 as he to take up her residence here. This 
 had been the limit of her conjecturing. 
 
 He had told her when she left Albany 
 that he would follow her in a month. And 
 therefore, in a month to the day, knowing 
 his habit of punctuality, Sheila had come 
 to Lazette for him, having been driven over 
 from the Double R by one of the cowboys. 
 
 She saw the station agent now, beckoning 
 to the driver of the wagon, and she went 
 over to the edge of the station platform and 
 watched while the trunks were tumbled in- 
 to the wagon. 
 
 The driver was grumbling good natur- 
 edly to Langford. 
 
 " That darned six-o'clock train is always 
 late," he was saying. " It's a quarter to 
 eight now an' the sun is goin' down. If 
 that train had been on time we could have 
 made part of the trip in the daylight." 
 
104 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 The day had indeed gone. Sheila looked 
 toward the mountains and saw that great 
 long shadows were lengthening from their 
 bases; the lower half of the sun had sunk 
 behind a distant peak; the quiet colors of 
 the sunset were streaking the sky and glow- 
 ing over the plains. 
 
 The trunks were in; the station agent 
 held the horses by the bridles, quieting them; 
 the driver took up the reins ; Sheila was 
 helped to the seat by her father, he jumped 
 in himself, and they were off down the 
 street, toward a dim trail that led up a 
 slope that began at the edge of town and 
 melted into space. 
 
 The town seemed deserted. Sheila saw a 
 man standing near the front door of a sa- 
 loon, his hands on his hips. He did not 
 appear interested in either the wagon or its 
 occupants; his gaze roved up and down the 
 street and he nervously fingered his car- 
 tridge belt. He was a brown-skinned man, 
 almost olive, Sheila thought as her gaze 
 rested on him, attired after the manner of 
 the country, with leathern chaps, felt hat, 
 boots, spurs, neckerchief. 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 105 
 
 "Why, it is sundown already!'' Sheila 
 heard her father say. "What a sudden 
 change! A moment ago the light was per- 
 fect!" 
 
 A Subconscious sense only permitted 
 Sheila to hear her father's voice, for her 
 thoughts and eyes were just then riveted on 
 another man who had come out of the door 
 of another saloon a little way down the 
 street. She recognized the man as Dakota 
 and exclaimed sharply. 
 
 She felt her father turn; heard the driver 
 declare, " It's comin' off," though she had 
 not the slightest idea of his meaning. Then 
 she realized that he had halted the horses; 
 saw that he had turned in his seat and was 
 watching something to the rear of them 
 intently. 
 
 " We're out of range," she heard him say, 
 speaking to her father. 
 
 " What's wrong? " This was her father's 
 voice. 
 
 " Dakota an' Blanca are havin* a run-in," 
 announced the driver. " Dakota's give 
 Blanca till sundown to get out of town. It's 
 sundown now an' Blanca ain't pulled his 
 
106 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 freight, an' it's likely that hell will be a-pop- 
 pin' sorta sudden." 
 
 Sheila cowered in her seat, half afraid to 
 look at Dakota — who was walking slowly 
 toward the man who still stood in front of 
 the saloon — though in spite of her fears and 
 misgivings the fascination of the scene held 
 her gaze steadily on the chief actors. 
 
 Out of the corners of her eyes she could 
 see that far down the street men were con- 
 gregated; they stood in doorways, at con- 
 venient corners, their eyes directed toward 
 Dakota and the other man. In the sepul- 
 chral calm which had fallen there came to 
 Sheila's ears sounds that in another time 
 she would not have noticed. Somewhere a 
 door slammed; there came to her ears the 
 barking of a dog, the neigh of a horse — 
 sharply the sounds smote the quiet atmos- 
 phere, they seemed odd to the point of un- 
 reality. 
 
 However, the sounds did not long distract 
 her attention from the chief actors in the 
 scene which was being worked out in front 
 of her; the noises died away and she gave 
 her entire attention to the men. She saw 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 107 
 
 Dakota reach a point about thirty feet from 
 the man in front of the saloon — Blanca. As 
 Dakota continued to approach, Sheila ob- 
 served an evil smile flash suddenly to 
 Blanca's face; saw a glint of metal in the 
 faint light; heard the crash of his revolver; 
 shuddered at the flame spurt. She expected 
 to see Dakota fall — hoped that he might. 
 Instead, she saw him smile — in much the 
 fashion in which he had smiled that night 
 in the cabin when he had threatened to shoot 
 the parson if she did not consent to marry 
 bim. And then his hand dropped swiftly to 
 the butt of the pistol at his right hip. 
 
 Sheila's eyes closed; she swayed and felt 
 her father's arm come out and grasp her to 
 keep her from falling. But she was not go- 
 ing to fall ; she had merely closed her eyes to 
 blot out the scene which she could not turn 
 from. She held her breath in an agony of 
 suspense, and it seemed an age until she 
 heard a crashing report — and then another. 
 Then silence. 
 
 Unable longer to resist looking, Sheila 
 opened her eyes. She saw Dakota walk 
 forward and stand over Blanca, looking 
 
108 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 down at him, his pistol still in hand. Blanca 
 was face down in the dust of the street, and 
 as Dakota stood over him Sheila saw the 
 half-breed's body move convulsively and 
 then become still. Dakota sheathed his 
 weapon and, without looking toward the 
 wagon in which Sheila sat, turned and 
 strode unconcernedly down the street. A 
 man came out of the door of the saloon in 
 front of which Blanca's body lay, looking 
 down at it curiously. Other men were run- 
 ning toward the spot; there were shouts, 
 oaths. 
 
 For the first time in her life Sheila had 
 seen a man killed — murdered — and there 
 came to her a recollection of Dakota's words 
 that night in the cabin: "Have you ever 
 seen a man die?" She had surmised from 
 his manner that night that he would not 
 hesitate to kill the parson, and now she knew 
 that her sacrifice had not been made in vain. 
 A sob shook her, the world reeled, blurred, 
 and she covered her face with her hands. 
 
 "Oh!" she said in a strained, hoarse 
 voice. "Oh! The brute!" 
 
 "Hey!" From a great distance the 
 
DAKOTA EVENS A SCORE 109 
 
 driver's voice seemed to come. "Hey I 
 What's that? Well, mebbe. But I reckon 
 Blanca won't rustle any more cattle. 
 " God! " he added in an awed voice; " both 
 of them hit him! " 
 
 Blanca was dead then, there could be no 
 doubt of that. Sheila felt herself swaying 
 and tried to grasp the end of the seat to 
 steady herself. She heard her father's voice 
 raised in alarm, felt his arm come out again 
 and grasp her, and then darkness settled 
 around her. 
 
 When she recovered consciousness her 
 father's arms were still around her and the 
 buckboard was in motion. Dusk had come ; 
 above her countless stars flickered in the 
 deep blue of the sky. 
 
 " I reckon she's plum shocked," she heard 
 the driver say. 
 
 " I don't wonder," returned Langford, 
 and Sheila felt a shiver run over him. 
 " Great guns ! " Sheila wondered at the 
 tone he used. " That man is a marvel with 
 a pistol! Did you notice how cool he took 
 it?" 
 
 "Cool!" The driver laughed. " If you 
 
110 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 get acquainted with Dakota you'll find out 
 that he's cool. He's an iceberg, that's what 
 he is!" 
 
 " They'll arrest him, I suppose?" queried 
 Langford. 
 
 " Arrest him ! What for? Didn't he give 
 Blanca his chance? That's why I'm tellin' 
 you he's cool! " 
 
 It was past two o'clock when the buck- 
 board pulled up at the Double R corral gates 
 and Langford helped Shelia down. She was 
 still pale and trembling and did not remain 
 downstairs to witness her father's introduc- 
 tion to Duncan's sister, but went immedi- 
 ately to her room. Sleep was far from her, 
 however, for she kept dwelling over and 
 over on the odd fortune which had killed 
 Blanca and allowed Dakota to live, when 
 the latter's death would have brought to an 
 end the distasteful relationship which his 
 freakish impulse had forced upon her. 
 
 She remembered Dakota's words in the 
 cabin. Was Fate indeed running this 
 game — if game it might be called? 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 KINDRED SPIRITS 
 
 LOOKING rather more rugged than 
 when he had arrived at the station 
 at Lazette two weeks before, his face 
 tanned, but still retaining the smooth, sleek 
 manner which he had brought with him from 
 the East, David Dowd Langford sat in a 
 big rocking chair on the lower gallery of 
 the Double R ranchhouse, mentally apprais- 
 ing Duncan, who was seated near by, his 
 profile toward Langford. 
 
 " So this Ben Doubler has been a thorn 
 in your side?" questioned Langford softly. 
 
 " That's just it," returned Duncan, with 
 an evil smile. " He has been and still is. 
 And now I'm willing him to you. I don't 
 know when I've been more tickled over get- 
 ting rid of a man." 
 
 * Well," said Langford, leaning farther 
 back in his chair and clasping his hands, 
 111 
 
112 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 resting his chin on his thumbs, his lips curv- 
 ing with an ironic smile, " I suppose I ought 
 to feel extremely grateful to you — espe- 
 cially since when I was negotiating the pur- 
 chase of the ranch you didn't hint of a nester 
 being on the property," 
 
 " I didn't sell Doubler to you," said Dun- 
 can. 
 
 Langford's smile was shallow. "But I 
 get him just the same," he said, "As a 
 usual thing it is pretty hard to get rid of a 
 nester, isn't it?" 
 
 "I haven't been able to get rid of this 
 one," returned Duncan. " He don't seem 
 to be influenced by anything I say, or do. 
 Some obstinate." 
 
 "Tried everything?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "The law?" 
 
 Duncan made a gesture of disgust. " The 
 law! " he said. " What for? I haven't been 
 such a fool. He's got as much right to the 
 open range as I have — as you will have. I 
 bought a section, and he took up a quarter 
 section. The only difference between us is 
 that I own mine — or did own it until you 
 
KINDRED SPIRITS 113 
 
 bought it — and he ain't proved on his. He 
 is on the other side of the river and I'm on 
 this. Or rather," he added with a grin, 
 " he's on the other side and you are on this. 
 He's got the best grass land in the country 
 — and plenty of water." 
 
 " His rights, then," remarked Langford 
 slowly, " equal yours — or mine. That is," 
 he added, " he makes free use of the grass 
 and water." 
 
 " That's so," agreed Duncan. 
 
 " Which reduces the profits of the Double 
 R," pursued Langford. 
 
 " I reckon that's right." 
 
 " And you knew that when you sold me 
 the Double R," continued Langford, his 
 voice smooth and silky. 
 
 Duncan flashed a grin at the imperturb- 
 able face of the new owner. " I reckon I 
 wasn't entirely ignorant of it," he said. 
 
 " That's bad business," remarked Lang- 
 ford in a detached manner. 
 
 "What is?" Duncan's face reddened 
 slightly. " You mean that it was bad busi- 
 ness for nje to sell when I knowed Doubler 
 owned land near the Double R?" There 
 
114 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 was a slight sneer in his voice as he looked 
 at Langford. " You've never been stung 
 before, eh? Well, there's always a first 
 time for everything, and I reckon — accord- 
 ing to what I've heard — that you ain't been 
 exactly no Sunday school scholar yourself.'' 
 
 Langford's eyes were narrowed to slits. 
 " I meant that it was bad business to allow 
 Doubler's presence on the Two Forks to 
 affect the profits of the Double R. Perhaps 
 I have been stung — as you call it — but if I 
 have been I am not complaining." 
 
 Duncan's eyes glinted with satisfaction. 
 He had expected a burst of anger from the 
 new owner when he should discover that the 
 value of his property was impaired by the 
 presence of a nester near it, but the new 
 owner apparently harbored no resentment 
 over this unforeseen obstacle. 
 
 " I'm admitting," said Duncan, " that 
 Doubler being there is bad business. But 
 how are you going to prevent him staying 
 there?" " 
 
 "Have you tried" — Langford looked 
 obliquely at Duncan, drawling significantly 
 —"force?" 
 
KINDRED SPIRITS 115 
 
 " I have tried everything, I told you." 
 
 Duncan gazed at Langford with a new 
 interest. It was the first time since the new 
 owner had come to the Double R that he 
 had dropped the mask of sleek smoothness 
 behind which he concealed his passions. 
 Even now the significance was more in his 
 voice than in his words, and Duncan began 
 to comprehend that Langford was deeper 
 than he had thought. 
 
 " I'm glad to see that you appreciate the 
 situation," he said, smiling craftily. " Some 
 men are mighty careful not to do anything 
 to hurt anybody else." 
 
 Langford favored Duncan with a steady 
 gaze, which the latter returned, and both 
 smiled. 
 
 " Business," presently said Langford 
 with a quiet significance which was not lost 
 on Duncan, " good business, demands the 
 application of certain methods which are not 
 always agreeable to the opposition." He 
 took another sly glance at Duncan. " There 
 ought to be a good many ways of making 
 it plain to Doubler that he isn't wanted in 
 this section of the country," he insinuated. 
 
116 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 "I've tried to make some of the ways 
 plain," said Duncan with a cold grin. " I 
 got to the end of my string and hadn't any 
 more things to try. That's why I decided 
 to sell. I wanted to get away where I 
 wouldn't be bothered. But I reckon that 
 you'll be able to fix up something for him." 
 
 During the two weeks that Langford had 
 been at the Double R Duncan had studied 
 him from many angles and this exchange of 
 talk had convinced him that he had not erred 
 in his estimate of the new owner's character. 
 As he had hinted to Langford, he had tried 
 many plans to rid the country of the nester, 
 and he remembered a time when Doubler 
 had seen through one of his schemes to 
 fasten the crime of rustling on him and had 
 called him to account, and the recollection 
 of what had happened at the interview be- 
 tween them was not pleasant. He had not 
 bothered Doubler since that time, though 
 there had lingered in his heart a desire for 
 revenge. Many times, on some pretext or 
 other, he had tried to induce his men to 
 clash with Doubler, but without success. It 
 had appeared to him that his men suspected 
 
KINDRED SPIRITS 117 
 
 his motives and deliberately avoided the 
 nester. 
 
 With a secret satisfaction he had watched 
 Langford's face this morning when he had 
 told him that Doubler had long been sus- 
 pected of rustling; that the men of the 
 Double R had never been able to catch him 
 in the act, but that the number of cattle 
 missing had seemed to indicate the nester's 
 guilt 
 
 Doubter's land was especially desirable, 
 ' he had told Langford, and this was the 
 truth. It was a quarter section lying adja- 
 cent to good water, and provided the best 
 grass in the vicinity. Duncan had had 
 trouble with Doubler over the water rights, 
 too, but had been unsuccessful in ousting 
 him because of the fact that since Doubler 
 controlled the land he also controlled the 
 water rights of the river adjoining it. The 
 Two Forks was the only spot which could be 
 used by thirsty cattle in the vicinity, for the 
 river at other points was bordered with cliffs 
 and hills and was inaccessible. And Doub- 
 ler would not allow the Double R cattle to 
 water at the Two Forks, though he had 
 
118 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 issued this edict after his trouble with the 
 Double R owner. Duncan, however, did not 
 explain this to Langford. 
 
 The latter looked at him with a smooth 
 smile. " It is plain from what you have 
 been telling me," he said, " that there is no 
 possibility of you succeeding in reaching a 
 satisfactory agreement with Doubler, and 
 therefore I expect that I will have to deal 
 with him personally. I shall ride over some 
 day and have a talk with him." 
 
 The prospect of becoming involved with 
 the nester gave Langford a throb of joy. 
 All his life he had been engaged in the task 
 of overcoming business obstacles and he had 
 reached the conclusion that the situation 
 which now confronted him was nothing 
 more or less than business. Of course it was 
 not the business to which he had been accus- 
 tomed, but it offered the opportunity for 
 cold-blooded, merciless planning for per- 
 sonal gain; there were the elements of profit 
 and loss; it would give him an opportunity 
 to apply his peculiar genius, to grapple, to 
 battle, and finally overthrow the opposing 
 lorce. 
 
KINDRED SPIRITS 119 
 
 Though he had allowed Duncan to see 
 nothing of the emotions that rioted within 
 him over the discovery that he had been vic- 
 timized by the latter — at least to the extent 
 of misrepresentation in the matter of the 
 nester — there was in his mind a feeling of 
 deep resentment against the former owner; 
 he felt that he could no longer trust him, 
 but for the sake of learning all the details of 
 the new business he felt that he would have 
 to make the best of a bad bargain. He had 
 already arranged with Duncan to remain at 
 the Double R throughout the season, but he 
 purposed to leave him out of any dealings 
 that he might have with Doubler. He 
 smiled as he looked at Duncan. 
 
 " I like this country/' he said, leaning 
 back in his chair and drawing a deep breath. 
 " I was rather afraid at first that I would 
 find it dull after the East. But this situa- 
 tion gives promise of action." 
 
 Duncan was watching him with a crafty 
 smile. "You reckon on running him off, 
 or " He leered at Langford signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 The latter's face was impassive, his smile 
 
120 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 dry. "Eh?" he said, abstractedly, as 
 though his thoughts had been wandering 
 from the subject. " Why, I really haven't 
 given a thought to the method by which I 
 ought to deal with Doubler. Perhaps," he 
 added with a genial smile, " I may make a 
 friend of him." 
 
 He observed Duncan's scowl and his smile 
 grew. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 BOGGED DOWN 
 
 EACH day during the two weeks that 
 her father had been at the Double R 
 Sheila had accompanied him on his 
 rides of exploration. She had grown tired 
 of the continued companionship, and despite 
 the novelty of the sight she had become de- 
 cidedly wearied of looking at the cowboys 
 in their native haunts. Not that they did 
 not appeal to her, for on the contrary she 
 had found them picturesque and had ad- 
 mired their manliness, but she longed to ride 
 out alone where she could brood over her 
 secret. The possession of it had taken the 
 flavor out of the joys of this new life, had 
 left it flat and filled with bitter memories. 
 She had detected a change in her father — 
 he seemed coarse, domineering, entirely un- 
 like his usual self. She attributed this 
 121 
 
122 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 change in him to the country — it was hard 
 and rough, and of course it was to be ex- 
 pected that Langford— or any man, for that 
 matter — taking an active interest in ranch 
 life, must reflect the spirit of the country. 
 
 She had developed a positive dislike for 
 Duncan, which she took no trouble to con- 
 ceal. She had discovered that the suspi- 
 cions she had formed of his character dur- 
 ing the first days of their acquaintance w T ere 
 quite correct — he was selfish, narrow, and 
 brutal. He had accompanied her and her 
 father on all their trips and his manner to- 
 ward her had grown to be one of easy famil- 
 iarity. This was another reason why she 
 wanted to ride alone. 
 
 The day before she had spoken to Lang- 
 ford concerning the continued presence of 
 Duncan on their rides, and he had laughed 
 at her, assuring her that Duncan was not a 
 " bad fellow," and though she had not taken 
 issue with him on this point she had decided 
 that hereafter, in self protection, she would 
 discontinue her rides with her father as long 
 as he was accompanied by the former owner. 
 
 Determined to carry out this decision, she 
 
BOGGED DOWN 123 
 
 was this morning saddling her pony at the 
 corral gates when she observed Duncan 
 standing near, watching her. 
 
 11 You might have let me throw that sad- 
 dle on," he said. 
 
 She flushed, angered that he should have 
 been watching her without making his pres- 
 ence known. " I prefer to put the saddle on 
 myself," she returned, busying herself with 
 it after taking a flashing glance at him. 
 
 He laughed, pulled out a package of to- 
 bacco and some paper, and proceeded to roll 
 a cigarette. When he had completed it he 
 held a match to it and puffed slowly. 
 
 " Cross this morning," he taunted. 
 
 There was no reply, though Duncan 
 might have been warned by the dark red in 
 her cheeks. She continued to work with the 
 saddle, lacing the latigo strings and tighten- 
 ing the cinches. 
 
 " We're riding down to the box canyon 
 on the other side of the basin this morning," 
 said Duncan. " WeVe got some stray? 
 penned up there. But your dad won't be 
 ready for half an hour yet. You're in some- 
 thing of a hurry, it seems." 
 
124 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " You are going, I suppose? " questioned 
 Sheila, pulling at the rear cinch, the pony 
 displaying a disinclination to allow it to be 
 buckled. 
 
 " I reckon." 
 
 " I don't see," said Sheila, straightening 
 and facing him, " why you have to go with 
 father everywhere." 
 
 Duncan flushed. " Your father's aiming 
 to learn the business," he said. " I'm show- 
 ing him, telling him what I know about it. 
 There's a chance that I won't be with the 
 Double R after the fall round-up, if a deal 
 which I have got on goes through." 
 
 " And I suppose you have a corner on all 
 the knowledge of ranch life," suggested 
 Sheila sarcastically. 
 
 He flushed darkly, but did not answer. 
 
 After Sheila had completed the tighten- 
 ing of the cinches she led the pony beside the 
 corral fence, mounted, and without looking 
 at Duncan started to ride away. 
 
 "Wait!" he shouted, and she drew the 
 pony to a halt and sat in the saddle, looking 
 down at him with a contemptuous gaze as 
 he stood in front of her. 
 
BOGGED DOWN 125 
 
 " I thought you was going with your 
 father?'' he said. 
 
 ' You are mistaken." She could not re- 
 press a smile over the expression of disap- 
 pointment on his face. But without giving 
 him any further satisfaction she urged her 
 pony forward, leaving him standing beside 
 the corral gates watching her with a frown. 
 
 She smiled many times while riding to- 
 ward the river, thinking of his discomfiture, 
 reveling in the thought that for once she had 
 shown him that she resented the attitude of 
 familiarity which he had adopted toward 
 her. 
 
 She sat erect in the saddle, experiencing 
 a feeling of elation which brought the color 
 into her face and brightened her eyes. It 
 was the first time since her arrival at the 
 Double R that she had been able to ride out 
 alone, and it was also the first time that she 
 really appreciated the vastness and beauty 
 of the country. For the trail to the river, 
 which she had decided she would follow, led 
 through a fertile country where the bunch 
 grass grew long and green, the barren 
 stretches of alkali were infrequent, and 
 
126 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 where the low wooded hills and the shallow 
 gullies seemed to hint at the mystery. Before 
 long the depression which had made her life 
 miserable had fled and she was enjoying her- 
 self. 
 
 When she reached the river she crossed it 
 at a shallow and urged her pony up a slop- 
 ing bank and out upon a grass plain that 
 spread away like the level of a great, green 
 sea. Once into the plain, though, she dis- 
 covered that its promise of continuing green 
 was a mere illusion, for the grass grew here 
 in bunches, the same as it grew on the 
 Double R side of the river. Yet though she 
 was slightly disappointed she found many 
 things to interest her, and she lingered long 
 over the odd rock formations that she en- 
 countered and spent much time peering 
 down into gullies and exploring sand draws 
 which seemed to be on every side. 
 
 About noon, when she became convinced 
 that she had seen everything worth seeing 
 in that section of the country, she wheeled 
 her pony and headed it back toward the 
 river. She reached it after a time and urged 
 her beast along its banks, searching for the 
 
BOGGED DOWN 127 
 
 shallow which she had crossed some time be- 
 fore. A dim trail led along the river and 
 she felt certain that if she followed it long 
 enough it would lead her to the crossing, but 
 after riding half an hour and encountering 
 nothing but hills and rock cliffs she began to 
 doubt. But she rode on for another half 
 hour and then, slightly disturbed over her 
 inability to find the shallow, she halted the 
 pony and looked about her. 
 
 The country was strange and unfamiliar 
 and a sudden misgiving assailed her. Had 
 she lost her idea of direction? She looked 
 up at the sun and saw that it was slightly 
 past the zenith on its downward path. She 
 smiled. Of course all she had to do was to 
 follow the river and in time she would come 
 in sight of the Double R buildings. Certain 
 that she had missed the shallow because of 
 her interest in other things, she urged her 
 pony about and cantered it slowly over the 
 back trail. A little later, seeing an arroyo 
 which seemed to give promise of leading to 
 the shallow she sought, she descended it and 
 found that it led to a flat and thence to the 
 river. The crossing seemed unfamiliar, and 
 
128 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 yet she supposed that one crossing would do 
 quite as well as another, and so she smiled 
 and continued on toward it. 
 
 There was a fringe of shrubbery at the 
 edge of what appeared to have once been a 
 swamp, though now it was dry and made 
 fairly good footing for her pony. The ani- 
 mal acted strangely, however, when she tried 
 to urge it through the fringing shrubbery, 
 and she was compelled to use her quirt vig- 
 orously. 
 
 Once at the water's edge she halted the 
 pony and viewed the crossing with satisfac- 
 tion. She decided that it was a much better 
 crossing than the one she had encountered 
 on the trip out. It was very shallow, not 
 over thirty feet wide, she estimated, and 
 through the clear water she could easily see 
 the hard, sandy bottom. It puzzled her 
 slightly to observe that there were no wagon 
 tracks or hoof prints in the sand anywhere 
 around her, as there would be were the cross- 
 ing used ever so little. It seemed to be an 
 isolated section of the country though, and 
 perhaps the cattlemen used the crossing lit- 
 tle — there was even a chance that she was 
 
BOGGED DOWN 129 
 
 the first to discover its existence. She must 
 remember to ask someone about it when she 
 returned to the Double R. 
 
 She urged the pony gently with her 
 booted heel and voice, but the little animal 
 would not budge. Impatient over its ob- 
 stinacy, she again applied the quirt vigor- 
 ously. Stung to desperation the pony stood 
 erect for an instant, pawing the air franti- 
 cally with its fore hoofs, and then, as the 
 quirt continued to lash its flanks, it lunged 
 forward, snorting in apparent fright, made 
 two or three eccentric leaps, splashing water 
 high over Sheila's head, and then came to a 
 sudden stop in the middle of the stream. 
 
 Sheila nibbled at her lips in vexation. 
 Again, convinced that the pony was merely 
 exhibiting obstinacy, she applied the quirt 
 to its flanks. The animal floundered and 
 struggled, but did not move out of its tracks. 
 
 Evidently something had gone wrong. 
 Sheila peered over the pony's mane into the 
 water, which was still clear in spite of the 
 pony's struggling, and sat suddenly erect, 
 stifling cry of amazement. The pony was 
 mired fast! Its legs, to a point just above 
 
130 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 the knees, had disappeared into the river 
 bottom! 
 
 As she straightened, a chilling fear clutch- 
 ing at her heart, she felt the cold water of 
 the river splashing against her booted legs. 
 And now knowledge came to her in a sud- 
 den, sickening flood. She had ridden her 
 pony fairly into a bed of quicksand ! 
 
 For some minutes she sat motionless iii 
 the saddle, stunned and nerveless. She saw 
 now why there were no tracks or hoof prints 
 leading down into the crossing. She remem- 
 bered now that Duncan had warned her of 
 the presence of quicksand in the river, but 
 the chance of her riding into any of it had 
 seemed to be so remote that she had paid 
 very little attention to Duncan's warning. 
 Much as she disliked the man she would have 
 given much to have him close at hand now. 
 If he had only followed her! 
 
 She was surprised at her coolness. She 
 realized that the situation was precarious, 
 for though she had never before experienced 
 a quicksand, she had read much of them in 
 books, and knew that the pony was hope- 
 lessly mired. But it seemed that there could 
 
BOGGED DOWN 131 
 
 be no immediate danger, for the river bot- 
 tom looked smooth and hard; it was gray- 
 ish-black, and she was so certain that the 
 footing was good that she pulled her feet out 
 of the stirrups, swung around, and stepped 
 down into the water. 
 
 She had stepped lightly, bearing only a 
 little of her weight on the foot while holding 
 to the saddle, but the foot sank instantly 
 into the sand and the water darkened around 
 it. She tried again in another spot, putting 
 a little more weight on her foot this time. 
 She went in almost to the knee and was sur- 
 prised to find that she had to exert some lit- 
 tle strength to pull the foot out, there was so 
 great a suction. 
 
 With the discovery that she was really in 
 a dangerous predicament came a mental 
 panic which threatened to take the form of 
 hysteria. She held tightly to the pommel 
 of the saddle, shutting her eyes on the deso- 
 late world around her, battling against the 
 great fear that rose within her and choked 
 her. When she opened her eyes again the 
 world was reeling and objects around her 
 were strangely blurred, but she held tightly 
 
132 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 to the saddle, telling herself that she must 
 retain her composure, and after a time she 
 regained the mastery over herself. 
 
 With the return of her mental faculties 
 she began to give some thought to escape. 
 But escape seemed to be impossible. Look- 
 ing backward toward the bank she had left, 
 she saw that the pony must have come fif- 
 teen or twenty feet in the two or three 
 plunges it had made. She found herself 
 wondering how it could have succeeded in 
 coming that distance. Behind her the water 
 had become perfectly clear, and the impres- 
 sions left by the pony's hoofs had filled up 
 and the river bottom looked as smooth and 
 inviting as it had seemed when she had urged 
 the pony into it. 
 
 In front of her was a stretch of water of 
 nearly the same width as that which lay be- 
 hind her. To the right and left the grayish- 
 black sand spread far, but only a short dis- 
 tance beyond where she could discern the 
 sand there were rocks that stuck above the 
 water with little ripples around them. 
 
 The rocks were too far away to be of 
 any assistance to her, however, and her heart 
 
BOGGED DOWN 133 
 
 sank when she realized that her only hope of 
 escape lay directly ahead. 
 
 She leaned over and laid her head against 
 the pony's neck, smoothing and patting its 
 shoulders. The animal whinnied appeal- 
 ingly and she stifled a sob of remorse over 
 her action in forcing it into the treacherous 
 sand, for it had sensed the danger while 
 obeying her blindly. 
 
 How long she lay with her head against 
 the pony's neck she did not know, but when 
 she finally sat erect again she found that the 
 water was touching the hem of her riding 
 skirt and that her feet, dangling at each side 
 of the pony, were deep in the sand of the 
 river bottom. With a cry of fright she drew 
 them out and crossed them before her on the 
 pommel of the saddle. With the movement 
 the pony sank several inches, it seemed to 
 her; she saw the water suddenly flow over 
 its back; heard it neigh loudly, appealingly, 
 with a note of anguish and terror which 
 seemed almost human, and feeling a sudden, 
 responsive emotion of horror and despair, 
 Sheila bowed her head against the pony's 
 mane and sobbed softly. 
 
134 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 They would both die, she knew — horribly. 
 They would presently sink beneath the sur- 
 face of the sand, the water would flow over 
 them and obliterate all traces of their graves, 
 and no one would ever know what had be- 
 come of them. 
 
 Some time later — it might have been five 
 minutes or an hour — Sheila could not have 
 told — she heard the pony neigh again, and 
 this time it seemed there was a new note in 
 the sound— a note of hope ! She raised her 
 head and looked up. And there on the bank 
 before her, uncoiling his rope from the sad- 
 dle horn and looking very white and grim, 
 was Dakota! 
 
 Sheila sat motionless, not knowing 
 whether to cry or laugh, finally compromis- 
 ing with the appeal, uttered with all the 
 composure at her command: 
 
 " Won't you please get us out of here? " 
 
 " That's what I am aiming to do," he said, 
 and never did a voice sound sweeter in her 
 ears ; at that moment she almost forgave him 
 for the great crime he had committed against 
 her. 
 
 He seemed not in the least excited, con- 
 
'WON'T YOU PLEASE GET US OUT OF THIS?" p a<fe 134 
 
 The Trail to Yesterday. 
 

BOGGED DOWN 135 
 
 tinuing to uncoil his rope and recoil it again 
 into larger loops. " Hold your hands over 
 your head ! " came his command. 
 
 She did as she was bidden. He had not 
 dismounted from his pony, but had ridden 
 up to the very edge of the quicksand, and as 
 she raised her hands she saw him twirl the 
 rope once, watched as it sailed out, settled 
 down around her waist, and was drawn 
 tight. 
 
 There was now a grim smile on his face. 
 " You're in for a wetting," he said. " I'm 
 sorry — but it can't be helped. Get your feet 
 off to one side so that you won't get mixed 
 up with the saddle. And keep your head 
 above the water." 
 
 " Ye-s," she answered tremulously, dread- 
 ing the ordeal, dreading still more the 
 thought of her appearance when she would 
 finally reach the bank. 
 
 His pony was in motion instantly, pulling 
 strongly, following out its custom of drag- 
 ging a roped steer, and Sheila slipped off the 
 saddle and into the water, trying to keep her 
 feet under her. But she overbalanced and 
 fell with a splash, and in this manner was 
 
136 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 dragged, gasping, strangling, and dripping 
 wet, to the bank. 
 
 Dakota was off his pony long before she 
 had reached the solid ground and was at 
 her side before she had cleared the water, 
 helping her to her feet and loosening the 
 noose about her waist. 
 
 " Don't, please ! " she said frigidly, as his 
 hand touched her. 
 
 " Then I won't." He smiled and stepped 
 back while she fumbled with the rope and 
 finally threw it off. " What made you try 
 that shallow? " he asked. 
 
 " I suppose I have a right to ride where I 
 please? " He had saved her life, of course, 
 and she was very grateful to him, but that 
 was no reason why he should presume to 
 speak familiarly to her. She really believed 
 — in spite of the obligation under which he 
 had placed her — that she hated him more 
 than ever. 
 
 But he did not seem to be at all disturbed 
 over her manner. On the contrary, looking 
 at him and trying her best to be scornful, he 
 seemed to be laboring heroically to stifle 
 some emotion — amusement, she decided — 
 
BOGGED DOWN 137 
 
 and she tried to freeze him with an icy stare. 
 
 " Now, you don't look dignified, for a 
 fact," he grinned, brazenly allowing his 
 mirth to show in his eyes and in the sudden, 
 curved lines that had come around his mouth. 
 " Still, you couldn't expect to look dignified, 
 no matter how hard you tried, after being 
 dragged through the water like that. Now 
 could you?" 
 
 " It isn't the first time that I have amused 
 you! " she said with angry sarcasm. 
 
 A cloud passed over his face, but was in- 
 stantly superseded by a smile. 
 
 " So you haven't forgotten? " he said. 
 
 She did not deign to answer, but turned 
 her back to him and looked at her partially 
 submerged pony. 
 
 " Want to try it again? " he said mock- 
 ingly. 
 
 She turned slowly and looked at him, 
 her eyes flashing. 
 
 "Will you please stop being silly!" she 
 said coldly. " If you were human you would 
 be trying to get my pony out of that sand 
 instead of standing there and trying to be 
 smart!" 
 
138 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " Did you think that I was going to let 
 him drown? " His smile had in it a quality 
 of subtle mockery which made her eyes blaze 
 with anger. Evidently he observed it for he 
 smiled as he walked to his pony, coiling his 
 rope and hanging it from the pommel of the 
 saddle. " I certainly am not going to let 
 your horse drown," he assured her, " for in 
 this country horses are sometimes more val- 
 uable than people." 
 
 "Then why didn't you save the pony 
 first? " she demanded hotly, 
 
 " How could I," he returned, fixing her 
 with an amused glance, " with you looking 
 so appealingly at me? " 
 
 She turned abruptly and left him, walk- 
 ing to a flat rock and seating herself upon 
 it, wringing the water from her skirts, try- 
 ing to get her hair out of her eyes, feeling 
 very miserable, and wishing devoutly that 
 Dakota might drown himself — after he 
 had succeeded in pulling the pony from the 
 quicksand. 
 
 But Dakota did not drown himself. Nor 
 did he pull the pony out of the quicksand. 
 She watched him as he rode to the water's 
 
BOGGED DOWN 139! 
 
 edge and looked at the animal. Her heart 
 sank when he turned and looked gravely at 
 her. 
 
 " I reckon your pony's done for, ma'am," 
 he said. " There isn't anything of him above 
 the sand but his head and a little of his neck. 
 He's too far gone, ma'am. In half an hour 
 he'll " 
 
 Sheila stood up, wet and excited. " Can't 
 you do something? " she pleaded. " Couldn't 
 you pull him out with your lariat — like you 
 did me?" 
 
 There was a grim humor in his smile. 
 " What do you reckon would have happened 
 to you if I had tried to pull you out by the 
 neck?" he asked. 
 
 "But can't you do something?" she 
 pleaded, her icy attitude toward him melting 
 under the warmth of her affection and sym- 
 pathy for the unfortunate pony. "Please 
 do something ! " she begged. 
 
 His face changed expression and he 
 tapped one of his holsters significantly. 
 " There's only this left, I reckon. Pulling 
 him out by the neck would break it, sure. 
 And it's never a nice thing to see — or hear — 
 
140 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 a horse or a cow sinking in quicksand. I've 
 seen it once or twice and " 
 
 Sheila shuddered and covered her face 
 with her hands, for his words had set her im- 
 agination to working. 
 
 " Oh! " she said and became silent. 
 
 Dakota stood for a moment, watching her, 
 his face grim with sympathy. 
 
 " It's too bad," he said finally. " I don't 
 like to shoot him, any more than you want 
 to see it done. I reckon, though, that the 
 pony would thank me for doing it if he could 
 have anything to say about it." He walked 
 over close to her, speaking in a low voice. 
 " You can't stay here, of course. You'll 
 have to take my horse, and you'll have to go 
 right now, if you don't want to be around 
 when the pony " 
 
 " Please don't," she said, interrupting 
 him. He relapsed into silence, and stood 
 gravely watching her as she resumed her 
 toilet. 
 
 She disliked to accept his offer of the 
 pony, but there seemed to be no other way. 
 She certainly could not walk to the Double 
 R ranchhouse, even to satisfy a desire to 
 
BOGGED DOWN 141 
 
 show him that she would not allow him to 
 place her under any obligation to him. 
 
 " I've got to tell you one thing," he said 
 presently, standing erect and looking ear- 
 nestly at her. " If Duncan is responsible 
 for your safety in this country he isn't show- 
 ing very good judgment in letting you run 
 around alone. There are dangers that you 
 know nothing about, and you don't know a 
 thing about the country. Someone ought to 
 take care of you." 
 
 " As you did, for example," she retorted, 
 filled with anger over his present solicitation 
 for her welfare, as contrasted to his treat- 
 ment of her on another occasion. 
 
 A slow red filled his cheeks. Evidently 
 he did possess some self-respect, after all. 
 Contrition, too, she thought she could detect 
 in his manner and in his voice. 
 
 " But I didn't hurt you, anyway," he said, 
 eyeing her steadily. 
 
 " Not if you call ruining a woman's name 
 not ' hurting ' her," she answered bitterly. 
 
 " I am sorry for that, Miss Sheila," he 
 said earnestly. " I had an idea that night — 
 and still have it, for that matter — that I was 
 
142 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 an instrument — Well, I had an idea, that's 
 all. But I haven't told anybody about what 
 happened — I haven't even hinted it to any- 
 body. And I told the parson to get out of 
 the country, so he wouldn't do any gassing 
 about it. And I haven't been over to Dry 
 Bottom to have the marriage recorded- — and 
 I am not going to go. So that you can have 
 it set aside at any time." 
 
 Yes, she could have the marriage an- 
 nulled, she knew that. But the contempla- 
 tion of her release from the tie that bound 
 her to him did not lessen the gravity of the 
 offense in her eyes. She told herself that she 
 hated him with a remorseless passion which 
 would never cease until he ceased to live. 
 No action of his could repair the damage he 
 had done to her. She told him so, plainly. 
 
 " I didn't know you were so blood-thirsty 
 as that," he laughed in quiet mockery. 
 " Maybe it would be a good thing for you if 
 I did die — or get killed. But I'm not allow- 
 ing that I'm ready to die yet, and certainly 
 am not going to let anybody kill me if I can 
 prevent it. I reckon you're not thinking of 
 doing the killing yourself?" 
 
BOGGED DOWN 143 
 
 " If I told my father — " she began, but 
 hesitated when she saw his lips suddenly 
 straighten and harden and his eyes light with 
 a deep contempt. 
 
 " So you haven't told your father? " he 
 laughed, " I was sure you had taken him 
 into your confidence by this time. But I 
 reckon it's a mighty good thing that you 
 didn't — for your father. Like as not if you'd 
 tell him he'd get some riled and come right 
 over to see me, yearning for my blood. And 
 then I'd have to shoot him up some. And 
 that would sure be too bad — you loving him 
 as you do." 
 
 11 1 suppose you would shoot him like you 
 shot that poor fellow in Lazette," she 
 taunted, bitterly. 
 
 " Like I did that poor fellow in Lazette," 
 he said, with broad, ironic emphasis. " You 
 saw me shoot Blanca, of course, for you were 
 there. But you don't know what made me 
 shoot him, and I am not going to tell you — 
 it's none of your business." 
 
 "Indeed!" Her voice was burdened 
 with contempt. " I suppose you take a cer- 
 tain pride in your ability to murder people." 
 
144 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 She placed a venomous accent on the " Mur- 
 der." 
 
 " Lots of people ought to be murdered/* 
 he drawled, using the accent she had used. 
 
 Her contempt of him grew. " Then I 
 presume you have others in mind — whom 
 you will shoot when the mood strikes you? " 
 she said. 
 
 " Perhaps." His smile was mysterious 
 and mocking, and she saw in his eyes the 
 reckless gleam which she had noted that 
 night while in the cabin with him. She shud- 
 dered and walked to the pony — his pony. 
 
 " If you have quite finished I believe I 
 will be going," she said, holding her chin 
 high and averting her face. " I will have 
 one of the men bring your horse to you." 
 
 " I believe I have quite finished," he re- 
 turned, mimicking her cold, precise manner 
 of speech. 
 
 She disdainfully refused his proffer of as- 
 sistance and mounted the pony. He stood 
 watching her with a smile, which she saw by 
 glancing covertly at him while pretending 
 to arrange the stirrup strap. When she 
 started to ride away without even glancing 
 
BOGGED DOWN 145 
 
 at him, she heard his voice, with its absurd, 
 hateful drawl: 
 
 " And she didn't even thank me," he said 
 with mock bitterness and disappointment. 
 
 She turned and made a grimace at him. 
 He bowed and smiled. 
 
 " You are entirely welcome," she said. 
 
 He was standing on the edge of the quick- 
 sand, watching her, when she reached the 
 long rise upon which she had sat on her pony- 
 on a day some weeks before, and when she 
 turned he waved a hand to her. A little 
 later she vanished over the rise, and she had 
 not ridden very far when she heard the dull 
 report of his pistol. She shivered, and rode 
 on. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 SHEILA FANS A FLAME 
 
 SHEILA departed from the quicksand 
 crossing nursing her wrath against the 
 man who had rescued her, feeling bit- 
 terly vindictive against him, yet aware that 
 the Dakota who had saved her life was not 
 the Dakota whom she had feared during her 
 adventure with him in his cabin on the night 
 of her arrival in the country. He had 
 changed, and though she assured herself 
 that she despised him more than ever, she 
 found a grim amusement in the recollection 
 of his manner immediately following the 
 rescue, and in a review of the verbal battle, 
 in which she had been badly worsted. 
 
 His glances had had in them the quality 
 of inward mirth and satisfaction which is 
 most irritating, and behind his pretended re- 
 morse she could see a pleasure over her di- 
 lemma which made her yearn to inflict 
 
 146 
 
SHEILA FANS A FLAME 147 
 
 punishment upon him that would cause him 
 to ask for mercy. His demeanor had said 
 plainly that if she wished to have the mar- 
 riage set aside all well and good — he would 
 offer no objection. But neither would he 
 take the initiative. Decidedly, it was a mat- 
 ter in which she should consult her own de- 
 sires. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when she rode 
 up to the Double R corral gates and was 
 met there by her father and Duncan. Lang- 
 ford had been worried, he said, and was 
 much concerned over her appearance. In 
 the presence of Duncan Sheila told him the 
 story of her danger and subsequent rescue 
 by Dakota and she saw his eyes narrow with 
 a strange light. 
 
 " Dakota ! " he said. " Isn't that the chapi 
 who shot that half-breed over in Lazette the 
 day I came?" 
 
 To Sheila's nod he ejaculated: " He's a 
 trump! " 
 
 " He is a brute! " As the words escaped 
 her lips — she had not meant to utter them — 
 Sheila caught a glint in Duncan's eyes which 
 told her that she had echoed the latter's sen- 
 
148 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 timents, and she felt almost like retracting 
 the charge. She had to bite her lips to re- 
 sist the impulse. 
 
 " A brute, eh? " laughed Langford. " It 
 strikes me that I wouldn't so characterize a 
 man who had saved my life. The chances 
 are that after saving you he didn't seem de- 
 lighted enough, or he didn't smile to suit 
 you, or " 
 
 " He ain't so awful much of a man," re- 
 marked Duncan disparagingly. 
 
 Langford turned and looked at Duncan 
 with a comprehending smile. "Evidently 
 you owe Dakota nothing, my dear Duncan/* 
 he said. 
 
 The latter's face darkened, and with 
 Sheila listening he told the story of the calf 
 deal, which had indirectly brought about the 
 death of Blanca. 
 
 11 For a long time we had suspected Texas 
 Blanca of rustling," said Duncan, " but we 
 couldn't catch him with the goods. Five 
 | years ago, after the spring round-up, I 
 branded a bunch of calves with a secret 
 mark, and then we rode sign on Blanca. 
 
 " We had him then, for the calves disap- 
 
SHEILA FANS A FLAME 149 
 
 peared and some of the boys found some of 
 them in Blanca's corral, but we delayed, 
 hoping he would run off more, and while we 
 were waiting he sold out to Dakota. We 
 didn't know that at the time; didn't find it 
 out until we went over to take Blanca and 
 found Dakota living in his cabin. He had 
 a bill of sale from Blanca all right, showing 
 that he'd bought the calves from him. It 
 looked regular, but we had our doubts, and 
 Dakota and me came pretty near having a 
 run-in. If the boys hadn't interfered " 
 
 He hesitated and looked at Sheila, and as 
 her gaze met his steadily his eyes wavered 
 and a slow red came into his face, for the 
 recollection of what had actually occurred 
 at the meeting between him and Dakota was 
 not pleasant, and since that day Duncan had 
 many times heard the word " Yellow " 
 spoken in connection with his name — which 
 meant that he lacked courage. 
 
 " So he wasn't a rustler, after all?" said 
 Sheila pleasantly. For some reason which 
 she could not entirely explain, she suspected 
 that Duncan had left many things out of his 
 story of his clash with Dakota. 
 
150 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " Well, no," admitted Duncan grudg- 
 ingly. 
 
 Sheila was surprised at the satisfaction 
 she felt over this admission. Perhaps Dun- 
 can read her face as she had read his, for he 
 frowned. 
 
 " Him and Blanca framed up — making 
 believe that Blanca had sold him the Stair 
 brand," he said venomously. 
 
 " I don't believe it ! " Sheila's eyes mel 
 Duncan's and the latter's wavered. She was 
 not certain which gave her the thrill she felt 
 — her defense of Dakota or Duncan's bitten 
 rage over the exhibition of that defense. 
 
 " He doesn't appear to me to be the sort 
 of man who would steal cows," she said with 
 a smile which made Duncan's teeth show. 
 " Although," she continued significantly, 
 " it does seem that he is the sort of man I 
 would not care to trifle w : th — if I were a 
 man. You told me yourself, if you remem- 
 ber, that you were not taking any chances 
 with him. And now you accuse him. If I 
 were you," she warned, " I would be more 
 careful— I would keep from saying things 
 which I could not prove." 
 
SHEILA FANS A FLAME 151 
 
 "Meaning that I'm afraid of him, I 
 reckon ?" sneered Duncan. 
 
 Sheila looked at him, her eyes alight with 
 mischief. That day on the edge of the butte 
 overlooking the river, when Duncan had 
 talked about Dakota, she had detected in his 
 manner an inclination to belittle the latter; 
 several times since then she had heard him 
 speak venomously of him, and she had sus- 
 pected that all was not smooth between 
 them. And now since Duncan had related 
 the story of the calf incident she was certain 
 that the relations between the two men were 
 strained to the point of open rupture. Dun- 
 can had bothered her, had annoyed her with 
 his attentions, had adopted toward her an 
 air of easy familiarity, which she had deeply 
 resented, and she yearned to humiliate him 
 deeply. 
 
 " Afraid? " She appeared to hesitate. 
 " Well, no," she said, surveying him with an 
 appraising eye in which the mischief was 
 partly concealed, " I do not believe that you 
 are afraid. Perhaps you are merely careful 
 where he is concerned. But I am certain 
 that even if you were afraid of him you 
 
152 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 would not refuse to take his pony back. I 
 promised to send it back, you know." 
 
 A deep red suddenly suffused Duncan's 
 face. A sharp, savage gleam in his eyes — 
 which Sheila met with a disarming smile — 
 convinced her that he was aware of her ob- 
 ject. She saw also that he did not intend to 
 allow her to force him to perform the service. 
 
 He bowed and regarded her with a shal- 
 low smile. 
 
 " I will have one of the boys take the pony 
 over to him the first thing in the morning," 
 he said. 
 
 Sheila smiled sweetly. " Please don't 
 bother," she said. " I wouldn't think of al- 
 lowing one of the men to take the pony back. 
 Perhaps I shall decide to ride over that way 
 myself. I should not care to have you meet 
 Dakota if you are afraid of him." 
 
 Her rippling laugh caused the red in 
 Duncan's face to deepen, but she gave him 
 no time to reply, for directly she had spoken 
 she turned and walked toward the ranch- 
 house. Both Duncan and Langford 
 watched her until she had vanished, and then 
 Langford turned to Duncan. 
 
SHEILA FANS A FLAME 153 
 
 "What on earth have ~~ou done to her? " 
 he questioned. 
 
 But Duncan was savagely pulling the sad- 
 dle from Dakota's pony and did not answer. 
 
 Sheila really had no expectation of pre- 
 vailing upon Duncan to return Dakota's 
 horse, and had she anticipated that the man- 
 ager would accept her challenge she would 
 not have given it, for after thinking over the 
 incident of her rescue she had come to the 
 conclusion that she had not treated Dakota 
 fairly, and by personally taking his horse to 
 him she would have an opportunity to prof- 
 fer her tardy thanks for his service. She 
 did not revert to the subject of the animal's 
 return during the evening meal, however, 
 nor after it when she and her father and 
 Duncan sat on the gallery of the ranchhouse 
 enjoying the cool of the night breezes. 
 
 After breakfast on the following morning 
 she was standing near the windmill, watch- 
 ing the long arms travel lazily in their wide 
 circles, when she saw Duncan riding away 
 from the ranchhouse, leading Dakota's 
 pony. She started toward the corral gates, 
 intending to call to him to return, but 
 
154 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 thought better of the impulse and hailed him 
 tauntingly instead: 
 
 " Please tell him to accept my thanks/' 
 she said, and Duncan turned his head, bowed 
 mockingly, and continued on his way. 
 
 Half an hour after the departure of Dun- 
 can Sheila pressed a loafing puncher into 
 service and directed him to rope a gentle 
 pony for her. After the puncher had se- 
 cured a suitable appearing animal and had 
 placed a saddle and bridle on it, she com- 
 pelled him to ride it several times around 
 the confines of the pasture to make certain 
 that it would not "buck." Then she 
 mounted and rode up the river. 
 
 Duncan was not particularly pleased over 
 his errand, and many times while he rode the 
 trail toward Dakota's cabin his lips moved 
 from his teeth in a snarl. Following the in- 
 cident of the theft of the calves by Blanca, 
 Duncan had taken pains to insinuate pub- 
 licly that Dakota's purchase of the Star from 
 the half-breed had been a clever ruse to avert 
 suspicion, intimating that a partnership ex- 
 isted between Dakota and Blanca. The 
 shooting of Blanca by Dakota, however, had 
 
SHEILA FANS A FLAME 155 
 
 exploded this charge, and until now Duncan 
 had been very careful to avoid a meeting 
 with the man whom he had maligned. 
 
 During the night he had given much 
 thought to the circumstance which was send- 
 ing him to meet his enemy. He had a sus- 
 picion that Sheila had purposely taunted 
 him with cowardice— that in all probability 
 Dakota himself had suggested the plan in 
 order to force a meeting with him. This 
 thought suggested another. Sheila's de- 
 fense of Dakota seemed to indicate that a 
 certain intimacy existed between them. He 
 considered this carefully, and with a throb 
 of jealously concluded that Dakota's action 
 in saving Sheila's life would very likely pave 
 the way for a closer acquaintance. 
 
 Certainly, in spite of Sheila's remark 
 about Dakota being a " brute," she had be- 
 trayed evidence of admiration for the man. 
 In that case her veiled allusions to his own 
 fear of meeting Dakota were very likely 
 founded on something which Dakota had 
 told her, and certainly anything which Da- 
 kota might have said about him would not 
 be complimentary. Therefore his rage 
 
156 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 against both Sheila and his enemy was bitter 
 when he finally rode up to the door of the 
 latter's cabin. 
 
 There was hope in his heart that Dakota 
 might prove to be absent, and when, after 
 calling once and receiving no answer, he dis- 
 mounted and hitched Dakota's pony to a 
 rail of the corral fence, there was a smile of 
 satisfaction on his face. 
 
 He took plenty of time to hitch the pony ; 
 he even lingered at the corral bars, leaning 
 on them to watch several steers which were 
 inside the enclosure. He found time, too, 
 in spite of his fear of his enemy, to sneer 
 over the evidences of prosperity which were 
 on every hand. He was congratulating 
 himself on his good fortune in reaching Da- 
 kota's cabin during a time when the latter 
 was absent, when he heard a slight sound be- 
 hind him. He turned rapidly, to see Da- 
 kota standing in the doorway of the cabin, 
 watching him with cold, level eyes, one of 
 his heavy six-shooters in hand. 
 
 Duncan's face went slowly pale. He did 
 not speak at once and when he did he was 
 surprised at his hoarseness. 
 
SHEILA FANS A FLAME 157 
 
 " I've brought your cayuse back," he said 
 finally. 
 
 " So I see," returned Dakota. His eyes 
 glinted with a cold humor, though they were 
 still regarding Duncan with an alertness 
 which the other could not mistake. 
 
 " So I see," repeated Dakota. His slow 
 drawl was in evidence again. " I don't re- 
 collect, though, that I sent word to have you 
 bring him back." 
 
 " I wasn't tickled to death over the job," 
 returned Duncan. 
 
 Now that his first surprise was over and 
 Dakota had betrayed no sign of resenting 
 his visit, Duncan felt easier. There had 
 been a slight sneer in his voice when he an- 
 swered. 
 
 " That isn't surprising," returned Dakota. 
 " There never was a time when you were 
 tickled a heap to stick your nose into my 
 affairs." His smile froze Duncan. 
 
 " I ain't looking for trouble," said the lat- 
 ter, with a perfect knowledge of Dakota's 
 peculiar expression. 
 
 " Then why did you come over here? I 
 reckon there wasn't anyone else to send my 
 
158 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 horse over by? " said Dakota, his voice com* 
 ing with a truculent snap. 
 
 Duncan flushed. " Sheila Langford sent 
 me/' he admitted reluctantly. 
 
 Dakota's eyes lighted with incredulity. 
 " I reckon you're a liar," he said with cold 
 emphasis. 
 
 Duncan's gaze went to the pistol in Da- 
 kota's hand and his lips curled. He knew 
 that he was perfectly safe so long as he 
 made no hostile move, for in spite of his 
 derogatory remarks about the man he was 
 aware that he never used his weapons with- 
 out provocation. 
 
 Therefore he forced a smile. " You ain't 
 running no Blanca deal on me," he said. 
 " Calling me a liar ain't going to get no rise 
 out of me. But she sent me, just the same. 
 I reckon, liking you as I do, that I ought 
 to be glad she gave me the chance to come 
 over and see you, but I ain't. We was gass- 
 ing about you and she told me I was scared 
 to bring your cayuse back." He laughed 
 mirthlessly. " I reckon I've proved that I 
 ain't any scared." 
 
 "No," said Dakota with a cold grin, 
 " you ain't scared. &You know that there 
 
SHEILA FANS A FLAME 159 
 
 won't be any shooting done unless you get 
 careless with that gun you carry." His 
 eyes were filled with a whimsical humor, but 
 they were still alert, as he watched Duncan's 
 face for ;signs of insincerity. He saw no 
 such signs and his expression became mock- 
 ing. " So she sent you over here? " he said, 
 and his was the voice of one enemy enjoying 
 some subtle advantage over another. " Why, 
 I reckon you're a kind of handy man to have 
 around — sort of ladies' man — running er- 
 rands and such." 
 
 Duncan's face bloated with anger, but he 
 dared not show open resentment. For be- 
 hind Dakota's soft voice and gentle, over- 
 polite manner, he felt the deep rancor for 
 whose existence he alone was responsible. 
 So, trying to hold his passions in check, he 
 grinned at Dakota, significantly, insinuat- 
 ingly, unable finally to keep the bitter ha- 
 tred and jealousy out of his voice. For in 
 the evilness of his mind he had drawn many 
 imaginary pictures of what had occurred be- 
 tween Dakota and Sheila immediately after 
 her rescue by the latter. 
 
 " I reckon," he said hoarsely, " that you 
 take a heap of interest in Sheila." 
 
160 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " That's part of your business, I sup- 
 pose? " Dakota's voice was suddenly hard. 
 
 Duncan had decided to steer carefully 
 away from any trouble with Dakota ; he had 
 even decided that as a measure for his own 
 safety he must say nothing which would be 
 likely to arouse Dakota's anger, but the 
 jealous thoughts in his mind had finally got- 
 ten the better of prudence, and the menace 
 in Dakota's voice angered him. 
 
 " I reckon," he said with a sneer, * that I 
 ain't as much interested in her as you are." 
 
 He started back, his lips tightening over 
 his teeth in a snarl of alarm and fear, for 
 Dakota had stepped down from the door- 
 way and was at his side, his eyes narrowed 
 with cold wrath. 
 
 " Meaning what? " he demanded harshly, 
 sharpty, for he imagined that perhaps Sheila 
 had told of her marriage to him, and the 
 thought that Duncan should have been se- 
 lected by her to share the secret maddened 
 him. 
 
 "Meaning what, you damned coyote?" 
 he insisted, stepping closer to Duncan. 
 
 " Meaning that she ain't admiring you 
 
DUNCAN GRASPED FOR HIS PISTOL, BUT THE HAND HOLDING IT WAS 
 
 STAMPED VIOLENTLY INTO THE EARTH. Page 161. 
 
 The Trail to Yesterday. 
 
SHEILA FANS A FLAME 161 
 
 for nothing," flared Duncan incautiously, 
 his jealously overcoming his better judg- 
 ment. " Meaning that any woman which 
 has been pulled out of a quicksand like you 
 pulled her out might be expected to favor 
 you with " 
 
 The sunlight flashed on Dakota's pistol 
 as it leaped from his right hand to his left 
 and was holstered with a jerk. And with 
 the same motion his clenched fist was 
 jammed with savage force against Duncan's 
 lips, cutting short the slanderous words and 
 sending him in a heap to the dust of the cor- 
 ral yard. 
 
 With a cry of rage Duncan grasped for 
 his pistol and drew it out, but the hand hold- 
 ing it was stamped violently into the earth, 
 the arm bent and twisted until the fingers 
 released the weapon. And then Dakota 
 stood over him, looking down at him with 
 narrowed, chilling eyes, his face white and 
 hard, his anger gone as quickly as it Jiad 
 come. He said no word while Duncan 
 clambered awkwardly to his feet and 
 mounted his horse. 
 
 " I'm telling you something," he said 
 
162 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 quietly, as Duncan lifted the reins with his 
 uninjured hand, turning his horse to de- 
 part. " You and me have never hitched 
 very well and there isn't any chance of us 
 ever falling on each other's necks. I think 
 what I've done to you about squares us for 
 that calf deal. I've been yearning to hand 
 you something before you left the country, 
 but I didn't expect you'd give me the chance 
 in just this way. I'm warning you that the 
 next time you shove your coyote nose into 
 my business I'll muss it up some. That ap- 
 plies to Miss Sheila. If I ever hear of you 
 getting her name on your dirty tongue again 
 I'll tear you apart. I reckon that's all." 
 He drew his pistol and balanced it in his 
 right hand. " It makes me feel some reck- 
 less to be talking to you," he added, a glint 
 of intolerance in his eyes. "You'd better 
 travel before I change my mind. 
 
 " You don't need to mention this to Miss 
 Sheila," he said mockingly, as Duncan urged 
 his horse away from the corral gate; " just 
 let her go on — thinking you're a man." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 STRICTLY BUSINESS 
 
 FOR two or three quiet weeks Sheila 
 did not see much of Duncan, and her 
 father bothered her very little. Sev- 
 eral nights on the gallery of the ranchhouse 
 she had seen the two men sitting very close 
 together, and on one or two occasions she 
 had overheard scraps of conversation car- 
 ried on between them in which Doubler's 
 name was mentioned. 
 
 She remembered Doubter as one of the 
 nesters whom Duncan had mentioned that 
 day on the butte overlooking the river, and 
 though her father and Duncan had a perfect 
 right to discuss him, it seemed to Sheila 
 that there had been a serious note in their 
 voices when they had mentioned his name. 
 
 She had become acquainted with Doubter. 
 Since discontinuing her rides with her father 
 and Duncan she had gone out every day 
 
 163 
 
164 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 alone, though she was careful to avoid any 
 crossing in the river which looked the least 
 suspicious. Such crossings as she could 
 ford were few, and for that reason she was 
 forced to ride most of the time to the Two 
 Forks, where there was an excellent shal- 
 low, with long slopes sweeping up to the 
 plains on both sides. 
 
 The first time that she crossed at the Two 
 Forks she had come upon a small adobe 
 cabin situated a few hundred yards back 
 from the water's edge. 
 
 Sheila would have fled from the vicinity, 
 for there was still fresh in her mind a recol- 
 lection of another cabin in which she had 
 once passed many fearsome hours, but while 
 she hesitated, on the verge of flight, Doub- 
 ler came to the door, and when she saw that 
 he was an old man with a kindly face, much 
 of her perturbation vanished, and she re- 
 mained to talk. 
 
 Doubler was hospitable and solicitous and 
 supplied her with some soda biscuit and fresh 
 beef and a tin cup full of delicious coffee. 
 She refused to enter the cabin, and so he 
 brought the food out to her and sat on the 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 165 
 
 step beside her while she ate, betraying much 
 interest in her. 
 
 Doubler asked no questions regarding her 
 identity, and Sheila marveled much over 
 this. But when she prepared to depart she 
 understood why he had betrayed no curi- 
 osity concerning her. 
 
 "I reckon you're that Langford girl?" 
 he said. 
 
 " Yes," returned Sheila, wondering. " I 
 am Sheila Langford. But who told you? 
 I was not aware that anyone around here 
 knew me — except the people at the Double 
 R." 
 
 " Dakota told me." 
 
 " Oh ! " A chill came into her voice which 
 instantly attracted Doubler's attention. He 
 looked at her with an odd smile. 
 
 "You know Dakota?" 
 
 " I have met him." 
 
 "You don't like him, I reckon?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, now," commented Doubler, " I 
 reckon I've got things mixed. But from 
 Dakota's talk I took it that you an' him was 
 pretty thick." 
 
166 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " His talk?" Sheila remembered Da- 
 kota's statement that he had told no one of 
 their relations. So he had been talking, af- 
 ter all! She was not surprised, but she was 
 undeniably angry and embarrassed to think 
 that perhaps all the time she had been talk- 
 ing to Doubler he might have been apprais- 
 ing her on the basis of her adventure with 
 Dakota. 
 
 "What has he been saying? " she de- 
 manded coldly, 
 
 " Nothing, ma'am. That is, nothin' 
 which any man wouldn't say about you, once 
 he'd seen you an' talked some to you." 
 Doubler surveyed her with sparkling, ap- 
 preciative eyes. 
 
 " As a rule it don't pay to go to gossipin' 
 with anyone — least of all with a woman. 
 But I reckon I can tell you what he said, 
 ma'am, without you gettin' awful mad. He 
 didn't say nothin' except that he'd taken an 
 awful shine to you. An' he'd likely make 
 things mighty unpleasant for me if he'd find 
 that I'd told you that." 
 
 " Shine?" There was a world of scorn- 
 ful wonder in Sheila's voice. " Would you 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 167 
 
 mind telling pie what c taking a shine ' to 
 anyone means? " 
 
 " Why, no, I reckon I don't mind, ma'am, 
 seein' that it's you. * Takin' a shine ' to you 
 means that he's some stuck on you — likes 
 you, that is. An' I reckon you can't blame 
 him much for doin' that." 
 
 Sheila did not answer, though a sudden 
 flood of red to her face made the use of mere 
 words entirely unnecessary so far as Doub- 
 ler was concerned, for he smiled wisely. 
 
 Sheila fled down the trail toward the cross- 
 ing without a parting word to Doubler, 
 leaving him standing at the door squinting 
 with amusement at her. But on the mor- 
 row she had returned, determined to dis- 
 cover something of Dakota, to learn some- 
 thing of his history since coming into the 
 country, or at the least to see if she could 
 not induce Doubler to disclose his real name. 
 
 She was unsuccessful. Dakota had never 
 taken Doubler into his confidence, and the 
 information that she succeeded in worming 
 from the nester was not more than he had 
 already volunteered, or than Duncan had 
 given her that day when they were seated 
 
168 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 on the edge of the butte overlopking the 
 river. 
 
 She was convinced that Doubler had told 
 her all he knew, and she wondered at the 
 custom which permitted friendship on the 
 basis of such meager knowledge. 
 
 She quickly grew to like Doubler. He 
 showed a fatherly interest in her and al- 
 ways greeted her with a smile when during 
 her rides she came to his cabin, or when she 
 met him, as she did frequently, on the open 
 range. His manner toward her was always 
 cordial, and he seemed not to have a care. 
 One morning, however, she rode up to the 
 door of the cabin and Doubler's face was 
 serious. He stood quietly in the doorway, 
 watching her as she sat on her pony, not 
 offering to assist her down as he usually did, 
 and she knew instantly that something had 
 happened to disturb his peace of mind. He 
 did not invite her into the cabin. 
 
 "Ma'am," he said, and Sheila detected 
 regret in his voice, " I'm a heap sorry, but 
 of course you won't be comin' here any 
 
 more." 
 
 I don't see why!" returned Sheila in 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 169 
 
 surprise. "I like to come here. But, of 
 course, if you don't want me " 
 
 " It ain't that," he interrupted quickly. 
 " I thought you knowed. But you don't, of 
 course, or you wouldn't have come just now. 
 Your dad an' Duncan was over to see me 
 yesterday." 
 
 " I didn't know that," returned Sheila. 
 " But I can't see why a visit from father 
 should " 
 
 " He's wantin' me to pull my freight out 
 of the country," said Doubler. " An' of 
 course I ain't doin' it. Therefore I'm sev- 
 eral' diplomatic relations with your family." 
 
 " I don't see why " began Sheila, puz- 
 zled to understand why a mere visit on her 
 father's part should have the result Doubler 
 had announced. 
 
 " Of course you don't," Doubler told her. 
 " You're a woman an* don't understand 
 such things. But in this country when a 
 little owner has got some land which a big 
 owner wants — an' can't buy — there's likely 
 to be trouble. I ain't proved on my land 
 yet, an' if your dad can run me off he'll be 
 pretty apt to grab it somehow or other. But 
 
170 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 he ain't runnin' me off an' so there's a heap 
 of trouble comin'. An' of course while 
 there's trouble you won't be comin' here any 
 more after this. Likely your dad wouldn't 
 have it. I'm sorry, too. I like you a lot." 
 
 " I don't see why father should want your 
 land," Sheila told him gravely, much dis- 
 turbed at this unexpected development. 
 " There is plenty of land here." She swept 
 a hand toward the plains. 
 
 " There ain't enough for some people," 
 grimly laughed Doubler. " Some people is 
 hawgs — askin' your pardon, ma'am. I 
 wasn't expectin' your father to be like that, 
 after seein' you. I was hopin' that we'd be 
 able to get along. I've had some trouble 
 with Duncan — not very long ago. Once I 
 had to speak pretty plain to him. I expect 
 he's been fillin' your dad up." 
 
 " I'll see father about it." Sheila's face 
 was red with a pained embarrassment. "I 
 am sure that father will not make any 
 trouble for you — he isn't that kind of man." 
 
 " He's that kind of a man, sure enough," 
 said Doubler gravely. " I reckon I've got 
 him sized up right. He ain't in no way like 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 171 
 
 you, ma'am. If you hadn't told me I reckon 
 I wouldn't have knowed he is your father." 
 
 " He is my stepfather," admitted Sheila. 
 
 " I knowed it ! " declared Doubler. " I'm 
 too old to be fooled by what I see in a man's 
 face — or in a woman's face either. Don't 
 you go to say anything about this business 
 to him. He's bound to try to run me off. 
 He done said so. I don't know when I ever 
 heard a man talk any meaner than he did. 
 Said that if I didn't sell he'd make things 
 mighty unpleasant for me. An' so I reckon 
 there's goin' to be some fun." 
 
 Sheila did not remain long at Doubler's 
 cabin, for her mind was in a riot of rage and 
 resentment against her father for his atti- 
 tude toward Doubler, and she cut short her 
 ride in the hope of being able to have a talk 
 with him before he left the ranchhouse. But 
 when she returned she was told by Duncan's 
 sister that Langford had departed some 
 hours before — alone. He had not men- 
 tioned his destination. 
 
 . . • • • 
 
 Ben Doubler had omitted an important 
 detail from his story of Langford's visit to 
 
172 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 his cabin, for he had not cared to frighten 
 Sheila unnecessarily. But as Langford rode 
 toward Doubler's cabin this morning his 
 thoughts persisted in dwelling on Doubler's 
 final words to him, spoken as he and Dun- 
 can had turned their horses to leave the 
 nester's cabin the day before: 
 
 " If it's goin' to be war, Langford, it ain't 
 goin' to be no pussy-kitten affair. I'm 
 warnin' you to stay away from the Two 
 Forks. If I ketch you or any of your men 
 nosin' around there I'm goin' to bore you 
 some rapid." 
 
 Langford had sneered then, and he 
 sneered now r as he rode toward the river, 
 for he had no doubt that Doubler had ut- 
 tered the threat in a spirit of bravado. Of 
 course, he told himself as he rode, the man 
 was forced to say something, but the idea 
 of him being serious in the threat to shoot 
 any one who came to the Two Forks was 
 ridiculous. 
 
 All his life Langford had heard threats 
 from the lips of his victims, and thus far 
 they had remained only threats. He had 
 determined to see Doubler this morning, for 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 173 
 
 he had noticed that the nester had appeared 
 ill at ease in the presence of Duncan, and 
 he anticipated that alone he could force him 
 to accept terms. When he reached the 
 crossing at Two Forks he urged his pony 
 through its waters, his face wearing a con- 
 fident smile. 
 
 There was an open stretch of grass land 
 between the crossing and Doubler's cabin, 
 and when Langford urged his pony up the 
 sloping bank of the river he saw the nester 
 standing near the door of the cabin, watch- 
 ing. Langford was about to force his pony 
 to a faster pace, when he saw Doubler raise 
 a rifle to his shoulder. Still, he continued to 
 ride forward, but he pulled the pony up 
 shortly when he saw the flame spurt from 
 the muzzle of the rifle and heard the shrill 
 hiss of the bullet as it passed dangerously 
 near to him. 
 
 No words were needed, and neither man 
 spoke any. Without stopping to give 
 Doubler an opportunity to speak, Lang- 
 ford wheeled his pony, and with a white, 
 scared face, bending low over the animal's 
 mane to escape any bullets which might fol- 
 
174 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 low the first, rapidly recrossed the river. 
 Once on the crest of the hill on the opposite 
 side he turned, and trembling with rage and 
 fear, shook a clenched hand at Doubler. The 
 latter's reply was a strident laugh. 
 
 Langford returned to the ranchouse, rid- 
 ing slowly, though in his heart was a riot of 
 rage and hatred against the nester. It was 
 war, to be sure. But now that Doubler had 
 shown in no unmistakable manner that he 
 had not been trifling the day before, Lang- 
 ford was no longer in doubt as to the method 
 he would have to employ in his attempt to 
 gain possession of his land. Doubler, he 
 felt, had made the choice. 
 
 The ride to the ranchhouse took long, but 
 by the time Langford arrived there he had 
 regained his composure, saying nothing to 
 anyone concerning his adventure. 
 
 For three days he kept his own counsel, 
 riding out alone, taciturn, giving much 
 thought to the situation. Sheila had in- 
 tended to speak to him regarding the trouble 
 with Doubler, but his manner repulsed her 
 and she kept silent, hoping that the mood 
 would pass. However, the mood did not 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 175 
 
 pass. Langford continued to ride out alone, 
 maintaining a moody silence, sitting alone 
 much with his own thoughts and allowing 
 no one to break down the barrier of taciturn- 
 ity which he had erected. 
 
 On the morning of the fifth day after his 
 adventure with Doubler he was sitting on . 
 the ranchhouse gallery with Duncan, enjoy- 
 ing an after-breakfast cigar, when he said 
 casually to the latter: 
 
 " I take it that folks in this country are 
 mighty careless with their weapons." 
 
 Duncan grinned. " You might call it 
 careless," he returned. " No doubt there 
 are people — people who come out here from 
 the East — who think that a man who carries 
 a gun out here is careless with it. But I 
 reckon that when a man draws a gun here 
 he draws it with a pretty definite purpose." 
 
 " I have heard," continued Langford 
 slowly, " that there are men in this country 
 who do not hesitate to kill other people for 
 money." 
 
 " Meaning that there are road agents and 
 such?" questioned Duncan. 
 
 " Naturally, that particular kind would 
 
176 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 be included. I meant, however another 
 kind — I believe they are called ' bad men/ 
 are they not? Men who kill for hire? " 
 
 Duncan cast a furtive glance at Langf ord 
 out of the corners of his eyes, but could 
 draw no conclusions concerning the latter's 
 motive in asking the question from the ex- 
 pression of his face. 
 
 " Such men drift in occasionally," he re- 
 turned, convinced that Langford's curiosity 
 was merely casual — as Langford desired 
 him to consider it. " Usually, though, they 
 don't stay long." 
 
 " I suppose there are none of that breed 
 around here — in Lazette, for instance. It 
 struck me that Dakota was extraordinarily 
 handy with a gun." 
 
 He puffed long at his cigar and saw that, 
 though Duncan did not answer, his face had 
 grown suddenly dark with passion, as it al- 
 ways did when Dakota's name was men- 
 tioned. Langford smiled subtly. " I sup- 
 pose," he said, " that Dakota might be called 
 a bad man." 
 
 Duncan's eyes flashed with venom. " I 
 reckon Dakota's nothing but a damned 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 177 
 
 sneak!" he said, not being able to conceal 
 the bitterness in his voice. 
 
 Langford did not allow his smile to be 
 seen; he had not forgotten the incident of 
 the returning of Dakota's horse by Duncan. 
 
 " He's a dead shot, though," he suggested. 
 
 " I'm allowing that," grudgingly returned 
 Duncan. "And," he added, "it's been 
 hinted that all his shooting scrapes haven't 
 been on the level." 
 
 "He is not straight, then?" said Lang- 
 ford, his eyes gleaming. " Not ' square/ as 
 you say in this country?" 
 
 " I reckon there ain't nothing square 
 about him," returned Duncan, glad of an 
 opportunity to defame his enemy. 
 
 Again Langford did not allow Duncan to 
 see his smile, and he deftly directed the cur- 
 rent of the conversation into other channels. 
 
 He rode out again that day, taking the 
 river trail and passing Dakota's cabin, but 
 Dakota himself was nowhere to be seen and 
 at dusk Langford returned to the Double R. 
 During the evening meal he enveloped him- 
 self with a silence which proved impene- 
 trable. He retired early, to Duncan's sur- 
 
178 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 prise, and the next morning, without an- 
 nouncing his plans to anyone, saddled his 
 pony and rode away toward the river trail. 
 
 He took a circuitous route to reach it, 
 riding slowly, with the air and manner of a 
 man who is thinking deep thoughts, smiling 
 much, though many times grimly. 
 
 " Dakota isn't square," he said once aloud 
 during one of his grim smiles. 
 
 When he came to the quicksand crossing 
 he halted and examined the earth in the 
 vicinity, smiling more broadly at the marks 
 and hoof prints in the hard sand near the 
 water's edge. Then he rode on. 
 
 Two or three miles from the quicksand 
 crossing he came suddenly upon Dakota's 
 cabin. Dakota himself was repairing a sad- 
 dle in the shade of the cabin wall, and for 
 all that Langford could see he was entirely 
 unaware of his approach. He saw Dakota 
 look up when he passed the corral gate, and 
 when he reached a point about twenty feet 
 distant he observed a faint smile on Da- 
 kota's face. 
 
 11 Howdy, stranger," came the latter's 
 voice. 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 179 
 
 "How are you, my friend?" greeted 
 Langford easily. 
 
 It was not hard for Langford to adopt an 
 air of familiarity toward the man who had 
 figured prominently in his thoughts during 
 a great many of the previous twenty-four 
 hours. He dismounted from his pony, 
 hitched the animal to a rail of the corral 
 fence, and approached Dakota, standing in 
 front of him and looking down at him with 
 a smile. 
 
 Dakota apparently took little interest in 
 his visitor, for keeping his seat on the box 
 upon which he had been sitting when Lang- 
 ford had first caught sight of him, he con- 
 tinued to give his attention to the saddle. 
 
 " I'm from the Double R," offered Lang- 
 ford, feeling slightly less important, con- 
 scious that somehow the familiarity that he 
 had felt existed between them a moment be- 
 fore was a singularly fleeting thing. 
 
 " I noticed that," responded Dakota, still 
 busy with his saddle. 
 
 " How? " 
 
 " I reckon that you've forgot that your 
 horse has got a brand on him? " 
 
180 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 <i 
 
 You've got keen eyes, mjr friend," 
 laughed Langford. 
 
 "Have I?" Dakota had not looked at 
 Langford until now, and as he spoke he 
 raised his head and gazed fairly into the 
 latter's eyes. 
 
 For a moment neither man moved or 
 spoke. It seemed to Langford, as he gazed 
 into the steely, fathomless blue of the eyes 
 which held his — held them, for now as he 
 looked it was the first time in his life that 
 his gaze had met a fellow being's steadily— 
 that he could see there an unmistakable, 
 grim mockery. And that was all, for what- 
 ever other emotions Dakota felt, they were 
 invisible to Langford. He drew a deep 
 breath, suddenly aware that before him was 
 a man exactly like himself in one respect — 
 skilled in the art of keeping his emotions to 
 himself. Langford had not met many such 
 men; usually he was able to see clear 
 through a man — able to read him. But this 
 man he could not read. He was puzzled 
 and embarrassed over the discovery. His 
 gaze finally wavered; he looked away. 
 
 " A man don't have to have such terribly 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 181 
 
 keen eyes to be able to see a brand," observed 
 Dakota, drawling; "especially when he's 
 passed a whole lot of his time looking at 
 brands." 
 
 " That's so," agreed Langf ord. " I sup- 
 pose you have been a cowboy a long time." 
 
 "Longer than you've been a ranch 
 owner." 
 
 Langford looked quickly at Dakota, for 
 now the latter was again busy with his sad- 
 dle, but he could detect no sarcasm in his 
 face, though plainly there had been a subtle 
 quality of it in his voice. 
 
 " Then you know me? " he said. 
 
 " No. I don't know you. I've put two 
 and two together. I heard that Duncan was 
 selling the Double R. I've seen your daugh- 
 ter. And you ride up here on a Double R 
 horse. There ain't no other strangers in the 
 country. Then, of course, you're the new 
 owner of the Double R." 
 
 Langford looked again at the inscrutable 
 face of the man beside him and felt a sudden 
 deep respect for him. Even if he had not 
 witnessed the killing of Texas Blanca that 
 day in Lazette he would have known the 
 
182 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 man before him for what he was — a quiet, 
 cool, self-possessed man of much experience, 
 who could not be trifled with. 
 
 " That's right," he admitted; " I am the 
 new owner of the Double R. And I have 
 come, my friend, to thank you for what you 
 did for my daughter." 
 
 "She told you, then?" Dakota's gaze 
 was again on Langf ord, an odd light in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "She's told you what?" 
 
 " How you rescued her from the quick- 
 sand." 
 
 Dakota's gaze was still on his visitor, 
 quiet, intent. " She tell you anything else? " 
 he questioned slowly. 
 
 " Why, what else is there to tell? " There 
 was sincere curiosity in Langford's voice, 
 for Sheila had always told him everything 
 that happened to her. It was not like her 
 to keep anything secret from him. 
 
 " Did she tell you that she forgot to thank 
 me for saving her?" There was a queer 
 smile on Dakota's lips, a peculiar, pleased 
 glint in his eyes. 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 183 
 
 "No, she neglected to relate that," re- 
 turned Langford. 
 
 "Forgot it. That's what I thought. Do 
 you think she forgot it intentionally?" 
 
 " It wouldn't be like her." 
 
 " Of course not. And so she's sent you 
 over to thank me! Tell her no thanks are 
 due. And if she inquires, tell her that the 
 pony didn't make a sound or a struggle when 
 I shot him." 
 
 " As it happens, she didn't send me," 
 smiled Langford. " There was the excite- 
 ment, of course, and I presume she forgot 
 to thank you — possibly will ride over herself 
 some day to thank you personally. But she 
 didn't send me — I came without her knowl- 
 edge." 
 
 " To thank me— for her ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You're visiting then. Or maybe just 
 riding around to look at your range. Sit 
 down." He motioned to another box that 
 stood near the door of the cabin. 
 
 Once Langford became seated Dakota 
 again busied himself with the saddle, ignor- 
 ing his visitor. Langford shifted uneasily 
 
184 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 on the box, for the seat was not to his liking 
 and the attitude of his host was most pe- 
 culiar. He fell silent also and kicked 
 gravely and absently into a hummock with 
 the toe of his boot. 
 
 Singularly enough, a plan which had 
 taken form in his mind since Doubler had 
 shot at him seemed suddenly to have many 
 defects, though until now it had seemed 
 complete enough. Out of the jumble of 
 thoughts that had rioted in his brain after 
 his departure from Two Forks crossing had 
 risen a conviction. Doubler was a danger 
 and a menace and must be removed. And 
 there was no legal way to remove him, 
 for though he had not proved on his land he 
 was entitled to it to the limit set by the law, 
 or until his death. 
 
 Langford's purpose in questioning Dun- 
 can had been to learn of the presence of 
 someone in the country who would not be 
 averse to removing Doubler. The possibil- 
 ity of disposing of the nester in this manner 
 had been before him ever since he had 
 learned of his presence on the Two Forks. 
 He had not been surprised when Duncan 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 185 
 
 had mentioned Dakota as being a probable 
 tool, for he had thought over the occurrence 
 of the shooting in Lazette many times, and 
 had been much impressed with Dakota's 
 coolness and his satanic cleverness with a 
 six-shooter, and it seemed that it would be 
 a simple matter to arrange with him for the 
 removal of Doubler. Yes, it had seemed 
 simple enough when he had planned it, and 
 when Duncan had told him that Dakota was 
 not on the " square." 
 
 But now, looking covertly at the man, he 
 found that he was not quite certain in spite 
 of what Duncan had said. He had mentally 
 worked out his plan of approaching Dakota 
 many times. But now the defect in the plan 
 seemed to be that he had misjudged his man 
 — that Duncan had misjudged him. Plainly 
 he would make a mistake were he to ap- 
 proach Dakota with a bald request for the 
 removing of the nester — he must clothe it. 
 Thus, after a long silence, he started 
 obliquely. 
 
 " My friend," he said, "'it must be lone- 
 some out here for you." 
 
 " Not so lonesome." 
 
186 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " It's a big country, though — lots of land. 
 There seems to be no end to it." 
 
 " That's right, there's plenty of it. I 
 reckon the Lord wasn't in a stingy mood 
 when he made it." 
 
 "Yet there seem to be restrictions even 
 here." 
 
 "Restrictions?" 
 
 "Yes," laughed Langford; "restrictions 
 on a man's desires." 
 
 Dakota looked at him with a saturnine 
 smile. " Restrictions on a man's desires," 
 he repeated slowly. Then he laughed mirth- 
 lessly. " Some people wouldn't be satisfied 
 if they owned the whole earth. They'd be 
 wanting the sun, moon, and stars thrown in 
 for good measure." 
 
 Langford laughed agaiij. " That's human 
 nature, my friend," he contended, deter- 
 mined not to be forced to digress from the 
 main subject. " Have you got everything 
 you want? Isn't there anything besides 
 what you already have that appeals to you? 
 Have you no ambition?" 
 
 " There are plenty of things I want. 
 Maybe I'd be modest, though, if I had 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 187 
 
 ambition. We all want a lot of things which 
 we can't get." 
 
 " Correct, my friend. Some of us want 
 money, others desire happiness, still others 
 are after something else. As you say, some 
 of use are never satisfied — the ambitious 
 ones." 
 
 "Then you are ambitious?" 
 
 " You've struck it," smiled Langford. 
 
 Dakota caught his gaze, and there was a 
 smile of derision on his lips. " What par- 
 ticular thing are you looking for? " he ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 " Land." 
 
 "Mine?" Dakota's lips curled a little. 
 " Doubler's, then," he added as Langford 
 shook his head with an emphatic, negative 
 motion. " He's the only man who's got 
 land near yours." 
 
 " That's correct," admitted Langford ; 
 "I want Doubler's land." 
 
 There was a silence for a few minutes, 
 while Langford watched Dakota furtively 
 as the latter gave his entire attention to his 
 saddle. 
 
 " You've got all the rest of those things 
 
188 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 you spoke about, then — happiness, money, 
 and such? " said Dakota presently, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes. I am pretty well off there." 
 
 " All you want is Doubler's land? " He 
 stopped working with the saddle and looked 
 at Langford. " I reckon, if you've got all 
 those things, that you ought to be satisfied. 
 But of course you ain't satisfied, or you 
 wouldn't want Doubler's land. Did you 
 offer to buy it? " 
 
 " I asked him to name his own figure, and 
 he wouldn't sell — wouldn't even consider 
 selling, though I offered him what I con- 
 sidered a fair price." 
 
 " That's odd, isn't it? You'd naturally 
 think that money could buy everything. 
 But maybe Doubler has found happiness 
 on his land. You couldn't buy that from 
 a man, you know. I suppose you care a 
 lot about Doubler's happiness — you 
 wouldn't want to take his land if you knew 
 he was happy on it? Or don't it make any 
 difference to you?" There was faint sar- 
 casm in his voice. 
 
 " As it happens," said Langford, redden- 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 189 
 
 ing a little, " this isn't a question of happi- 
 ness — it is merely business. Doubler's land 
 adjoins mine. I want to extend my hold- 
 ings. I can't extend in Doubler's direction 
 because Doubler controls the water rights. 
 Therefore it is my business to see that 
 Doubler gets out." 
 
 " And sentiment has got no place in busi- 
 ness. That right? It doesn't make any dif- 
 ference to you that Doubler doesn't want to 
 sell ; you want his land, and that settles it — 
 so far as you are concerned. You don't 
 consider Doubler's feelings. Well, I don't 
 know but that's the way things are run — 
 one man keeps what he can and another 
 gets what he is able to get. What are you 
 figuring to do about Doubler? " 
 
 Langford glanced at Dakota with an 
 oily, significant smile. " I am new to the 
 country, my friend," he said. " I don't 
 know anything about the usual custom em- 
 ployed to force a man to give up his land. 
 Could you suggest anything?" 
 
 Dakota deliberately took up a wax-end, 
 rolled it, and squinted his eyes as he forced 
 the end of the thread through the eye of the 
 
190 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 needle which he held in the other hand. So 
 far as Langford could see he exhibited no 
 emotion whatever; his face was inscrutable; 
 he might not have heard. 
 
 Yet Langford knew that he had heard; 
 was certain that he grasped the full mean- 
 ing of the question ; probably felt some emo- 
 tion over it, and was masking it by appear- 
 ing to busy himself with the saddle. Lang- 
 ford's respect for him grew and he wisely 
 kept silent, knowing that in time Dakota 
 would answer. But when the answer did 
 come it was not the one that Langford ex- 
 pected. Dakota's eyes met his in a level 
 gaze. 
 
 "Why don't you shoot him yourself?" 
 he said, drawling his words a little. 
 
 "Not taking any chances?" Dakota's 
 voice was filled with a cold sarcasm as he 
 continued, after an interval during which 
 Langford kept a discreetly still tongue. 
 "Your business principles don't take you 
 quite that far, eh? And so you've come over 
 to get me to shoot him? Why didn't you 
 say so in the beginning — it would have 
 saved all this time." He laughed coldly. 
 
STRICTLY B USINESS 191 
 
 " What makes you think that you could hire 
 me to put Doubler out of business? " 
 
 " I saw you shoot Blanca," said Lang- 
 ford. "And I sounded Duncan." It did 
 not disturb him to discover that Dakota had 
 all along been aware of the object of his 
 visit. It rather pleased him, in fact, to be 
 given proof of the man's discernment — it 
 showed that he was deep and clever. 
 
 " You saw me shoot Blanca," said Dakota 
 with a strange smile, " and Duncan told 
 you I was the man to put Doubler away. 
 Those are my recommendations." His 
 voice was slightly ironical, almost conceal- 
 ing a slight harshness. " Did Duncan men- 
 tion that he was a friend of mine?" he 
 asked. "No?" His smile grew mocking. 
 " Just merely mentioned that I was uncom- 
 monly clever in the art of getting people — 
 undesirable people — out of the way. Don't 
 get the idea, though, because Duncan told 
 you, that I make a business of shooting 
 folks. I put Blanca out of the way because 
 it was a question of him or me — I shot him 
 to save my own hide. Shooting Doubler 
 would be quite another proposition. 
 
192 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Still " He looked at Langford, his 
 
 eyes narrowing and smoldering with a 
 mysterious fire. 
 
 It seemed that he was inviting Langford 
 to make a proposal, and the latter smiled 
 evilly. " Still," he said, repeating Da- 
 kota's word with a significant inflection, 
 " you don't refuse to listen to me. It would 
 be worth a thousand dollars to me to have 
 Doubler out of the way," he added. 
 
 It was out now, and Langford sat silent 
 while Dakota gazed into the distance that 
 reached toward the nester's cabin. Lang- 
 ford watched Dakota closely, but there was 
 an absolute lack of expression in the latter's 
 face. 
 
 " How are you offering to pay the thou- 
 sand? " questioned Dakota. " And when? " 
 
 " In cash, when Doubler isn't here any 
 
 more." 
 
 Dakota looked up at him, his face a mask 
 of immobility. " That sounds all right," he 
 said, with slow emphasis. " I reckon you'll 
 put it in writing? " 
 
 Langford's eyes narrowed; he smiled 
 eraftily. " That," he said smoothly, 
 
STRICTLY BUSINESS 193 
 
 "would put me in your power. I have 
 never been accused of being a fool by any 
 cf the men with whom I have done busi- 
 ness. Don't you think that at my age it 
 is a little late to start? " 
 
 "I reckon we don't make any deal," 
 laughed Dakota shortly. 
 
 " We'll arrange it this way," suggested 
 Langford. " Doubler is not the only man 
 I want to get rid of. I want your land, 
 too. But " — he added as he saw Dakota's 
 lips harden — " I don't purpose to proceed 
 against you in the manner I am dealing 
 with Doubler. I flatter myself that I know 
 men quite well. I'd like to buy your land. 
 What would be a fair price for it? " 
 
 " Five thousand." 
 
 " We'll put it this way, then," said Lang- 
 ford, briskly and silkily. " I will give you 
 an agreement worded in this manner: ' One 
 month after date I promise to pay to Da- 
 kota the sum of six thousand dollars, in con- 
 sideration of his rights and interest in the 
 Star brand, provided that within one month 
 from date he persuades Ben Doubler to 
 leave Union county.' " He looked at Da- 
 
194 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 kota with a significant smile. " You see," 
 he said, " that I am not particularly desir- 
 ous of being instrumental in causing Doub- 
 ter's death — you have misjudged me." 
 
 Dakota's eyes met his with a glance of 
 perfect knowledge. His smile possessed a 
 subtly mocking quality — which was slightly 
 disconcerting to Langford. 
 
 " I reckon you'll be an angel — give you 
 time," he said. " I am accepting that 
 proposition, though," he added. "I've 
 been wanting to leave here — I've got tired 
 of it. And " — he continued with a myste- 
 rious smile — " if things turn out as I ex- 
 pect, you'll be glad to have me go." He 
 rose from the bench. "Let's write that 
 agreement," he suggested. 
 
 They entered the cabin, and a few min- 
 utes later Dakota sat again on the box in 
 the lee of the cabin wall, mending his saddle, 
 the signed agreement in his pocket. Smil- 
 ing, Langford rode the river trail, satisfied 
 with the result of his visit. Turning once — 
 as he reached the rise upon which Sheila 
 had halted that morning after leaving Da- 
 kota's cabin, Langford looked back. Da- 
 
STRICTLY B U SINES S 195 
 
 kota was still busy with his saddle. Lang- 
 ford urged his pony down the slope of the 
 rise and vanished from view. Then Dakota 
 ceased working on the saddle, drew out the 
 signed agreement and read it through many 
 times. 
 
 " That man," he said finally, looking to- 
 ward the crest of the slope where Langford 
 had disappeared, " thinks he has convinced 
 me that I ought to kill my best friend. He 
 hasn't changed a bit — not a damned bit!" 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 DUNCAN ADDS TWO AND TWO 
 
 HAD Langford known that there had 
 been a witness to his visit to Da- 
 kota he might not have ridden away 
 from the latter's cabin so* entirely satisfied 
 with the result of his interview, 
 
 Duncan had been much interested in 
 Langford's differences with Doubler. He 
 had agitated the trouble, and he fully ex- 
 pected Langford to take him into his con- 
 fidence should any aggressive movement be 
 contemplated. He had even expected to be 
 allowed to plan the details of the scheme 
 which would have as its object the downfall 
 of the nester, for thus he hoped to satisfy 
 his personal vengeance against the latter. 
 
 But since the interview with Doubler 
 at Doubler's cabin, Langford had been 
 
 196 
 
ADDING TWO AND TWO 197 
 
 strangely silent regarding his plans. Not 
 once had he referred to the nester, and his 
 silence had nettled Duncan. Langford had 
 ignored his hints, had returned monosylla- 
 bic replies to his tentative questions, caus- 
 ing the manager to appear to be an outsider 
 in an affair in which he felt a vital interest. 
 
 It was annoying, to say the least, and 
 Duncan's nature rebelled against the slight, 
 whether intentional or accidental. He had 
 waited patiently until the morning follow- 
 ing his conversation with Langford about 
 Dakota, certain that the Double R owner 
 would speak, but when after breakfast the 
 next morning Langford had ridden away 
 without breaking his silence, the manager 
 had gone into the ranchhouse, secured his 
 field glasses, mounted his pony, and fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 He kept discreetly in the rear, lingering 
 in the depressions, skirting the bases of the 
 hills, concealing himself in draws and be- 
 hind boulders — never once making the mis- 
 take of appearing on the skyline. And 
 when Langford was sitting on the box in 
 front of Dakota's cabin, the manager was 
 
198 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 deep into the woods that surrounded the 
 clearing where the cabin stood, watching 
 intently through his field glasses. 
 
 He saw Langf ord depart, remained after 
 his departure to see Dakota repeatedly read 
 the signed agreement. Of course, he was 
 entirely ignorant of what had transpired, 
 but there was little doubt in his mind that 
 the two had reached some sort of an under- 
 standing. That their conversation and 
 subsequent agreement concerned Doubler 
 he had little doubt either, for fresh in his 
 mind was a recollection of his conversation 
 with Langford, distinguished by Lang- 
 ford's carefully guarded questions regard- 
 ing Dakota's ability with the six-shooter. 
 He felt that Langford was deliberately 
 leaving him out of the scheme, whatever it 
 was. 
 
 Puzzled and raging inwardly over the 
 slight, Duncan did not return to the ranch- 
 house that day and spent the night at one 
 of the line camps. The following day he 
 rode in to the ranchhouse to find that Lang- 
 ford had gone out riding with Sheila. Mo- 
 rose, sullen, Duncan again rode abroad, re- 
 turning with tihe dusk. In his conversation 
 
ADDING TWO AND TWO 199 
 
 with Langford that night the Double R 
 owner made no reference to Doubler, and, 
 studying Sheila, Duncan thought she 
 seemed depressed. 
 
 During her ride that day with her father 
 Sheila had received a startling revelation of 
 his character. She had questioned him re- 
 garding his treatment of Doubler, ending 
 with a plea for justice for the latter. For 
 the first time during all the time she had 
 known Langford she had seen an angry in- 
 tolerance in his eyes, and though his voice 
 had been as bland and smooth as ever, it 
 did not heal the wound which had been 
 made in her heart over the discovery that 
 he could feel impatient with her. 
 
 "My dear Sheila," he said, "I should 
 regret to find that you are interested in my 
 business affairs." 
 
 " Doubler declares that you are unjust," 
 she persisted, determined to do her best to 
 avert the trouble that seemed impending. 
 
 "Doubler is an obstacle in the path of 
 progress and will get the consideration he 
 deserves," he said shortly. " Please do not 
 meddle with what does not concern you." 
 
 Thus had an idol which Sheila worshiped 
 
200 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 been tumbled from its pedestal. Sheila sur- 
 veyed it, lying shattered at her feet, with 
 moist eyes. It might be restored, patched 
 so that it would resemble its original shape, 
 but never again would it appear the same in 
 her eyes. She had received a glimpse of her 
 father's real character; she saw the merci- 
 less, designing, real man stripped of the 
 polished veneer that she had admired; his 
 soul lay naked before her, seared and ren- 
 dered unlovely by the blackness of deceit 
 and trickery. 
 
 As the days passed, however, she collected 
 the fragments of the shattered idol and 
 began to replace them. Piece by piece she 
 fitted them together, cementing them with 
 her faith, so that in time the idol resembled 
 its original shape. 
 
 She had been too exacting, she told her- 
 self. Men had ways of dealing with one 
 another which women could not understand. 
 Her ideas of justice were tempered with 
 mercy and pity; she allowed her heart to 
 map out her line of conduct toward her 
 fellow men, and as a consequence her sym- 
 pathies were broad and tender. In busi- 
 
ADDING TWO AND TWO 201 
 
 ness, though, she supposed, it must be dif- 
 ferent. There mind must rule. It was a 
 struggle in which the keenest wit and the 
 sharpest instinct counted, and in which the 
 emotion of mercy was subordinate to the 
 love of gain. And so in time she erected 
 her idol again and the cracks and seams in 
 it became almost invisible. 
 
 While she had been restoring her idol 
 there had been other things to occupy her 
 mind. A thin line divides tragedy from 
 comedy, and after the tragedy of discover- 
 ing her father's real character Sheila longed 
 for something to take her mind out of the 
 darkness. A recollection of Duncan's jeal- 
 ousy, which he had exhibited on the day 
 that she had related the story of her rescue 
 by Dakota, still abided with her, and con- 
 vinced that she might secure diversion by; 
 fanning the spark that she had discovered, 
 she began by inducing Duncan to ask her 
 to ride with him. 
 
 Sitting on the grass one day in the shade 
 of some fir-balsams on a slope several miles 
 down the river, Sheila looked at Duncan 
 with a smile. 
 
202 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 "I believe that I am beginning to like 
 the country/' she said. 
 
 " I expected you would like it after you 
 were here a while. Everybody does. It 
 grows into one. If you ever go back East 
 you will never be contented — you'll be 
 dreaming and longing. The West im- 
 proves on acquaintance, like the people." 
 
 " Meaning? " she said, with a defiant 
 mockery so plain in her eyes that Duncan 
 drew a deep breath. 
 
 " Meaning that you ought to begin to 
 like us — the people," he said. 
 
 " Perhaps I do like some of the people," 
 she laughed. 
 
 " For instance," he said, his face redden- 
 ing a little. 
 
 She looked at him with a taunting smile. 
 " I don't believe that I like you — so very 
 well. You get too cross when things don't 
 suit you." 
 
 "I think you are mistaken," he chal- 
 lenged. "When have I been cross?" 
 
 Sheila laughed. " Do you remember the 
 night that I came home and told you and 
 father how Dakota had rescued me from 
 
ADDING TWO AND TWO 203 
 
 the quicksand? Well," she continued, not- 
 ing his nod and the frown which accom- 
 panied it, " you were cross that night — 
 almost boorish. You moped and went off 
 to bed without saying good-night." 
 
 It pleased Duncan to tell her that he 
 had forgotten if he had ever acted that way, 
 and she did not press him. And so a silence 
 fell between them. 
 
 " You said you were beginning to like 
 some of the people," said Duncan presently. 
 " You don't like me. Then who do you 
 like?" 
 
 " Well," she said, appearing to meditate, 
 but in reality watching him closely so that 
 she might catch his gaze when he looked up. 
 " There's Ben Doubler. He seems to be a 
 very nice old man. And " — Duncan looked 
 at her and she met his gaze fairly, her eyes 
 dancing with mischief — " and Dakota. He 
 is a character, don't you think?" 
 
 Duncan frowned darkly and removed his 
 gaze from her face, directing it down into 
 the plain on the other side of the river. 
 What strange fatality had linked her sym- 
 pathies and admiration with his enemies? 
 
204 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 A rage which he dared not let her see seized 
 him, and he sat silent, clenching and un- 
 clenching his hands. 
 
 She saw his condition and pressed him 
 without mercy. 
 
 "He is a character, isn't he? An odd 
 one, but attractive?" 
 
 Duncan sneered. " He pulled you out of 
 the quicksand, of course. Anybody could 
 have done that, if they'd been around. I 
 reckon that's what makes him 'attractive' 
 in your eyes. On the other hand, he put 
 Texas Blanca out of business. Does that 
 killing help to make him attractive? " 
 
 " Wasn't Blanca his enemy. If you re- 
 member, you told father and me that 
 Blanca sold him some stolen cattle. Then, 
 according to what I have heard of the story, 
 he met Blanca in Lazette, ordered him to 
 leave, and when he didn't go he shot him. 
 I understand that that is the code in mat- 
 ters of that sort — people have to take the 
 law in their own hands. But he gave 
 Blanca the opportunity to shoot first. 
 Wasn't that fair?" 
 
 It seemed odd to her that she was defend- 
 
ADDING TWO AND TWO 205 
 
 ing the man who had wronged her, yet 
 strangely enough she discovered that de- 
 fending him gave her a thrill of satisfaction, 
 though she assured herself that the satis- 
 faction came from the fact that she was 
 engaged in the task of arousing Duncan's 
 jealousy. 
 
 " You've been inquiring about him, 
 then?" said Duncan, his face dark with 
 rage and hatred. " What I told you about 
 that calf deal is the story that Dakota him- 
 self tells about it. A lot of people in this 
 country don't believe Dakota's story. They 
 believe what I believe, that Dakota and 
 Blanca were in partnership on that deal, 
 and that Dakota framed up that story 
 about Blanca selling out to him to avert 
 suspicion. It's likely that they wised up to 
 the fact that we were on to them." 
 
 " I believe you mentioned your suspi- 
 cions to Dakota himself, didn't you? The 
 day you went over after the calves? You 
 had quite a talk with him about them, didn't 
 you?" said Sheila, sweetly. 
 
 Duncan's face whitened. " Who told 
 you that?" he demanded. 
 
206 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " And he told you that if you ever inter- 
 fered with him again, or that if he heard of 
 you repeating your suspicions to anyone, he 
 would do something to you — run you out 
 of the country, or something like that, didn't 
 he?" 
 
 " Who told you that?" repeated Duncan. 
 
 " Doubler told me," returned Sheila with 
 a smile. 
 
 Duncan's face worked with impotent 
 wrath as he looked at her. " So Doubler's 
 been gassing again? " he said with a sneer. 
 " Well, there's never been any love lost be- 
 tween Doubler and me, and so what he says 
 don't amount to much*" He laughed oddly. 
 " It's strange to think how thick you are 
 with Doubler," he said. " I understand that 
 your dad and Doubler ain't exactly on a 
 friendly footing, that your dad was trying 
 to buy him out and that he won't sell. 
 There's likely to be trouble, for your dad is 
 determined to get Doubler's land." 
 
 However, that was a subject upon which 
 Sheila did not care to dwell. 
 
 " I don't think that I am interested in 
 that," she said. " I presume that father is 
 
ADDING TWO AND TWO 207 
 
 able to take care of his own affairs without 
 any assistance from me." 
 
 Duncan's eyes lighted with interest. Her 
 words showed that she was aware of Lang- 
 ford's differences with the nester. Prob- 
 ably her father had told her — taking her 
 into his confidence while ignoring his mana- 
 ger. Perhaps he had even told her of his 
 visit to Dakota; perhaps there had been 
 more than one visit and Sheila had accom- 
 panied him. Undoubtedly, he told himself, 
 Sheila's admiration for Dakota had resulted 
 from not one, but many, meetings. He 
 flushed at the thought, and was forced to 
 look away from Sheila for fear that she 
 might see the passion that flamed in his 
 eyes. 
 
 "You seen Dakota lately? " he ques- 
 tioned, after he had regained sufficient con- 
 trol of himself to be able to speak quietly. 
 
 " No." Sheila was flecking some dust 
 from her skirts with her riding whip, and 
 her manner was one of absolute lack of in- 
 terest. 
 
 " Then you ain't been riding with your 
 father? " said Duncan. 
 
208 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 << 
 
 Some." Sheila continued to brush the 
 dust from her skirts. After answering Dun- 
 can's question, however, she realized that 
 there had been a subtle undercurrent of 
 meaning in his voice, and she turned and 
 looked sharply at him. 
 
 " Why? "she demanded. " Do you mean 
 that father has visited Dakota? " 
 
 " I reckon I'm meaning just that." 
 
 Sheila did not like the expression in Dun- 
 can's eyes, and her chin was raised a little 
 as she turned from him and gave her atten- 
 tion to flecking the grass near her with the 
 lash of her riding whip. 
 
 " Father attends to his own business," she 
 said with some coldness, for she resented 
 Duncan's apparent desire to interfere. " I 
 told you that before. What he does in a 
 business way does not interest me." 
 
 " No? " said Duncan mockingly. " Well, 
 he's made some sort of a deal with Dakota ! " 
 he snapped, aware of his lack of wisdom in 
 telling her this, but unable to control his re- 
 sentment over the slight which had been im- 
 posed on him by Langf ord, and by her own 
 chilling manner, which seemed to emphasize 
 
ADDING TWO AND TWO 209 
 
 the fact that he had been left outside their 
 intimate councils. 
 
 " A deal? " said Sheila quickly, unable to 
 control her interest. 
 
 For a moment he did not answer. He 
 felt her gaze upon him, and he met it, smil- 
 ing mysteriously. Under the sudden neces- 
 sity of proving his statement, his thoughts 
 centered upon the conclusion which had re- 
 sulted froin his suspicions — that Langford's 
 visit to Dakota concerned Doubler. Equiv- 
 ocation would have taken him safely away 
 from the pitfall into which his rash words 
 had almost plunged him, but he felt that 
 any evasion now would only bring scorn into 
 the eyes which he wished to see alight with 
 something else. Besides, here was an op- 
 portunity to speak a derogatory word about 
 his enemy, and he could not resist — could 
 not throw it carelessly aside. There was a 
 venomous note in his voice when he finally 
 answered : 
 
 " The other day your father was speaking 
 to me about gun-men. I told him that Da- 
 kota would do anything for money." 
 
 A slow red appeared in Sheila's cheeks, 
 
210 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 mounted to her temples, disappeared en- 
 tirely and was succeeded by a paleness. She 
 kept her gaze averted, and Duncan could 
 not see her eyes — they were turned toward 
 the slumberous plains that stretched away 
 into the distance on the other side of the 
 river. But Duncan knew that he had scored, 
 and was not bothered over the possibility of 
 there being little truth in his implied charge. 
 He watched her, gloating over her, certain 
 that at a stroke he had effectually eliminated 
 Dakota as a rival. 
 
 Sheila turned suddenly to him. " How 
 do you know that Dakota would do any- 
 thing like that?" 
 
 Duncan smiled as he saw her lips, straight 
 and white, and tightening coldly. 
 
 " How do I know?" he jeered. "How 
 does a man know anything in this country? 
 By using his eyes, of course. I've used 
 mine. I've watched Dakota for five years. 
 I've known all along that he isn't on the 
 square — that he has been running his brand- 
 ing iron on other folks' cattle. I've told you 
 that he worked a crooked deal on me, and 
 then sent Blanca over the divide when he 
 
ADDING TWO AND TWO 211 
 
 thought there was a chance of Blanca giv- 
 ing the deal away. I am told that when he 
 met Blanca in the Red Dog Blanca told him 
 plainly that he didn't know anything about 
 the calf deal. That shows how he treats his 
 friends. He'll do anything for money. 
 
 " The other day I saw your father at his 
 cabin, talking to him. They had quite a 
 confab. Your father has had trouble with 
 Doubler — you know that. He has threat- 
 ened to run Doubler off the Two Forks. I 
 heard that myself. He wouldn't try to run 
 Doubler off himself — that's too dangerous 
 a business for him to undertake. Not want- 
 ing to take the chance himself he hires some- 
 one else. Who? Dakota's the only gun- 
 man around these parts. Therefore, your 
 dad goes to Dakota. He and Dakota signed 
 a paper — I saw Dakota reading it. I've 
 just put two and two together, and that's 
 the result. I reckon I ain't far out of the 
 way." 
 
 Sheila laughed as she might have laughed 
 had someone told her that she herself had 
 plotted to murder Doubler — a laugh full of 
 scorn and mockery. Yet in her eyes, which 
 
212 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 were wide with horror, and in her face, which 
 was suddenly drawn and white, was proof 
 that Duncan's words had hurt her mortally. 
 She was silent ; she did not offer to defend 
 Dakota, for in her thoughts still lingered a 
 recollection of the scene of the shooting in 
 Lazette. And when she considered her 
 father's distant manner toward her and 
 Ben Doubler's grave prediction of trouble, 
 it seemed that perhaps Duncan was right. 
 Yet in spite of the shooting of Blanca and 
 the evil light which was now thrown on Da- 
 kota through Duncan's deductions, she felt 
 confident that Dakota would not become a 
 party to a plot in which the murder of a 
 man was deliberately planned* He had 
 wronged her and he had killed a man, but 
 at the quicksand crossing that day — despite 
 the rage which had been in her heart against 
 him — she had studied him and had become 
 convinced that behind his recklessness, back 
 of the questionable impulses that seemed at 
 times to move him, there lurked qualities 
 which were wholly admirable, and which 
 could be felt by anyone who came in con- 
 tact with him. Certainly those qualities 
 
ADDING TWO AND TWO 213 
 
 which she had seen had not been undiscov- 
 ered by Duncan — and others. 
 
 She remembered now that on a former 
 occasion the manager had practically ad- 
 mitted his fear of Dakota, and then there 
 was his conduct on that day when she had 
 asked him to return Dakota's pony. Dun- 
 can's manner then had seemed to indicate 
 that he feared Dakota — at the least did not 
 like him. Ben Doubler had given her a dif- 
 ferent version of the trouble between Da- 
 kota and Duncan ; how Duncan had accused 
 Dakota of stealing the Double R calves, and 
 how in the presence of Duncan's own men 
 Dakota had forced him to apologize. Taken 
 altogether, it seemed that Duncan's present 
 suspicions were the result of his dislike, or 
 fear, of Dakota. Convinced of this, her 
 eyes flashed with contempt when she looked 
 at the manager. 
 
 " I believe you are lying," she said coldly. 
 " You don't like Dakota. But I have faith 
 in him — in his manhood. I don't believe 
 that any man who has the courage to force 
 another man to apologize to him in the face 
 of great odds, would, or could, be so 
 
214 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 entirely base as to plan to murder a 
 poor, unoffending old man in cold blood. 
 Perhaps you are not lying," she concluded 
 with straight lips, " but the very least that 
 can be said for you is that you have a lurid 
 imagination! " 
 
 In Duncan's gleaming, shifting eyes, ill 
 the lips which were tensed over his teeth in 
 a snarl, she could see the bitterness that was 
 in his heart over the incident to which she 
 had just referred. 
 
 " Wait," he said smiling evilly. " You'll 
 know more about Dakota before long." 
 
 Sheila rose and walked to her pony, 
 mounting the animal and riding slowly away 
 from the river. She did not see the queer 
 smile on Duncan's face as she rode, but look- 
 ing back at the distance of a hundred yards, 
 she saw that he did not intend to follow her. 
 He was still sitting where she had left him, 
 his back to her, his face turned toward the 
 plains which spread away toward Dakota's 
 cabin, twenty miles down the river. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 A PARTING AND A VISIT 
 
 THE problem which filled Duncan's 
 mind as he sat on the edge of the 
 slope overlooking the river was a 
 three-sided one. To reach a conclusion the 
 emotions of fear, hatred, and jealousy would 
 have to be considered in the light of their 
 relative importance. 
 
 There was, for example, his fear of Da- 
 kota, which must be taken into account when 
 he meditated any action prompted by his 
 jealousy, and his fear of Dakota was a 
 check on his desires, a damper which must 
 control the heat of his emotions. He might 
 hate Dakota, but his fear of him would pre- 
 vent his taking any action which might ex- 
 pose his own life to risk. On the other hand, 
 jealousy urged him to accept any risk; it 
 kept telling him over and over that he was 
 a fool to allow Dakota to live. But Dun- 
 
 215 
 
216 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 can knew better than to attempt an open 
 clash with Dakota; each time that he had 
 looked into Dakota's eyes he had seen there 
 something which told him plainer than 
 words of his own inferiority — that he would 
 have no chance in a man-to-man encounter 
 with him. And his latest experience with 
 Dakota had proved that. 
 
 However, Duncan's character would not 
 permit him to concede defeat, and his re- 
 venge was not a thing to be considered 
 lightly. Therefore, though he sat for a long 
 time on the slope, meditating over his prob- 
 lem, in the end he smiled. It was not a good 
 smile to see, for his eyes were alight with a 
 crafty, designing gleam, and there was a 
 cruel curve in the lines of his lips. When 
 he finally mounted his pony and rode away 
 from the slope he was whistling. 
 
 During the next few days he did not see 
 much of Sheila, for he avoided the ranch- 
 house as much as possible . He rode out with 
 Langford many times, and though he cov- 
 ertly questioned the Double R owner con- 
 cerning the affair with Doubler he could 
 gain no satisfying information. Langford's 
 
A PARTING AND A VISIT 217 
 
 reticence further aggravated the passions 
 which rioted in his heart, and finally one 
 afternoon when they rode up to the ranch- 
 house his curiosity could be held in check no 
 longer, and he put the blunt question: 
 
 "What have you done about Doubler?" 
 
 Langford's shifting eyes rested for the 
 fraction of a second on the face of his man- 
 ager, and then the old, bland smile came into 
 his own and he answered smoothly: " Noth- 
 mg. 
 
 " I have been thinking," said Duncan 
 carelessly, but with a sharp side glance at 
 his employer, " that it wouldn't be a half 
 bad idea to set a gun-man on Doubler — a 
 man like Dakota, for instance." 
 
 The manager saw Langford's lips 
 straighten a little, and his eyes flashed with 
 a sudden fire. The expression on Lang- 
 ford's face strengthened the conviction al- 
 ready in Duncan's mind concerning the mo- 
 tive of his employer's visit to Dakota. 
 
 " I don't think I care to have any deal- 
 ings with Dakota," said Langford shortly. 
 
 Duncan's eyes blazed again. " I reckon 
 if you'd go talk to him," he persisted, turn- 
 
218 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 ing his head so that Langford could not see 
 the suppressed rage in his eyes, " you might 
 be able to make a deal with him." 
 
 " I don't wish to deal with him* I have 
 decided not to bother Doubler at present. 
 And I have no desire to talk with Dakota. 
 Frankly, my dear Duncan, I don't like the 
 man." 
 
 " You been in the habit of forming opin- 
 ions of men youVe never talked to?" said 
 Duncan. He could not keep the sneer out 
 of his voice. 
 
 Langford noticed it and laughed softly. 
 
 " It is my recollection that a certain man 
 of my acquaintance advised me at length of 
 Dakota's shortcomings," he said signifi- 
 cantly. " For me to talk to Dakota after 
 that would be to consider this man's words 
 valueless. I will have nothing to do with 
 Dakota. That is," he added, "unless you 
 have altered your opinion of him." 
 
 Duncan did not reply, and he said noth- 
 ing more to Langford on the subject, but he 
 had discovered that for some reason Lang- 
 ford had chosen to keep the knowledge of 
 his visit to Dakota secret, and Duncan's 
 
A PARTING AND A VISIT 219 
 
 suspicions that the visit concerned Doubler 
 became a conviction. Filled with resent- 
 ment over Langford's attitude toward him, 
 and with his mind definitely fixed upon the 
 working out of his problem, Duncan decided 
 to visit Doubler. 
 
 He chose a day when Langford had rid- 
 den away to a distant cow camp, and as 
 when he was following the Double R owner, 
 he did not ride the beaten trail but kept be- 
 hind the ridges and in the depressions, and 
 when he came within sight of Doubler's 
 cabin he halted to reconnoiter. A swift sur- 
 vey of the corral showed him a rangy, pie- 
 bald pony, which he knew to belong to Da- 
 kota. As the animal had on a bridle and a 
 saddle he surmised that Dakota's visit would 
 not be of long duration, and having no de- 
 sire to visit Doubler in the presence of his 
 rival, he shunted his own horse off the edge 
 of a sand dune and down into the bed of a 
 dry arroyo. Urging the animal along this, 
 he presently reached a sand flat on whose 
 edge arose a grove of fir-balsam and cotton- 
 wood. 
 
 For an hour, deep in the grove, he 
 
220 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDA Y 
 
 watched the cabin, and at length he saw Da- 
 kota come out; saw a smile on his face; 
 heard him laugh. His lips writhed at the 
 sound, and he listened intently to catch the 
 conversation which was carried on between 
 the two men, but the distance was too great. 
 However, he was able to judge from the ac- 
 tions of the two that their relations were de- 
 cidedly friendly, and this discovery imme- 
 diately raised a doubt in his mind as to the 
 correctness of his deductions. 
 
 Yet the doubt did not seriously affect his 
 determination to carry out the plan he had 
 in mind, and when a few moments after 
 coming out of the cabin, Dakota departed 
 down the river trail, Duncan slowly rode 
 out of the grove and approached the cabin* 
 
 Doubler stood in the open doorway, look- 
 ing after Dakota, and when the latter finally 
 disappeared around a bend in the river the 
 nester turned and saw Duncan. Instantly 
 he stepped inside the cabin door, reappear- 
 ing immediately, holding a rifle. Duncan 
 continued to ride forward, raising one hand, 
 with the palm toward Doubler, as a sign of 
 the peacefulness of his intentions. The lat- 
 
A PARTING AND A VISIT 221 
 
 ter permitted him to approach, though he 
 held the rifle belligerently. 
 
 " I want to talk/' said Duncan, when he 
 had come near enough to make himself 
 heard. 
 
 " Pull up right where you are, then," 
 commanded Doubler. He was silent while 
 Duncan drew his pony to a halt and sat mo- 
 tionless in the saddle looking at him. Then 
 his voice came with a truculent snap: 
 
 "You alone?" 
 
 Duncan nodded. 
 
 "Where's your new boss?" sarcastically 
 inquired Doubler. " Ain't you scared he'll 
 git lost — runnin' around alone without any- 
 one to look after him? " 
 
 " I ain't his keeper," returned Duncan 
 shortly. 
 
 Doubler laughed unbelievingly. " You 
 was puttin' in a heap of your time bein' his 
 keeper, the last I saw of you," he declared 
 coldly. 
 
 "Mebbe I was. We've had a falling 
 out." The venom in Duncan's voice was 
 not at all pretended. " He's double crossed 
 me. 
 
222 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 u Double crossed you? " There was dis- 
 belief and suspicion in Doubler's laugh. 
 " How's he done that? I reckoned you was 
 too smart for anyone to do that to you? * 
 The sarcasm in this last brought a dark red 
 into Duncan's face, but he successfully con- 
 cealed his resentment and smiled. 
 
 "That's all right," he said; "I've got 
 more than that coming from you. I'm tell- 
 ing you about what he done to me if you 
 ain't got any objections to me getting off 
 my horse." 
 
 11 Tell me from where you are." In spite 
 of the coldness in the nester's voice there 
 was interest in his eyes. " Mebbe you an' 
 him have had a fallin' out, but I ain't takin* 
 any chances on you bein' my friend — not a 
 durned chance." 
 
 " That's right. I don't blame you for not; 
 wanting to take a chance, and I'm not pre- 
 tending to be your friend. And I sure ain't 
 any friendly to Langford. He's double 
 crossed me, but I ain't telling how he done 
 it— that's between him and me. But I want 
 to tell you something that will interest you 
 a whole lot. It's about some guy which is 
 
A PARTING AND A VISIT MS 
 
 trying to double cross you. To prove that 
 I ain't thinking to plug you when you ain't 
 looking I'm leaving my gun here." He 
 drew out his six-shooter and stuck it behind 
 his slicker, dismounted, and threw the reins 
 over the pony's head. 
 
 In silence Doubler suffered him to ap- 
 proach, though he kept his rifle ready in his 
 hand and his eyes still continued to wear a 
 belligerent expression. 
 
 " You and me ain't been what you might 
 call friendly for a long time," offered Dun- 
 can when he had halted a few feet from 
 Doubler. " We've had words, but I've 
 never tried to take any mean advantage of 
 you — which I might have done if I'd wanted 
 to." He smiled ingratiatingly, 
 
 " We ain't goin' to go over what's hap- 
 pened between us," declared Doubler coldly. 
 " We're lettin' that go by. If you'll stick 
 to the palaver that you spoke about mebbe 
 we'll be able to git along for a minute or 
 two. Meanwhile, you'll excuse me if I keep 
 this here gun in shape for you if you try any 
 monkey business." 
 
 Duncan masked his dislike of Doubler 
 
224 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 under a deprecatory smile. " That's right/' 
 he agreed, " We'll let what's happened pass 
 without talking about it. What's between 
 us now is something different. I've never 
 pretended to be your friend, and I'm not 
 pretending to be your friend now. But 
 I've always been square with you, and I'm 
 square now. Can you say that about him? " 
 He jerked his thumb in the direction of the 
 river trail, on which Dakota had vanished 
 some time before. 
 
 " Him ? " inquired Doubler. " You mean 
 Dakota?" He caught Duncan's nod and 
 smiled slowly. " I reckon you're some off 
 your range," he said. " There ain't no com- 
 parin' Dakota to you — he's always been my 
 friend." 
 
 " A man's got a friend one day and he's 
 an enemy the next," said Duncan mysteri- 
 ously. 
 
 "Meanin'?" 
 
 " Meaning that Dakota ain't so much of 
 a friend as you think he is." 
 
 Doubler's lips grew straight and hard. 
 " I reckon that ends the palaver," he said 
 coldly, while he fingered the rifle in his hand 
 
A PARTING AND A VISIT 225 
 
 significantly. " If that's what you come 
 for you can be hittin' the breeze right back 
 to the Double R. I'm givin' you " 
 
 " You're traveling too fast," remon- 
 strated Duncan, a hoarseness coming into 
 his voice. " You'll talk different when you 
 hear what I've got to say. I reckon you 
 know that Langford ain't any friendly to 
 you?" 
 
 " I don't see — " began Doubler. 
 
 He was interrupted by Duncan's harsh 
 laugh. " Of course you don't see," he said. 
 " I've come over here to make you open your 
 eyes. Langford ain't no friend of yours, 
 and I reckon that you wouldn't consider 
 any man your friend which sets in his cabin 
 a couple of hours talking to Langford, about 
 you?" 
 
 "Meanin' that Langford's been to see 
 Dakota?" Doubler's voice was suddenly 
 harsh and his eyes glinted with suspicion. 
 Certain that he had scored, Duncan turned 
 and smiled into the distance. When he 
 again faced Doubler his face wore an ex- 
 pression of sympathy. 
 
 " When a man's been a friend to you and 
 
226 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 you find that he's going to double cross you, 
 it's apt to make you feel pretty mean," he 
 said. " I'm allowing that. But there's a 
 lot of us get double crossed. I got it and 
 I'm seeing that they don't ring in any cold 
 deck on you." 
 
 " How do you know Dakota's tryin' to 
 do that? " demanded Doubler. 
 
 Duncan laughed. " I've kept my eyes 
 open. Also, I've been listening right hard, 
 I wasn't so far away when Langford went 
 to Dakota's shack, and I heard considerable 
 of what they said about you." 
 
 Doubler's interest was now intense; he 
 spoke eagerly: " What did they say?" 
 
 " I reckon you ought to be able to guess 
 what they said," said Duncan with a crafty 
 smile. " I reckon you know that Langford 
 wants your land mighty bad, don't you? 
 And you won't sell. Didn't he tell you in 
 front of me that he was going to make 
 trouble for you? He wants me to make it, 
 though; he wants me to set the boys on you. 
 But I won't do it. Then he shuts up like a 
 clam and don't say anything more to me 
 about it. He saw Dakota send Blanca over 
 
A PARTING AND A VISIT 227 
 
 the divide and he's some impressed by his 
 shooting. He figures that if Dakota puts 
 one man out of business he'll put another 
 out." 
 
 " Meanin' that Langford's hired Dakota 
 to look for me?" Doubler's eyes were 
 gleaming brightly. 
 
 " You're some keen, after all," taunted 
 Duncan. 
 
 Doubler's jaws snapped. "You're a 
 liar! " he said; " Dakota wouldn't do it! " 
 
 " Maybe I'm a liar," said Duncan, his 
 face paling but his voice low and quiet. He 
 was not surprised that Doubler should ex- 
 hibit emotion over the charge that his friend 
 was planning to murder him, yet he knew 
 that the suspicion once established in Doub- 
 ler's mind would soon grow to the stature of 
 a conviction. 
 
 "Maybe I'm a liar," repeated Duncan. 
 " But if you'll use your brain a little you'll 
 see that things look bad for you. Dakota's 
 been here. Did he tell you about Langford 
 coming to see him? I reckon not," he added 
 as he caught Doubler's blank stare ; " he'd 
 likely not tell you about it. But I reckon 
 
228 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 that if he was your friend he'd tell you. I 
 reckon you told him about Langford want- 
 ing your land — about him telling you he'd 
 make things hot for you? " 
 
 Doubler nodded silently, and Duncan 
 continued. " Well," he said, with a short 
 laugh, " I've told you, and it's up to you. 
 They were talking about you, and if Da- 
 kota's your friend, as you're claiming him 
 to be, he'd have told you what they was talk* 
 ing about — if it wasn't what I say it was — 
 him knowing how Langford feels toward 
 you. And they didn't only talk. Langford 
 wrote something on a paper and gave it to 
 Dakota. I don't know what he wrote, but 
 it seemed to tickle Dakota a heap. Least- 
 ways, he done a heap of laffing over it. 
 Likely Langford's promised him a heap of 
 dust to do the job. Mebbe he's your friend, 
 but if I was you I wouldn't give him no 
 chance to say I drawed first." 
 
 Doubler placed his rifle down and passed 
 a hand slowly and hesitatingly over his fore- 
 head. " I don't like to think that of Da- 
 kota," he said, faith and suspicion battling 
 for supremacy. " Dakota just left here; he 
 
A PARTING AND A VISIT 220 
 
 acted a heap friendly — as usual — mebbe 
 more so." 
 
 " I reckon that when a man goes gunning 
 for another man he don't advertise a whole 
 lot," observed Duncan insinuatingly. 
 
 " No," agreed Doubler, staring blankly 
 into the distance where he had last seen his 
 supposed friend, " a man don't generally do 
 a heap of advertisin' when he's out lookin' for 
 a man." He sat for a time staring straight 
 ahead, and then he suddenly looked up, his 
 eyes filled with a savage fierceness. " How 
 do I know you ain't lyin' to me? " he de- 
 manded, glaring at Duncan, his hands 
 clenched in an effort to control himself. 
 
 Duncan's eyes did not waver. " I reckon 
 you don't know whether I'm lying," he re- 
 turned, showing his teeth in a slight smile. 
 " But I reckon you're twenty-one and ought 
 to have your eye-teeth cut. Anyway, you 
 ought to know that a man like Langford, 
 who's wanting your land, don't go to talk 
 with a man like Dakota, who's some on the 
 shoot, for nothing. How do you know that 
 Langford and Dakota ain't friends? How 
 do you know but that they've been friends 
 
W THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 back East? Do you know where Dakota 
 came from ? Mebbe he's from the East, too. 
 I'm telling you one thing," added Duncan, 
 and now his voice was filled with passion, 
 i; Dakota and Sheila Langford are pretty 
 thick. She makes believe that she don't like 
 him, but he saved her from a quicksand, and 
 she's been running with him considerable. 
 Takes his part, too; does it, but she makes 
 you believe that she don't like him. I reckon 
 she's pretty foxy." 
 
 Doubler's memory went back to a con- 
 versation he had had with Sheila in which 
 Dakota had been the subject under discus- 
 sion. He remembered that she had shown 
 a decided coldness, suggesting by her man- 
 ner that she and Dakota were not on the 
 best of terms. Could it be that she had 
 merely pretended this coldness? Could it 
 be that she was concerned in the plot against 
 him, that she and her father and Dakota 
 were combined against him for the common 
 purpose of taking his life? 
 
 He was convinced that any such suspicion 
 against Sheila must be unjust, for he had 
 studied her face many times and was cer- 
 
A PARTING AND A VISIT 231 
 
 tain that there was not a line of deceit in it. 
 And yet, was it not odd that, when he had 
 told her of the trouble between him and her 
 father, she had not immediately taken her 
 parent's side? To be sure, she had told him 
 that Langford was merely her stepfather, 
 but could not that statement also have been 
 a misleading one? And even if Langford 
 were only her stepfather, would she not 
 have felt it her duty to align herself with 
 him? 
 
 " I reckon you know a heap about Da- 
 kota, don't you ? " came Duncan's voice, 
 breaking into Doubler's reflections. " You 
 know, for instance, that Dakota came here 
 from Dakota — or anyway, he says he came 
 here from there. We'll say you know that. 
 But what do you know about Langford? 
 Didn't he tell you that he was going to ' get 9 
 you?" 
 
 Duncan turned his back to Doubler and 
 walked to his pony. He drew out his six- 
 shooter, stuck it into its holster, and placed 
 one foot in a stirrup, preparatory to mount- 
 ing. Then he turned and spoke gravely to 
 Doubler. 
 
232 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " I've done all I could," he said. " You 
 
 know how you stand and the rest of it is up 
 
 to you. You can go on, letting Dakota and 
 
 i Sheila pretend to be friendly to you, and 
 
 j some day you'll get wise awful sudden —   
 
 I when it's too late. Or, you can wise up now 
 
 and fix Dakota before he gets a chance at 
 
 you. I reckon that's all. You can't say 
 
 that I didn't put you wise to the game." 
 
 He swung into the saddle and urged the 
 pony toward the crossing. Looking back 
 from a crest of a rise on the other side of the 
 river, he saw Doubler still standing in the 
 doorway, his head bowed in his hands. Dun- 
 can smiled, his lips in cold, crafty curves, 
 for he had planted the seed of suspicion and 
 was satisfied that it would presently flour- 
 ish and grow until it would finally accom- 
 plish the destruction of his rival, Dakota. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 A MEETING QN THE RIVER TRAIL 
 
 ABOUT ten o'clock in the morning of 
 a perfect day Sheila left the Double 
 R ranchhouse for a ride to the Two 
 Forks to visit Doubler. This new world 
 into which she had come so hopefully had 
 lately grown very lonesome. It had prom- 
 ised much and it had given very little. The 
 country itself was not to blame for the state 
 of her mind, though, she told herself as she 
 rode over the brown, sun-scorched grass of 
 the river trail, it was the people. They — 
 even her father — seemed to hold aloof from 
 her. 
 
 It seemed that she would never be able to 
 fit in anywhere. She was convinced that the 
 people with whom she was forced to asso- 
 ciate were entirely out of accord with the 
 principles of life which had been her guide 
 — they appeared selfish, cold, and distant. 
 
 23$ 
 
234 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Duncan's sister, the only woman beside her- 
 self in the vicinity, had discouraged all her 
 little advances toward a better acquaint- 
 ance, betraying in many ways a disinclina- 
 tion toward those exchanges of confidence 
 which are the delight of every normal 
 woman. Sheila had become aware very soon 
 that there could be no hope of gaining her 
 friendship or confidence and so of late she 
 had ceased her efforts. 
 
 Of course, she could not attempt to cul- 
 tivate an acquaintance with any of the cow- 
 boys — she already knew one too well, and 
 the knowledge of her relationship to him 
 had the effect of dulling her desire for seek- 
 ing the company of the others. 
 
 For Duncan she had developed a decided 
 dislike which amounted almost to hatred. 
 She had been able to see quite early in their 
 acquaintance the defects of his character, 
 and though she had played on his jealousy 
 in a spirit of fun, she had been careful to 
 make him see that anything more than mere 
 acquaintance was impossible. At least that 
 was what she had tried to do, and she 
 doubted much whether she had succeeded. 
 
MEETING ON RIVER TRAIL 235 
 
 Doubler was the only one who had be- 
 trayed any real friendship for her, and to 
 him, in her lonesomeness, she turned, in 
 spite of the warning he had given her. She 
 had visited him once since the day following 
 her father's visit, and he had received her 
 with his usual cordiality, but she had been 
 able to detect a certain constraint in his man- 
 ner which had caused her to determine to 
 stay away from the Two Forks. But this 
 morning she felt that she must go some- 
 where, and she selected Doubler's cabin. 
 
 Since that day when on the edge of the 
 butte overlooking the river Duncan had 
 voiced his suspicions that her father had 
 planned to remove Doubler, Sheila had felt 
 more than ever the always widening gulf 
 that separated her from her parent. From 
 the day on which he had become impatient 
 with her when she had questioned him con- 
 cerning his intentions with regard to Doub- 
 ler he had treated her in much the manner 
 that he always treated her, though it had 
 seemed to her that there was something 
 lacking; there was a certain strained civility 
 in his manner, a veneer which smoothed over 
 
236 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 the breach of trust which his attitude that 
 day had created. 
 
 Many times, watching him, Sheila had 
 wondered why she had never been able to 
 peer through the mask of his imperturba- 
 bility at the real, unlovely character it con- 
 cealed. She believed it was because she had 
 always trusted him and had not taken the 
 trouble to try to uncover his real character. 
 She had tried for a long time to fight down 
 the inevitable, growing estrangement, tell- 
 ing herself that she had been, and was, mis- 
 taken in her estimate of his character since 
 the day he had told her not to meddle with 
 his affairs, and she had nearly succeeded in 
 winning the fight when Duncan had again 
 destroyed her faith with the story of her 
 father's visit to Dakota. 
 
 Duncan had added two and two, he had 
 told her when furnishing her with the 
 threads out of which he had constructed the 
 fabric of his suspicions, and she was com- 
 pelled to acknowledge that they seemed suf- 
 ficiently strong. Contemplation of the sit- 
 uation, however, had convinced her that Da- 
 kota was partly to blame, and her anger 
 
MEETING ON RIVER TRAIL 237 
 
 against him — greatly softened since the res- 
 cue at the quicksand — flared out again. 
 
 Two weeks had passed since Duncan had 
 told her of his suspicions, and they had been 
 two weeks of constant worry and dread to 
 her. 
 
 Unable to stand the suspense longer she 
 had finally decided to seek out Dakota to 
 attempt to confirm Duncan's story of her 
 father's visit and to plead with Dakota to 
 withhold his hand. But first she would see 
 Doubler. 
 
 The task of talking to Dakota about any- 
 thing was not to her liking, but she com- 
 promised with her conscience by telling her- 
 self that she owed it to herself to prevent 
 the murder of Doubler — that if the nester 
 should be killed with her in possession of 
 the plan for his taking off, and able to lift a 
 hand in protest or warning, she would be as 
 guilty as her father or Dakota. 
 
 As she rode she could not help contrast- 
 ing Dakota's character to those of her father 
 and Duncan. She eliminated Duncan im- 
 mediately, as being not strong enough to 
 compare either favorably or unfavorably 
 
238 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 with either of the other two. And, much 
 against her will, she was compelled to ad- 
 mit that with all his shortcomings Dakota 
 made a better figure than her father. But 
 there was little consolation for her, in this 
 comparison, for she bitterly assured herself 
 that there was nothing attractive in either. 
 Both had wronged her — Dakota deliberately 
 and maliciously; her father had placed the 
 bar of a cold civility between her and him- 
 self, and she could no longer go to him with 
 her confidences. She had lost his friend- 
 ship, and he had lost her respect. 
 
 Of late she had speculated much over Da- 
 kota. That day at the quicksand crossing 
 he had seemed to be a different man from 
 the one who had stood with revolver in hand 
 before the closed door of, his cabin, giving 
 her a choice of two evils. For one thing, 
 she was no longer afraid of him; in his treat- 
 ment of her at the crossing he had not ap- 
 peared as nearly so forbidding as formerly, 
 had been almost attractive to her, in those 
 moments when she could forget the injury 
 he had done her. Those moments had been 
 few, to be sure, but during them she had 
 
MEETING ON RIVER TRAIL 239 
 
 caught flashes of the real Dakota, and 
 though she fought against admiring him, 
 she knew that deep in her heart lingered an 
 emotion which must be taken into account. 
 He had really done her no serious injury, 
 nothing which would not be undone through 
 the simple process of the law, and in his 
 manner on the day of the rescue there had 
 been much respect, and in spite of the mock- 
 ing levity with which he had met her re- 
 proaches she felt that he felt some slight re- 
 morse over his action. 
 
 For a time she forgot to think about Da- 
 kota, becoming lost in contemplation of the 
 beauty of the country. Sweeping away 
 from the crest of the ridge on which she was 
 riding, it lay before her, basking in the warm 
 sunlight of the morning, wild and pictur- 
 esque, motionless, silent — as quiet and 
 peaceful as might have been that morning 
 on which, his work finished, the Creator had 
 surveyed the new world with a satisfied eye. 
 
 She had reached a point about a mile 
 from Doubler's cabin, still drinking in the 
 beauty that met her eyes on every hand, 
 when an odd sound broke the perfect quiet. 
 
240 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Suddenly alert, she halted her pony and 
 listened. 
 
 The sound had been strangely like a pis- 
 tol shot, though louder, she decided, as she 
 listened to its echo reverberating in the adja- 
 cent hills. It became fainter, and finally 
 died away, and she sat for a long time mo- 
 tionless in the saddle, listening, but no other 
 sound disturbed the solemn quiet that sur- 
 rounded her. 
 
 It seemed to her that the sound had come 
 from the direction of Doubler's cabin, but 
 she was not quite certain, knowing how diffi- 
 cult: it was to determine the direction of 
 sound in so vast a stretch of country. 
 
 She ceased to speculate, and once more 
 gave her attention to the country, urging 
 her pony forward, riding down the slope 
 of the ridge to the level of the river trail. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later, still holding the 
 river trail, she saw a horseman approach- 
 ing, and long before he came near enough 
 for her to distinguish his features she knew 
 the rider for Dakota. He was sitting care- 
 lessly in the saddle, one leg thrown over 
 the pommel, smoking a cigarette, and when 
 
MEETING ON RIVER TRAIL 241 
 
 he saw her he threw the latter away, doffed 
 his broad hat, and smiled gravely at her. 
 
 "Were you shooting?" she questioned, 
 aware that this was an odd greeting, but 
 eager to have the mystery of that lone shot 
 cleared up. 
 
 " I reckon I ain't been shooting — lately," 
 he returned. " It must have been Doubler. 
 I heard it myself. I've just left Doubler, 
 and he was cleaning his rifle. He must 
 have been trying it. I do that myself, of- 
 ten, after I've cleaned mine, just to make 
 sure it's right." He narrowed his eyes 
 whimsically at her. " So you're riding the 
 river trail again?" he said. "I thought 
 you'd be doing it." 
 
 "Why?" she questioned, defiantly. 
 
 "Well, for one thing, there's a certain 
 fascination about a place where one has 
 been close to cashing in — I expect that when 
 we've been in such a place we like to come 
 back and look at it just to see how near we 
 came to going over the divide. And there's 
 another reason why I expected to see you 
 on the river trail again. You forgot to 
 thank me for pulling you out." 
 
242 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 He deserved thanks for that, she knew. 
 lJut there were in his voice and eyes the 
 same subtle mockery which had marked his 
 manner that other time, and as before she 
 experienced a feeling of deep resentment. 
 Why could he not have shown some evi- 
 dence of remorse for his crime against her? 
 She believed that had he done so now she 
 might have found it in her heart to go a 
 little distance toward forgiving him. But 
 there was only mockery in his voice and 
 words and her resentment against him grew. 
 Mingling with it, moreover, was the bitter- 
 ness which had settled over her within the 
 last few days. It found expression in her 
 voice when she answered him: 
 
 " This country is full of — of savages ! * 
 
 " Indians, you mean, I reckon? Well, 
 no, there are none around here — excepting 
 over near Fort Union, on the reservation." 
 He drawled hatefully and regarded her 
 with a mild smile. 
 
 94 1 mean white savages ! " she declared 
 spitefully. 
 
 His smile grew broader, and then slowly 
 faded and he sat quiet, studying her face. 
 
MEETING ON RIVER TRAIL 243 
 
 The silence grew painful; she moved un- 
 easily under his direct gaze and a dash of 
 color swept into her cheeks. Then he spoke 
 quietly. 
 
 " You been seeing white savages? " 
 
 "Yes!" venomously. 
 
 " Not around here? " The hateful mock- 
 ery of that drawl ! 
 
 " I am talking to one," she said, her eyes 
 blazing with impotent anger. 
 
 " I thought you was meaning me," he 
 said, without resentment. " I reckon I've 
 got it coming to me. But at the same time 
 that isn't exactly the way to talk to 
 
 your " He hesitated and smiled oddly, 
 
 apparently aware that he had made a mis- 
 take in referring to his crime against her. 
 He hastened to repair it. " Your rescuer," 
 he corrected. 
 
 However, she saw through the artifice, 
 and the bitterness in her voice grew more 
 pronounced. " It is needless for you to re- 
 mind me of our relationship," she said; " I 
 am not likely to forget." 
 
 " Have you told your father yet? " 
 
 In his voice was the quiet scorn and the 
 
244 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 peculiar, repressed venom which she had de- 
 tected when he had referred to her father 
 during that other occasion at the crossing. 
 It mystified her, and yet within the past few 
 days she had felt this scorn herself and knew 
 that it was not remarkable. Undoubtedly 
 he, having had much experience with men, 
 had been able to see through Langford's 
 mask and knew him for what he was. For 
 the first time in her life she experienced a 
 sensation of embarrassed guilt over hearing 
 her name linked with Langford's, and she 
 looked defiantly at Dakota. 
 
 " I have not told him," she said. u I 
 won't tell him. I told you that before — I 
 do not care to undergo the humiliation of 
 hearing my name mentioned in the same 
 breath with yours. And if you do not al- 
 ready know it, I want to tell you that David 
 Langford is not my father; my real father 
 died a long time ago, and Langford is only 
 my stepfather." 
 
 A sudden moisture was in her eyes and 
 she did not see Dakota start, did not ob- 
 serve the queer pallor that spread over his 
 face, failed to detect the odd light in his 
 
MEETING ON RIVER TRAIL 245 
 
 eyes. However, she heard his voice — 
 sharp in tone and filled with genuine as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 "Your stepfather ?" He had spurred 
 his pony beside hers and looking up she saw 
 that his face had suddenly grown stern and 
 grim. " Do you mean that? " he demanded 
 half angrily. " Why didn't you tell me 
 that before? Why didn't you tell me when 
 — the night I married you? " 
 
 " Would it have made any difference to 
 you?" she said bitterly. "Does it make 
 any difference now? You have treated me 
 like a savage; you are treating me like one 
 now. I — I haven't any friends at all," she 
 continued, her voice breaking slightly, as 
 she suddenly realized her entire helplessness 
 before the combined evilness of Duncan, her 
 father, and the man who sat on his pony 
 beside her. A sob shook her, and her hands 
 went to her face, covering her eyes. 
 
 She sat there for a time, shuddering, and 
 watching her closely, Dakota's face grew 
 slowly pale, and grim, hard lines came into 
 his lips. 
 
 " I know what Duncan's friendship 
 
246 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 amounts to," he said harshly. " But isn't 
 your stepfather your friend?" 
 
 "My friend?" She echoed his words 
 with a hopeless intonation that closed Da- 
 kota's teeth like a vise. " I don't know what 
 has come over him," she continued, looking 
 up at Dakota, her eyes filled with wonder for 
 the sympathy which she saw in his face and 
 voice; "he has changed since he came out 
 here ; he is so selfish and heartless." 
 
 " What's he been doing? Hurting you? " 
 She did not detect the anger in his voice, for 
 he had kept it so low that she scarcely heard 
 the words. 
 
 " Hurting me? No ; he has not done any- 
 thing to me. Don't you know? " she said 
 scornfully, certain that he was mocking her 
 again — for how could his interest be genu- 
 ine when he was a party to the plot to mur- 
 der Doubler? Yet perhaps not — maybe 
 Duncan had been lying. Determined to 
 get to the bottom of the affair as quickly 
 as possible, Sheila continued rapidly, her 
 scorn giving way to eagerness. " Don't you 
 know?" And this time her voice was al- 
 most a plea. "What did father visit you 
 
MEETING ON RIVER TRAIL 247 
 
 for? Wasn't it about Doubler? Didn't he 
 hire you to — to kill him? " 
 
 She saw his lips tighten strangely, his 
 face grow pale, his eyes flash with some mys- 
 terious emotion, and she knew in an instant 
 that he was guilty — guilty as her father! 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, and the scorn came into 
 her voice again. "Then it is true! You 
 and my father have conspired to murder an 
 inoffensive old man! You — you cowards! " 
 
 He winced, as though he had received an 
 unexpected blow in the face, but almost im- 
 mediately he smiled — a hard, cold, sneer- 
 ing smile which chilled her. 
 
 " Who has been telling you this ? " The 
 question came slowly, without the slightest 
 trace of excitement. 
 
 " Duncan told me." 
 
 " Duncan? " There was much contempt 
 in his voice. "Not your father?" 
 
 She shook her head negatively, wonder- 
 ing at his cold composure. No wonder her 
 father had selected him! 
 
 He laughed mirthlessly. " So that's the 
 reason Doubler was so friendly to his rifle 
 this morning?" he said, as though her 
 
248 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 words had explained a mystery which had 
 been puzzling him. " Doubler and me have 
 been friends for a long time. But this 
 morning while I was talking to him he kept 
 his rifle beside him all the time. He must 
 have heard from someone that I was gun- 
 ing for him." 
 
 "Then you haven't been hired to kill 
 him?" 
 
 He smiled at her eagerness, but spoke 
 gravely and with an earnestness which she 
 could not help but feel. " Miss Sheila," 
 he said, " there isn't money enough in ten 
 counties like this to make me kill Doubler." 
 His lips curled with a quiet sarcasm. " You 
 are like a lot of other people in this coun- 
 try," he added. " Because I put Blanca 
 away they think I am a professional gun- 
 man. But I want you" — he placed a sig- 
 nificant emphasis on the word — " to under- 
 stand that there wasn't any other way to 
 deal with Blanca. By coming back here 
 after selling me that stolen Star stock and 
 refusing to admit the deed in the presence 
 of other people — even denying it and accus- 
 ing me — he forced me to take the step I did 
 
MEETING ON RIVER TRAIL 249 
 
 with him. Even then, I gave him his 
 chance. That he didn't take it isn't my 
 fault. 
 
 " I suppose I look pretty black to you, 
 because I treated you like I did. But it 
 was partly your fault, too. Maybe that's 
 mysterious to you, but it will have to stay a 
 mystery. I had an idea in my head that 
 night — and something else. I've found 
 something out since that makes me feel a lot 
 sorry. If I had known what I know now, 
 that wouldn't have happened to you — I've 
 got my eyes open now." 
 
 Their ponies were very close together, 
 and leaning over suddenly he placed both 
 hands on her shoulders and gazed into her 
 eyes, his own flashing with a strange light. 
 She did not try to escape his hands, for she 
 felt that his sincerity warranted the action. 
 
 " I've treated you mean, Sheila," he said; 
 " about as mean as a man could treat a 
 woman. I am sorry. I want you to be- 
 lieve that. And maybe some day — when 
 this business is over — you'll understand and 
 forgive me." 
 
 " This business? " Sheila drew back and 
 
250 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 looked at him wonderingly. "What do 
 you mean?" 
 
 There was no mirth in his laugh as he 
 dropped his hands to his sides. Her ques- 
 tion had brought about a return of that 
 mocking reserve which she could not pene- 
 trate. Apparently he would let her no far- 
 ther into the mystery whose existence his 
 words had betrayed. He had allowed her 
 to get a glimpse of his inner self ; had shown 
 her that he was not the despicable creature 
 she had thought him; had apparently been 
 about to take her into his confidence. And 
 she had felt a growing sympathy for him 
 and had been prepared to meet him half 
 way in an effort to settle their differences, 
 but she saw that the opportunity was gone 
 — was hidden under the cloak of mystery 
 which had been about him from the begin- 
 ning of their acquaintance. 
 
 " This Doubler business," he answered, 
 and she nibbled impatiently at her lips, 
 knowing that he had meant something else. 
 
 " That's evasion," she said, looking 
 straight at him, hoping that he would relent 
 and speak. 
 
MEETING ON RIVER TRAIL 251 
 
 " Is it? " In his unwavering eyes she saw 
 a glint of grim humor. " Well, that's the 
 answer. I am not going to kill Doubler — 
 if it will do you any good to know. I don't 
 kill my friends." 
 
 14 Then/' she said eagerly, catching at the 
 hope which he held out to her, " father didn't 
 hire you to kill him? ^You didn't talk to 
 father about that? " 
 
 His lips curled. "Why don't you ask 
 your father about that? " 
 
 The hope died within her. Dakota's 
 words and manner implied that her father 
 had tried to employ him to make way with 
 the nester, but that he had refused. She 
 had not been wrong — Duncan had not been 
 wrong in his suspicion that her father was 
 planning the death of the nester. Duncan's 
 only mistake was in including Dakota in 
 the scheme. 
 
 She had hoped against hope that she 
 might discover that Duncan had been wrong 
 altogether; that she had done her father an 
 injury in believing him capable of deliber- 
 ately planning a murder. She looked again 
 ut Dakota. There was no mistaking his 
 
252 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 earnestness, she thought, for there was no 
 evidence of deceit or knavery in his face, 
 nor in the eyes that were steadily watching 
 her. 
 
 She put her hands to her face and shiv- 
 ered, now thoroughly convinced of her 
 father's guilt; feeling a sudden repugnance 
 for him, for everybody and everything in 
 the country, excepting Doubler. 
 
 She had done all she could, however, to 
 prevent them killing Doubler — all she could 
 do except to warn Doubler of his danger, 
 and she would go to him immediately. 
 Without looking again at Dakota she 
 turned, dry eyed and pale, urging her pony 
 up the trail toward the nester's cabin, leav- 
 ing Dakota sitting silent in his saddle, 
 watching her. 
 
 She lingered on the trail, riding slowly, 
 halting when she came to a spot which of- 
 fered a particularly good view of the coun- 
 try surrounding her, for in spite of her lone- 
 someness she could not help appreciating 
 the beauty of the land, with its towering 
 mountains, its blue sky, its vast, yawning 
 distances, and the peacefulness which 
 
MEETING ON RIVER TRAIL 253 
 
 seemed to be everywhere except in her heart. 
 
 She presently reached the Two Forks and 
 urged her pony through the shallow water of 
 its crossing, riding up the slight, interven- 
 ing slope and upon a stretch of plain beside 
 a timber grove. A little later she came to 
 the corral gates, where she dismounted and 
 hitched her pony to a rail, smiling to her- 
 self as she thought of how surprised Doub- 
 ler would be to see her. 
 
 Then she left the corral gate and stole 
 softly around a corner of the cabin, deter- 
 mined to steal upon Doubler unawares. 
 Once at the corner, she halted and peered 
 around. She saw Doubler lying in the 
 open doorway, his body twisted into a pecu- 
 liarly odd position, face down, his arms out- 
 stretched, his legs doubled under him. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE SHOT IN THE BACK 
 
 FOR an instant after discovering Doub- 
 ler lying in the doorway, Sheila stood 
 motionless at the corner of the cabin, 
 looking down wonderingly at him. She 
 thought at first that he was merely resting, 
 but his body was doubled up so oddly that 
 a grave doubt rose in her mind. A vague 
 fear clutched at her heart, and she stood 
 rigid, her eyes wide as she looked for some 
 sign that would confirm her fears. And 
 then she saw a moist red patch on his shirt 
 on the right side just below the shoulder 
 blade, and it seemed that a band of steel had 
 been suddenly pressed down over her fore- 
 head. Something had happened to Doub- 
 ter! 
 
 The world reeled, objects around her 
 danced fantastically, the trees in the grove 
 near her seemed to dip toward her in deri- 
 
 254 
 
THE SHOT IN THE BACK 255 
 
 sion, her knees sagged and she held tightly 
 to the corner of the cabin for support in her 
 weakness. 
 
 She saw it all in a flash. Dakota had 
 been to visit Doubler and had shot him. 
 She had heard the shot. Duncan had been 
 right, and Dakota — how she despised him 
 now! — was probably even now picturing in 
 his imagination the scene of her discovering 
 the nester lying on his own threshold, mur- 
 dered. An anger against him, which arose 
 at the thought, did much to help her regain 
 control of herself. 
 
 She must be brave now, for there might 
 still be life in Doubler 's body, and she went 
 slowly toward him, cringing and shrinking, 
 along the wall of the cabin. 
 
 She touched him first, lightly with the 
 tips of her fingers, calling softly to him in 
 a quavering voice. Becoming more bold, 
 she took hold of him by the left shoulder 
 and shook him slightly, and her heart seemed 
 to leap within her when a faint moan escaped 
 his lips. Her fear fled instantly as she real- 
 ized that he was alive, that she had not to 
 deal with a dead man. 
 
256 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Stifling a quivering sob she took hold of 
 him again, tugging and pulling at him, try- 
 ing to turn him over so that she might see 
 his face. She observed that the red patch 
 on his shoulder grew larger with the effort, 
 and her face grew paler with apprehension, 
 but convinced that she must persist she shut 
 her eyes and tugged desperately at him, fin- 
 ally succeeding in pulling him over on his 
 back. 
 
 He moaned again, though his face was 
 ashen and lifeless, and with hope filling her 
 heart she redoubled her efforts and finally 
 succeeded in dragging him inside the cabin, 
 out of the sun, where he lay inert, with wide- 
 stretched arms, a gruesome figure to the 
 girl. 
 
 Panting and exhausted, some stray wisps 
 of hair sweeping her temples, the rest of it 
 threatening to come tumbling down around 
 her shoulders, she leaned against one of the 
 door jambs, thinking rapidly. She ought 
 to have help, of course, and her thoughts 
 went to Dakota, riding unconcernedly away 
 on the river trail. She could not go to him 
 for assistance, such a course was not to be 
 
THE SHOT IN THE BACK 257 
 
 considered, she would rather let Doubler 
 die than to go to his murderer; she could 
 never have endured the irony of such an ac- 
 tion. Besides, she was certain that even 
 were she to go to him, he would find some 
 excuse to refuse her, for having shot the 
 nester, he certainly would do nothing to- 
 ward bringing the help which might possibly 
 restore him to life. 
 
 She put aside the thought with a shudder 
 of horror, yet conscious that something must 
 be done for Doubler at once if he was to live. 
 Perhaps it was already too late to go for as- 
 sistance; there seemed to be but very little 
 life in his body, and trembling with anxiety 
 she decided that she must render him what- 
 ever aid she could. There was not much 
 that she could do, to be sure, but if she could 
 do something she might keep him alive until 
 other help would come. 
 
 She stood beside the door jamb and 
 watched him for some time, for she dreaded 
 the idea of touching him again, but after a 
 while her courage returned, and she again 
 went to him, kneeling down beside him, lay- 
 ing her head on his breast and listening. 
 
258 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 His heart was beating, faintly, but still it 
 was beating, and she rose from him, deter- 
 mined. 
 
 She found a sheath knife in one of his 
 pockets, and with this she cut the shirt away 
 from the wound, discovering, when she drew 
 the pieces of cloth away, that there was a 
 large, round hole in his breast. She came 
 near to swooning when she thought of the 
 red patch on his back, for that seemed to 
 prove that the bullet had gone clear through 
 him. It had missed a vital spot, though, 
 she thought, for it seemed to be rather high 
 on the shoulder. 
 
 She got some water from a pail that stood 
 just inside the door, and with this and some 
 white cloth which she tore from one of her 
 skirts, she bathed and bandaged the wound 
 and laid a wet cloth on his forehead. She 
 tried to force some of the water down his 
 throat, but he could not swallow, lying there 
 with closed eyes and drawing his breath in 
 short, painful gasps. 
 
 After she had worked with him for a 
 quarter of an hour or more she stood up, 
 convinced that she had done all she could 
 
THE SHOT IN THE BACK 250 
 
 for him and that the next move would be 
 to get a doctor. 
 
 She had heard Duncan say that it was 
 fifty miles to Dry Bottom, and she knew 
 that it was at least forty to Lazette. She 
 had never heard anyone mention that there 
 was a doctor nearer, and so of course she 
 would have to go to Lazette — ten miles 
 would make a great difference. 
 
 She might ride to the Double R ranch- 
 house, and she thought of going there, but 
 it was at least ten miles off the Lazette trail, 
 and even though at the Double R she might 
 get a cowboy to make the ride to Lazette, 
 she would be losing much valuable time. 
 She drew a deep breath over the contempla- 
 tion of the long ride — at best it would take 
 her four hours — but she did not hesitate 
 long and with a last glance at Doubler she 
 was out of the door and walking to the cor- 
 ral, where she unhitched her pony, mounted, 
 and sent the animal over the level toward 
 the crossing at a sharp gallop. 
 
 Once over the crossing and on the river 
 trail where the riding was better, she held 
 the pony to an even, steady pace. One 
 
260 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 mile, two miles, five or six she rode with her 
 hair flying in the breeze, her cheeks pale, 
 except for a bright red spot in the center of 
 each — which betrayed the excitement under 
 which she was laboring. There was a reso- 
 lute gleam in her eyes, though, and she rode 
 lightly, helping her pony as much as pos- 
 sible. However, the animal was fresh and 
 did not seem to mind the pace, cavorting 
 and lunging up the rises and pulling hard 
 on the reins on the levels, showing a desire 
 to run. She held it in, though, realizing 
 that during the forty mile ride the animal 
 woud have plenty of opportunity to prove 
 its mettle. 
 
 She reached and passed the quicksand 
 crossing from which she had been pulled by 
 Dakota, the pony running with the sure 
 regularity of a machine, and was on a level 
 which led into some hills directly ahead, 
 when the pony stumbled. 
 
 She tried to jerk it erect with the reins, 
 but in spite of the effort she felt it sink un- 
 der her, and with a sensation of dismay 
 clutching at her heart she slid out of the 
 saddle. 
 
 A swift examination showed her that the 
 
THE SHOT IN THE BACK 261 
 
 pony's right fore-leg was deep in the sand 
 of the trail, and she surmised instantly that 
 it had stepped into a prairie dog hole. When 
 she went to it and raised its head it looked 
 appealingly at her, and she stifled a groan 
 of sympathy and began looking about for 
 some means to extricate it. 
 
 She found this no easy task, for the pony's 
 leg was deep in the sand, and when she fin- 
 ally dug a space around it with a branch of 
 tree which she procured from a nearby 
 grove, the animal struggled out, only to 
 limp badly. The leg, Sheila decided, after 
 a quick examination, was not broken, but 
 badly sprained, and she knew enough about 
 horses to be certain that the injured 
 pony would never be able to carry her 
 to Lazette. 
 
 She would be forced to go to the Double 
 R now, there was nothing else that she could 
 do. Standing beside the pony, debating 
 whether she had not better walk than try 
 to ride him, even to the Double It, she heard 
 a clatter of hoofs and turned to see Dakota 
 riding the trail toward her. He was travel- 
 ing in the direction she had been traveling 
 when the accident had happened, and ap- 
 
262 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 parently had left the trail somewhere back 
 in the distance, or she would have seen 
 him. Perhaps, she speculated, with a flash 
 of dull anger, he had followed her near 
 to Doubter's cabin, perhaps had been near 
 when she had dragged the wounded nester 
 into it. 
 
 His first word showed her that there was 
 ground for this suspicion. He drew up be- 
 side her and looked at her with a queer 
 smile, and she, aware of his guilt, wondered 
 at his composure. 
 
 " You didn't stay long at Doubler's 
 shack," he said. " I was on a ridge, back 
 on the trail a ways, and I saw you hitting 
 the breeze away from there some rapid. I 
 was thinking to intercept you, but you went 
 tearing by so fast that I didn't get a chance. 
 You're in an awful hurry. What's wrong? " 
 
 " You ought to know that," she said, bit- 
 terly angry because of his pretended seren- 
 ity. "You — you murderer!" 
 
 His face paled instantly, but his voice was 
 clear and sharp. 
 
 "Murderer?" he said sternly. "Who 
 Kas been murdered? " 
 
THE SHOT IN THE BACK 263 
 
 " You don't know, of course," she said 
 scornfully, her face flaming, her eyes alight 
 with loathing and contempt. " You shot 
 him and then let me ride on alone to — to 
 find him, shot — shot in the back! Oh!" 
 
 She shuddered at the recollection, held 
 her hands over her eyes for an instant to 
 keep from looking at the expression of 
 amazement in his eyes, and while she stood 
 thus she heard a movement, and withdrew 
 her hands from her eyes to see him standing 
 beside her, so close that his body touched 
 hers, his eyes ablaze with curiosity and in- 
 terest and repressed anxiety. She cringed 
 and cried with pain as he seized her arm and 
 twisted her forcibly around so that she faced 
 him. 
 
 " Stop this fooling and tell me what has 
 happened ! " he said, with short, incisive ac- 
 cents. " Who did you find shot? Who has 
 been murdered? " 
 
 Oh, it was admirable acting, she told her- 
 self as she tore herself away from him and 
 stood back a little, her eyes flashing with 
 scorn and horror. "You don't know, of 
 course," she flared. " You shot him — shot 
 
264 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 him in the back and sent me on to find him. 
 You gloried in the thought of me finding 
 him dead. But he isn't dead, thank God, 
 and will live, if I can get a doctor, to accuse 
 you ! " She pointed a finger at him, but he 
 ignored it and took a step toward her, his 
 eyes cold and boring into hers. 
 
 "Who?" he demanded. "Who?" 
 
 "Ben Doubler. Oh!" she cried, in an 
 excess of rage and horror, " to think that I 
 should have to tell you ! " 
 
 But if he heard her last words he paid no 
 attention to them, for he was suddenly at his 
 pony's side, buckling the cinches tighter. 
 She watched him, fascinated at the repressed 
 energy of his movements, and became so in- 
 terested that she started when he suddenly 
 looked up at her. 
 
 " He isn't dead, then," he said rapidly, 
 sharply, the words coming with short, metal- 
 lic snaps. " You were going to Lazette 
 for a doctor. I'm glad I happened along — 
 glad I saw you. I'll be able to make better 
 time than you." 
 
 " Where are you going? " she demanded, 
 scarcely having heard his words, though 
 
THE SHOT IN THE BACK 263 
 
 aware that he was preparing to leave. She! 
 took a step forward and seized his pony's 
 bridle rein, her eyes blazing with wrath over 
 the thought that he should attempt to de- 
 ceive her with so bald a ruse. 
 
 " For the doctor," he said shortly. " This 
 is no time for melodramatics, ma'am, if 
 Doubler is badly hurt. Will you please let 
 go of that bridle?" 
 
 "Do you think," she demanded, her 
 cheeks aflame, her hair, loosened from the 
 long ride, straggling over her temples and 
 giving her a singularly disheveled appear- 
 ance, " that I am going to let you go for the 
 doctor? You!" 
 
 " This isn't a case where your feelings 
 should be considered, ma'am," he said. " If 
 Ben Doubler has been hurt like you think 
 he has I'm going to get the doctor mighty 
 sudden, whether you think I ought to or 
 not!" 
 
 " You won't ! " she declared, stamping aJ 
 foot furiously. " You shot him and now 
 you want to disarm suspicion by going after 
 the doctor for him. But you won't! I 
 won't let you!" 
 
266 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " You'll have to," he said rapidly. u The 
 doctor isn't at Lazette; he is over on Car- 
 rizo Creek, taking care of Dave Moreland's 
 wife, who is down bad. I saw Dave yester- 
 day, and he was telling me about her; that 
 the doctor is to stay there until she is out 
 of danger. You don't know where More- 
 land's place is. Be sensible, now," he said 
 gruffly. " I'll talk to you later about you 
 suspecting me." 
 
 "You shan't go," she protested; "I am 
 going myself. I will find Moreland's place. 
 I can't let you go — it would be horrible I" 
 
 For answer he swung quickly down from 
 the saddle, seized her by the waist, disen- 
 gaged her hands from the bridle rein, and 
 picking her up bodily carried her, struggling 
 and fighting and striking blindly at his face, 
 to the side of the trail. When he set her 
 down he pinned her arms to her sides. He 
 did not speak, and she was entirely helpless 
 in his grasp, but when he released his grasp 
 of her arms and tried to leave her she seized 
 the collar of his vest. With a grim laugh 
 he slipped out of the garment, leaving it 
 dangling from her hand. 
 
THE SHOT IN THE BACK 267 
 
 " Keep it for me, ma'am," he said with a 
 cold chuckle. " But get back to Doubler's 
 cabin and see what you can do for him. 
 You'll be able to do a lot. I'll be back with 
 the doctor before sundown." 
 
 In an instant he was at his pony's side, 
 mounting with the animal at a run, and in a 
 brief space had vanished around a turn in 
 the trail, leaving a cloud of dust to mark 
 the spot where Shelia had seen him dis- 
 appear. 
 
 For a long time Sheila stood beside the 
 trail, looking at the spot where he had dis- 
 appeared, holding his vest with an uncon- 
 scious grasp. Looking down she saw it and 
 with an exclamation of rage threw it from 
 her, watching it fall into the sand. But af- 
 ter an instant she went over and took it up, 
 recovering, at the same time, a black leather 
 pocket memoranda which had slipped out 
 of it. She put the memoranda back into 
 one of the pockets, handling both the book 
 and the vest gingerly, for she felt an aver- 
 sion to touching them. She conquered this 
 feeling long enough to tuck the vest into the 
 slicker behind the saddle, and then she 
 
268 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 mounted and sent her pony up the trail to- 
 ward Doubler's cabin. 
 
 She found Doubler where she had left 
 him, and he was still unconscious. The 
 water pail was empty and she went down 
 to the river and refilled it, returning to the 
 cabin and again bathing and bandaging 
 Doubler's wound, and placing a fresh cloth 
 on his forehead. 
 
 For a time she sat watching the injured 
 man, revolving the incident of her discovery 
 of him in her mind, going over and over 
 again the gruesome details. She did not 
 dwell long on the latter, for she could not 
 prevent her mind reviewing Dakota's words 
 and actions — his satanic cleverness in pre- 
 tending to be on the verge of taking her into 
 his confidence, his prediction that she would 
 understand when this " business " was over. 
 She did not need to wait, she understood 
 now! 
 
 Finding the silence in the cabin irksome, 
 she rose, placed Doubler's head in a more 
 comfortable position, and went outside into 
 the bright sunshine of the afternoon. She 
 took a turn around the corral, abstractedly 
 
THE SHOT IN THE BACK 269 
 
 watched the awkward antics of several year- 
 lings which were penned in a corner, and 
 then returned to the cabin door, where she 
 sat on the edge of the step. 
 
 Near the side of the cabin door, leaning 
 against the wall, she saw a rifle. She 
 started, not remembering to have seen it 
 there before, but presently she found cour- 
 age to take it up gingerly, turning it over 
 and over in her hands. 
 
 Some initials had been carved on the 
 stock and she examined them, making them 
 out finally as " B. D." — Doubler's. Exam- 
 ining the weapon she found an empty shell 
 in the chamber, and she nearly dropped the 
 rifle when the thought struck her that per- 
 haps Doubler had been shot with it. She 
 set it down quickly, shuddering, and for di- 
 version walked to her pony, examining the 
 injured leg and rubbing it, the pony nicker- 
 ing gratefully. Returning to the cabin she 
 sat for a long time on the step, but she did 
 not again take up the rifle. Several times 
 while she sat on the step she heard Doubler 
 moan, and once she got up and went to him, 
 again bathing his wound, but returning in- 
 
270 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 stantly to the door step, for she could not 
 bear the silence of the interior. 
 
 Suddenly remembering Dakota's vest and 
 the black leather memoranda which had 
 dropped from one of the pockets, she got 
 up again and went to the bench where she 
 had laid the garment, taking out the book 
 and regarding it with some curiosity. 
 
 There was nothing on the cover to sug- 
 gest what might be the nature of its con- 
 tents — time had worn away any printing 
 that might have been on it. She hesitated, 
 debating the propriety of an examination, 
 but her curiosity got the better of her and 
 with a sharp glance at Doubler she turned 
 her back and opened the book. 
 
 Almost the first object that caught her 
 gaze was a piece of paper, detached from 
 the leaves, with some writing on it. The 
 writing seemed unimportant, but as she 
 turned it, intending to replace it between the 
 leaves of the book, she saw her father's 
 name, and she read, holding her breath with 
 dread, for fresh in her mind was Duncan's 
 charge that her father had entered into an 
 agreement with Dakota for the murder of 
 
THE SHOT IN THE BACK 271 
 
 Doubler. She read the words several times, 
 standing beside the bench and swaying back 
 and forth, a sudden weakness gripping her. 
 
 " One month from to-day " — ran the 
 words — " I promise to pay to Dakota the 
 sum of six thousand dollars in consideration 
 of his rights and interest in the Star brand, 
 provided that within one month from date 
 he persuades Ben Doubler to leave Union 
 County." 
 
 Signed: " David Dowd Langford." 
 
 There it was — conclusive, damning evi- 
 dence of her father's guilt — and of Da- 
 kota's! 
 
 How cleverly that last clause covered the 
 evil intent of the document! Sheila read it 
 again and again with dry eyes. Her horror 
 and grief were too great for tears. She felt 
 that the discovery of the paper removed the 
 last lingering doubt, and though she had 
 been partially prepared for proof, she had 
 not been prepared to have it thrust so 
 quickly and convincingly before her. 
 
 How long she sat on the door step she did 
 not know, or care, for at a stroke she had 
 lost all interest in everything in the country. 
 
272 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Even its people interested her only to the 
 point of loathing — they were murderers, 
 even her father. Time represented to her 
 nothing now except a dreary space which, 
 if she endured, would bring the moment in 
 which she could leave. For within the last 
 few minutes she seemed to have been robbed 
 of all the things which had made existence 
 here endurable and she was determined to 
 end it all. When she finally got up and 
 looked about her she saw that the sun had 
 traveled quite a distance down the sky. A 
 sorrowful smile reached her face as she 
 watched it. It was going away, and before 
 it could complete another circle she would 
 go too — back to the East from where she 
 had come, where there were at least some 
 friends who could be depended upon to com- 
 mit no atrocious crimes. 
 
 No plan of action formed in her mind; 
 she could not think lucidly with the knowl- 
 edge that her father was convicted of com- 
 plicity in an attempted murder. 
 
 Would she be able to face her father 
 again? To bid him good-bye? She thought 
 not. It would be better for both if she de- 
 
THE SHOT IN THE BACK 273 
 
 parted without him being aware of her go- 
 ing. He would not care, she told herself 
 bitterly; lately he had withheld from her all 
 those little evidences of affection to which 
 she had grown accustomed, and it would 
 not be hard for him, he would not miss her, 
 perhaps would even be glad of her absence, 
 for then he could continue his murderous 
 schemes without fear of her " meddling " 
 with them. 
 
 There was a fascination in the paper on 
 which was written the signed agreement. 
 She read it carefully again, and then con- 
 cealed it in her bodice, pinning it there so 
 that it would not become lost. Then she 
 rose and went into the cabin, placing the 
 memoranda on a shelf where Dakota would 
 be sure to find it when he returned with the 
 doctor. She did not care to read anything 
 contained in it. 
 
 Marveling at her coolness, she went out- 
 side again and resumed her seat on the door 
 step. It was not such a blow to her, after 
 all, and there arose in her mind as she sat 
 on the step a wonder as to how her father 
 would act were she to confront him with 
 
274 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 evidence of his guilt. Perhaps she would 
 not show him the paper, but she finally be- 
 came convinced that she must talk to him, 
 must learn from him in some manner his 
 connection with the attempted murder of 
 Doubler. Then, after receiving from him 
 some sign which would convince her, she 
 would take her belongings and depart for 
 the East, leaving him to his own devices. 
 
 Looking up at the sun, she saw that it 
 still had quite a distance to travel before it 
 reached the mountains. Stealing into the 
 cabin, she once more fixed the bandages on 
 the wounded man. Then she went out, 
 mounted her pony, and rode through the 
 shallow water of the crossing toward the 
 Double R ranch. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 LANGF0RD LAYS OFF THE MASK 
 
 THE sun was still an hour above the 
 horizon when Sheila rode up to the 
 corral gates. While removing the 
 saddle and bridle from her pony she noted 
 with satisfaction that the horse which her 
 father had been accustomed to ride was in- 
 side the corral. Therefore her father was 
 somewhere about. 
 
 Hanging the saddle and bridle from a 
 rail of the corral fence, she went into the 
 house to find that Langford was not there. 
 Duncan's sister curtly informed her that she 
 had seen him a few minutes before down at 
 the stables. Sheila went into the office, 
 which was a lean-to addition to the ranch- 
 house, and seating herself at her father's 
 desk picked up a six month's old copy of a 
 magazine and tried to read. 
 
 275 
 
276 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Finding that she could not concentrate 
 her thoughts, she dropped the magazine into 
 her lap and leaned back with a sigh. From 
 where she sat she had a good view of the 
 stables, and fifteen minutes later, while she 
 still watched, she saw Langford come out 
 of one of the stable doors and walk toward 
 the house. She felt absolutely no emotion 
 whatever over his coming; there was only a 
 mild curiosity in her mind as to the manner 
 in which he would take the news of her in- 
 tended departure from the Double R. She 
 observed, with a sort of detached interest, 
 that he looked twice at her saddle and bridle 
 as he passed them, and so of course he sur- 
 mised that she had come in from her ride. 
 For a moment she lost sight of him behind 
 some buildings, and then he opened the door 
 of the office and entered. 
 
 He stopped on the threshold for an in- 
 stant and looked at her, evidently expecting 
 her to offer her usual greeting. He frowned 
 slightly when it did not come, and then 
 smiled. 
 
 "Hello!" he said cordially. "You are 
 back, I see. And tired," he added, noting 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 277 
 
 her position. He walked over and laid a 
 hand on her forehead and she involuntarily 
 shrank from his touch, shuddering, for the 
 hand which he had placed on her forehead 
 was the right one — the hand with which he 
 had signed the agreement with Dakota — 
 Doubler's death warrant. 
 
 " Don't, please," she said. 
 
 " Cross, too? " he said jocularly. 
 
 " Just tired," she lied listlessly, and with 
 an air of great indifference. 
 
 He looked critically at her for an instant, 
 then smiled again and dragged a chair over 
 near a window and looked out, apparently 
 little concerned over her manner. But she 
 noted that he glanced furtively at her sev- 
 eral times, and that he seemed greatly sat- 
 isfied over something. She wondered if he 
 had seen Dakota ; if he knew that the latter 
 had already attempted to carry out the 
 agreement to " Persuade Doubler to leave 
 the county." 
 
 "Ride far?" he questioned, turning and 
 facing her, his voice casual. 
 
 " Not very far." 
 
 "The river trail?" 
 
278 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Sheila nodded, and saw a sudden interest 
 flash into his eyes. 
 
 " Which way? " he asked quickly, 
 
 "Down," she returned. She had not 
 lied, for she had ridden " down," and 
 though she had also ridden up the river she 
 preferred to let him guess a little, for she 
 resented the curiosity in his voice and was 
 determined to broach the subject which she 
 had in mind in her own time and after the 
 manner that suited her best. 
 
 He had not been interested in her for a 
 long time, had not appeared to care where 
 she spent her time. Why should he betray 
 interest now? She saw a mysterious smile 
 on his face and knew before he spoke that 
 his apparent interest in her was not genuine 
 — that he was merely curious. 
 
 " Then you haven't heard the news?" he 
 said softly. He was looking out of the win- 
 dow now, and she could not see his face. 
 
 She took up the magazine and turned 
 several pages, pretending to read, but in 
 reality waiting for him to continue. When 
 he made no effort to do so her own curiosity 
 got the better of her. 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 279 
 
 "What news?" she questioned, without 
 looking at him. 
 
 "About Doubler," he said. "He is 
 dead/' 
 
 Her surprise was genuine, and her hands 
 trembled as the leaves of the magazine 
 fluttered and closed. Had the nester died 
 since she had left his cabin? A moment's 
 thought convinced her that this could not 
 be the explanation, for assuredly she would 
 have seen anyone who had arrived at Doub- 
 lets cabin ; she had scanned the surrounding 
 country before and after leaving the vicin- 
 ity of the crossing and had seen no signs of 
 anyone. Besides, Langford's news seemed 
 to have abided with him a long time — it 
 seemed to her that he had known it for 
 hours. She could not tell why she felt this, 
 but she was certain that he had not received 
 word recently — within an hour or two at 
 any rate — unless he had seen Dakota. 
 
 This seemed to be the secret of his knowl- 
 edge, and the more she considered the lat- 
 ter's excitement during her meeting with 
 him on the trail, the more fully she became 
 convinced that Langford had talked to him* 
 
280 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 The latter's anxiety to relieve her of the 
 task of riding to Lazette for the doctor had 
 been spurious; he had merely wanted to be 
 the first to carry the inews of Doubler's 
 death to Langford, and after leaving her 
 he had undoubtedly taken a roundabout 
 trail for the Double R. Possibly by this 
 time he had settled with Langford and was 
 on his way out of the country. 
 
 " Dead? " she said, turning to Langford. 
 " Who " In her momentary excite- 
 ment she had come very near to asking him 
 who had brought him the news. She hesi- 
 tated, for she saw a glint of surprise and 
 suspicion in his eyes. 
 
 " My dear girl, did I say that he had 
 been ' killed'?" 
 
 His smile was without humor. Evidently 
 he had expected that she had been about to 
 ask who had killed the nester. 
 
 He looked at her steadily, an intolerant 
 smile playing about the corners of his 
 mouth. " I am aware that you have been 
 suspicious of me ever since you heard that 
 I had a quarrel with Doubler. But, thank 
 God, my dear, I have not that crime to an- 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 281 
 
 swer for. Doubler, however, has been 
 killed — murdered." 
 
 Sheila repressed a desire to shudder, and 
 turned from Langford so that he would not 
 be able to see the disgust that had come 
 into her eyes over the discovery that in addi- 
 tion to being a murderer her father was that 
 most despicable of all living things — a hypo- 
 crite! It required all of her composure to 
 be able to look at him again. 
 
 "Who killed him?" she asked evenly. 
 
 " Dakota, my dear." 
 
 " Dakota ! " She pronounced the name 
 abstractedly, for she was surprised at the 
 admission. 
 
 " How do you know that Dakota killed 
 him?" she said, looking straight at him. 
 He changed color, though his manner was 
 still smooth and his smile bland. 
 
 " Duncan was fortunate enough to be in 
 the vicinity when the deed was committed," 
 he told her. " And he saw Dakota shoot 
 him in the back. With his own rifle, too." 
 
 There was a quality in his voice which 
 hinted at satisfaction; a peculiar emphasis 
 on the word " fortunate " which caused 
 
282 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Sheila to wonder why he should consider it 
 fortunate that Duncan had seen the murder 
 done, when it would have been much better 
 for the success of Dakota's and her father's 
 scheme if there had been no witness to it 
 at all. 
 
 " However," continued Langford, with a 
 sigh of resignation that caused Sheila a 
 shiver of repugnance and horror, " Doub- 
 lets death will not be a very great loss to 
 the country. Duncan tells me that he has 
 long been suspected of cattle stealing, and 
 sooner or later he would have been caught in 
 the act. And as for Dakota," he laughed 
 harshly, with a note of suppressed triumph 
 that filled her with an unaccountable resent- 
 ment; "Dakota is an evil in the country, 
 too. Do you remember how he killed that 
 Mexican half-breed over in Lazette that 
 day? — the day I came? Wanton murder, 
 I call it. Such a man is a danger and a 
 menace, and I shall not be sorry to see him 
 hanged for killing Doubler." 
 
 " Then you will have Duncan charge Da- 
 kota with the murder? " 
 
 "Of course, my dear; why shouldn't It 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 283 
 
 Assuredly you would not allow Dakota to 
 go unpunished? " 
 
 " No," said Sheila, " Doublets murderer 
 should be punished." 
 
 Two things were now fixed in her mind 
 as certainties. Dakota had not beeiyto see 
 her father since she had left him on the 
 river trail; he had not received his blood- 
 money — would never receive it. Her father 
 had no intention of living up to his agree- 
 ment with Dakota and intended to allow 
 him to be hanged. She thought of the 
 signed agreement in her bodice. Langford 
 had given it to Dakota, but she had little 
 doubt that in case Dakota still had it in his 
 possession and dared to produce it, Lang- 
 ford would deny having made it — would 
 probably term it a forgery. It was harm- 
 less, too; who would be likely to intimate 
 that the clause regarding Dakota inducing 
 Doubler to leave the country meant that 
 Langford had hired Dakota to kill the 
 nester? Sheila sat silent, looking at Lang- 
 ford, wondering how it happened that he 
 had been able to masquerade so long before 
 her; why she had permitted herself to love 
 
284 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 a being so depraved, so entirely lacking in 
 principle. 
 
 But a thrill of hope swept over her. Per- 
 haps Doubler would not die? She had been 
 considering the situation from the viewpoint 
 of the nester's death, but if Dakota had 
 really been in earnest and had gone for a 
 doctor, there was a chance that the tragedy 
 which seemed so imminent would be turned 
 into something less serious. Immediately 
 her spirits rose and she was. able to smile 
 quietly at Langford when he continued: 
 
 " Dakota will be hung, of course; decency 
 demands it. When Duncan came to me 
 with the news I sent him instantly to Laz- 
 ette to inform the sheriff of what had hap- 
 pened. Undoubtedly he will take Dakota 
 into custody at once." 
 
 " But not for murder," said Sheila evenly, 
 unable to keep a quiver of triumph out of 
 her voice. 
 
 " Not? " said Langford, startled. " Why 
 not?" 
 
 " Because," returned Sheila, enjoying 
 the sudden consternation that was revealed 
 in her father's face, and drawling her words 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 285 
 
 a little to further confound him; "because 
 Doubler isn't dead." 
 
 "Not dead!" Langford's jaws sagged, 
 , and he sat looking at Sheila with wide, 
 , staring, vacuous eyes. "Not dead?" he 
 repeated hoarsely. " Why, Duncan told me 
 he had examined him, that he had been shot 
 through the lungs and had bled to death 
 before he left him ! How do you know that 
 he is not dead?" he suddenly demanded, 
 leaning toward her, a wild hope in his eyes. 
 
 " I went to his cabin before noon," said 
 Sheila. " I found him tying in the door- 
 way. He had been shot through the right 
 side, near the shoulder, but not through the 
 lung, and he was still alive. I dragged him 
 into the cabin and did what I could for him. 
 Then I started for the doctor." 
 
 " For the doctor? " he said incredulously. 
 " Then how does it happen that you are 
 here? You couldn't possibly ride to Lazette 
 and return by this time ! " 
 
 " I believe I said that I c started $ for the 
 doctor," said Sheila with a quiet smile. She 
 was enjoying his excitement. " I met Da- 
 kota on the trail, and he went." 
 
286 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Langford continued to stare at her; it 
 seemed that he could not realize the truth. 
 Then suddenly he was out of his chair and 
 standing over her, his face bloated poison- 
 ously, his eyes ablaze with a malignant light. 
 
 "Damn you!" he shrieked. "This is 
 what comes of your infernal meddling! 
 What business had you to interfere? Why 
 didn't you let him die? I've a notion " 
 
 His hands clenched and unclenched be- 
 fore her eyes, and she sat with blanched 
 face, certain that he was about to attack 
 her — perhaps kill her. She did not seem to 
 care much, however, and looked up into his 
 face steadily and defiantly. 
 
 After a moment, however, he regained 
 control of himself, leaving her side and 
 pacing rapidly back and forth in the office, 
 cursing bitterly. 
 
 Curiously, Sheila was not surprised at 
 this outburst; she had rather expected it 
 since she had become aware of his real char- 
 acter. Nor was she surprised to discover 
 that he had dropped pretense altogether — 
 he was bound to do that sooner or later. 
 Her only surprise was at her own feelings. 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 287 
 
 She did not experience the slightest con- 
 cern over him — it was as though she were 
 talking to a stranger. She was interested 
 to the point of taking a grim enjoyment 
 out of his confusion, but beyond that she 
 was not interested in anything. 
 
 It made little difference to her what be- 
 came of Langford, Dakota, Duncan — any 
 of them, except Doubler. She intended to 
 return to the nester's cabin, to help the doc- 
 tor make him comfortable — for he had been 
 the only person in the country who had 
 shown her any kindness; he was the only 
 one who had not wronged her, and she was 
 grateful to him. 
 
 Langford was standing over her again, 
 his breath coming short and fast. 
 
 "Where did you see Dakota?" he ques- 
 tioned hoarsely. " Answer ! " he added, 
 when she did not speak immediately. 
 
 " On the river trail." 
 
 "Before you found Doubler?" 
 
 "Before, yes — and after. I met him 
 twice." 
 
 She discerned his motive in asking these 
 questions, but it made no difference to her 
 
288 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 and she answered truthfully. She did not 
 intend to shield Dakota; the fact that 
 Doubler had not been killed outright did 
 not lessen the gravity of the offense in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Before you found Doubler!" Lang- 
 ford's voice came with a vicious snap. 
 " You met him coming from Doubler's 
 cabin, I suppose? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered wearily, " I met him 
 coming from there. I was on the trail — 
 going there — and I heard the shot. I know 
 Dakota killed him." 
 
 Langford made an exclamation of satis- 
 faction. 
 
 " Well, it isn't so bad, after all. You'll 
 have to be a witness against Dakota. And 
 very likely Doubler will die — probably is 
 dead by this time; will certainly be dead 
 before the Lazette doctor can reach his 
 cabin. No, my dear," he added, smiling at 
 Sheila, " it isn't so bad, after all." 
 
 Sheila rose. Her poignant anger against 
 him was equaled only by her disgust. He 
 expected her to bear witness against Da- 
 kota ; desired her to participate in his scheme 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 289 
 
 to fasten upon the latter the entire blame 
 for the commission of a crime in which he 
 himself was the moving factor. 
 
 " I shall not bear witness against him," 
 she told Langford coldly. " For I am go- 
 ing away — back East— to-morrow. Don't 
 imagine that I have been in complete igno- 
 rance of what has been going on; that I 
 have been unaware of the part you have 
 played in the shooting of Doubler. I have 
 known for quite a long while that you had 
 decided to have Doubler murdered, and only 
 recently I learned that you hired Dakota to 
 kill him. And this morning, when I met 
 Dakota on the river trail, he dropped this 
 from a pocket of his vest." She fumbled at 
 her bodice and produced the signed agree- 
 ment, holding it out to him. 
 
 As she expected, he repudiated it, though 
 his face paled a little as he read it. 
 
 " This is a forgery, my dear," he said, in 
 the old, smooth, even voice that she had 
 grown to despise. 
 
 " No," she returned calmly, " it is not a 
 forgery. You forget that only a minute ago 
 you practically admitted it to be a true 
 
290 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 agreement by telling me that I should have 
 allowed Doubler to die. You are an accom- 
 plice in the shooting of Doubler, and if I am 
 compelled to testify in Dakota's trial I shall 
 tell everything I know." 
 
 She watched while he lighted a match, 
 held it to the paper, smiling as the licking 
 flames consumed it. He was entirely com- 
 posed now, and through the gathering dark- 
 ness of the interior of the office she saw a 
 sneer come into his face. 
 
 " I shall do all I can to asist you to dis- 
 continue the associations which are so dis- 
 tasteful to you. You will start for the East 
 immediately, I presume? " 
 
 " To-morrow," she said, " In the after- 
 noon. I shall have my trunks taken over to 
 Lazette in the morning." 
 
 " In the morning? " said Langford, puz- 
 zled. " Why not ride over with them, in 
 the afternoon, in the buckboard?" 
 
 " I shall ride my pony. The man can re- 
 turn him." She took a step toward the door, 
 but halted before reaching it, turning to look 
 back at him. 
 
 " I don't think it is necessary for me to 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 291 
 
 say good-by. But you have not treated me 
 badly in the past, and I thank you — for 
 that — and wish you well." 
 
 " Where are you going? " 
 
 Sheila had walked to the door and stood 
 with one hand on the latch. He came and 
 stood beside her, a suppressed excitement in 
 his manner, his eyes gleaming brightly in 
 the dusk which had suddenly fallen. 
 
 " I think I told you that before. Ben 
 Doubler is alone, and he needs care. I am 
 going to him — to stay with him until the 
 doctor arrives. He will die if someone does 
 not take care of him." 
 
 " You are determined to continue to med- 
 dle, are you?" he said, his voice quivering 
 with anger, his lips working strangely. " I 
 am sick of your damned interference. Sick 
 of it, I tell you ! " His voice lowered to a 
 harsh, throaty whisper. " You won't leave 
 this office until to-morrow afternoon! Do 
 you hear? What business is it of yours if 
 Doubler dies?" 
 
 Sheila did not answer, but pressed the 
 door latch. His arm suddenly interposed, 
 his fingers closing on her arm, gripping it 
 
292 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 so tightly that she cried out with pain. Then 
 suddenly his fingers were boring into her 
 shoulders; she was twisted, helpless in his 
 brutal grasp, and flung bodily into the chair 
 beside the desk, where she sat, sobbing 
 breathlessly. 
 
 She did not cry out again, but sat motion- 
 less, her lips quivering, rubbing her shoul- 
 ders where his iron fingers had sunk into the 
 flesh, her soul filled with a revolting horror 
 for his brutality. 
 
 For a moment there was no movement. 
 Then, in the semi-darkness she saw him 
 leave the door; watched him as he ap- 
 proached a shelf on which stood a kerosene 
 lamp, lifted the chimney and applied a 
 match to the wick. For an instant after 
 replacing the chimney he stood full in the 
 glare of light, his face contorted with rage, 
 his eyes gleaming with venom. 
 
 " Now you know exactly where I stand, 
 you — you huzzy ! " he said, grinning satyr- 
 ically as she winced under the insult. " I'm 
 your father, damn you! Your father — do 
 you hear? And I'll not have you go back 
 East to gab and gossip about me. You'll 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 293 
 
 stay here, and you'll bear witness against 
 Dakota, and you'll keep quiet about me ! " 
 He was trembling horribly as he came close 
 to her, and his breath was coughing in his 
 throat shrilly. 
 
 "I won't do anything of the kind!" 
 Sheila got to her feet, and stood, rigid with 
 anger, her eyes flaming defiance. "I am 
 going to Doubler's cabin this minute, and 
 if you molest me again I shall go to the 
 sheriff with my story! " 
 
 He seemed about to attack her again, and 
 his hands were raised as though to grasp her 
 throat, when there came a sound at the door, 
 it swung open, and Dakota stepped in, clos- 
 ing the door behind him. 
 
 Dakota's face was white — white as it had 
 been that other dajr at the quicksand 
 crossing when Sheila had looked up to see 
 him sitting on his pony, watching her. 
 There was an entire absence of excitement 
 in his manner, though ; no visible sign to tell 
 that what he had seen on entering the cabin 
 disturbed him in the least. Yet the white- 
 ness of his face belied this apparent compos- 
 ure. It seemed to Sheila that his eyes be- 
 
294 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 trayed the strong emotion that was gripping 
 him. 
 
 She retreated to the chair beside the desk 
 and sank into it. Langford had wheeled 
 and was now facing Dakota, a shallow smile 
 on his face. 
 
 There was a smile on Dakota's face, too; 
 a mysterious, cold, prepared grin that fasci- 
 nated Sheila as she watched him. The smile 
 faded a Jiittle when he spoke to Langford, 
 his voice vibrating, as though he had been 
 running. 
 
 " When you're fighting a woman, Lang- 
 ford, you ought to make sure there isn't a 
 man around! " 
 
 Mingling with Sheila's recognition of the 
 obvious and admirable philosophy of this 
 statement was a realization that Dakota 
 must have been riding hard. There was 
 much dust on his clothing, the scarf at his 
 neck was thick with it; it streaked his face, 
 his voice was husky, his lips dry. 
 
 Langford did not answer him, stepping 
 back against the desk and regarding him 
 with a mirthless, forced smile which, Sheila 
 was certain, he had assumed in order to con- 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 295 
 
 ceal his fear of the man who stood before 
 him. 
 
 " So you haven't got any thoughts just at 
 this minute," said Dakota with cold insinu- 
 ation. " You are one of those men who can 
 talk bravely enough to women, but who can't 
 think of anything exactly proper for a man 
 to hear. Well, you'll do your talking later." 
 He looked at Shelia, ignoring Langford 
 completely. 
 
 " I expect you've been wondering, ma'am, 
 why I'm here, when I ought to be over at 
 the Two Forks, trying to do something for 
 Doubler. But the doctor's there, taking 
 care of him. The reason I've come is that 
 I've found this in Doubler's cabin." He 
 drew out the memoranda which Sheila had 
 placed on the shelf in the cabin, holding it 
 up so that she might see. 
 
 " You took my vest," he went on. " And 
 I was looking for it. I found it all right, 
 but something was missing. You're the 
 only one who has been to Doubler's cabin 
 since I left there, I expect, and it must have 
 been you who opened this book. It isn't in 
 the same shape it was when you pulled it off 
 
296 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 me when I was talking to you down there 
 on the river trail — something has been taken 
 out of it, a paper. That's why I rode over 
 here — to see if you'd got it. Have you, 
 ma'am? " 
 
 Sheila pointed mutely to the floor, where 
 a bit of thin, crinkled ash was all that re- 
 mained of the signed agreement. 
 
 " Burned! " said Dakota sharply. 
 
 He caught Sheila's nod and questioned 
 coldly : 
 
 " Who burned it? " 
 
 "My — Mr. Langford," returned Sheila. 
 
 " You found it and showed it to him, and 
 he burned it," said Dakota slowly. " Why? " 
 
 " Don't you see? " Sheila's eyes mocked 
 Langford as she intercepted his gaze, which 
 had been fixed on Dakota. " It was evidence 
 against him," she concluded, indicating her 
 father. 
 
 " I reckon I see." The smile was entirely 
 gone out of Dakota's face now, and as he 
 turned to look at Langford there was an 
 expression in his eyes which chilled the 
 latter. 
 
 "You've flunked on the agreement. 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 297 
 
 You've burned it — won't recognize it, eh? 
 Well, I'm not any surprised." 
 
 Langford had partially recovered from 
 the shock occasioned by Dakota's unex- 
 pected appearance, and he shook his head in 
 emphatic, brazen denial. 
 
 " There was no agreement between us, 
 my friend," he said. " The paper I burned 
 was a forgery." 
 
 Dakota's lips hardened, " You called me 
 your friend once before, Langford," he said 
 coldly. " Don't do it again or I'll forget 
 that you are Sheila's father. I reckon she 
 has told you about Doubler. That's why I 
 came over here to get the paper, for I knew 
 that if you got hold of it you'd make short 
 work of it. I know something else." He 
 took a step forward and tried to hold Lang- 
 ford's gaze, his own eyes filled with a snap- 
 ping menace. " I know that you've sent 
 Duncan to Lazette for the sheriff. The 
 doctor told me he'd met him, — Duncan — 
 and the doctor says Duncan told him that 
 you'd said that I fixed Doubler. How do 
 you know I did?" 
 
 " Duncan saw you," said Langford. 
 
298 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Dakota's lips curled. " Duncan tell you 
 that? " he questioned. 
 
 At Langford's nod he laughed harshly. 
 " So it's a plant, eh? " he said, with a mirth- 
 less chuckle. " You are figuring to get two 
 birds with one stone — Doubler and me. 
 You've already got Doubler, or think you 
 have, and now it's my turn. It does look 
 pretty bad for me, for a fact, doesn't it? 
 You've burned the agreement you made 
 with me, so that you could slip out of your 
 obligation. I reckon you think that after 
 the sheriff gets me you'll be able to take the 
 Star without any trouble — like you expect 
 to take Doubler's land. 
 
 " You've got Duncan to swear that he 
 saw me do for Doubler, and you've got your 
 daughter to testify that she saw me on the 
 trail, coming from Doubler's cabin right 
 after she heard the shooting. It was a right 
 clever scheme, but it was my fault for let- 
 ting you get anything on me — I ought to 
 have known that you'd try some dog's trick 
 or other." 
 
 His voice was coming rapidly, sharply, 
 and was burdened with a lashing sarcasm. 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 299 
 
 " Yes, it's a right clever scheme, Mister 
 Langford, and it ought to be successful. 
 But there's one thing you've forgot. I've 
 lived too long in this country to let anyone 
 tangle me up like you'd like to have me. 
 When a man gets double crossed in this 
 country, he can't go to the law for redress — 
 he makes his own laws. I'm making mine. 
 You've double crossed me, and damn your 
 hide, I'm going to send you over the divide 
 in a hurry! " 
 
 One of his heavy revolvers leaped from 
 its holster and showed for an instant in his 
 right hand. Sheila had been watching 
 closely, forewarned by Dakota's manner, 
 and when she saw his right hand drop to the 
 holster she sprang upon him, catching the 
 weapon by the muzzle. 
 
 Langford had covered his face with his 
 hands, and stood beside the desk, trembling, 
 and Sheila cried aloud in protest when she 
 saw Dakota draw the weapon that swung 
 at his other hip, holding her off with the 
 hand which she had seized. But when Da- 
 kota saw Langf ord's hands go to his face he 
 hesitated, smiling scornfully. He turned to 
 
300 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Sheila, looking down at her face close to his, 
 his smile softening. 
 
 " I forgot," he said gently; " I forgot he 
 is your father." 
 
 " It isn't that," she said. " He isn't my 
 father, any more. But — " she looked at 
 Dakota pleadingly — " please don't shoot 
 him. Go — leave the country. You have 
 plenty of time. You have enough to answer 
 for. Please go ! " 
 
 For answer he grasped her by the shoul- 
 ders, swinging her around so that she faced 
 him, — as he had forced her to face him that 
 day on the river trail — and there was a re- 
 gretful, admiring gleam in his eyes. 
 
 " You told him — " he jerked a thumb to- 
 ward Langford — "that you wouldn't bear 
 witness against me. I heard you. You're a 
 true blue girl, and your father's a fool or he 
 wouldn't lose you, like he is going to lose 
 you. If I had you I would take mighty 
 good care that you didn't get away from me. 
 You've given me some mighty good advice, 
 and I would act on it if I was guilty of shoot- 
 ing Doubler. But I didn't shoot him — 
 your father and Duncan have framed up on 
 
LANGFORD LAYS OFF MASK 301 
 
 me. Doubler isn't dead yet, and so I'm not 
 running away. If Doubler had someone to 
 nurse him, he might — " He hesitated and 
 looked at her with a strange smile. " You 
 think I shot Doubler, too, don't you? Well, 
 there's a chance that if we can get Doubler 
 revived he can tell who did shoot him. Do 
 you want to know the truth? I heard you 
 say a while ago, while I was standing at the 
 window, looking in at your father giving a 
 demonstration of his love for you, that you 
 intended going over to Doubler's shack to 
 nurse him. If you're still of the same mind, 
 I'll take you over there." 
 
 Sheila was at the door in an instant, but 
 halted on the threshold to listen to Dakota's 
 parting word to Langford. 
 
 " Mister man," he said enigmatically, 
 " there's just one thing that I want to say to 
 you. There's a day coming when you'll 
 think thoughts — plenty of them." 
 
 In a flash he had stepped outside the door 
 and closed it after him. 
 
 A few minutes later, still standing beside 
 the desk, Langford heard the rapid beat of 
 hoofs on the hard sand of the corral yard. 
 
302 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Faint they became, and their rhythmic beat 
 faster, until they died away entirely. But 
 Dakota's words still lingered in Langford's 
 mind, and it seemed to him that they con- 
 veyed a prophecy. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE PARTING ON THE RIVER TRAIL 
 
 4 4 TT 'LL be leaving you now, ma'am" 
 There was a good moon, and its mel- 
 low light streamed full into Da- 
 kota's grim, travel-stained face as he halted 
 his pony on the crest of a slope above the 
 Two Forks and pointed out a light that 
 glimmered weakly through the trees on a 
 level some distance on the other side of the 
 river. 
 
 "There's Doubler's cabin — where you 
 see that light," he continued, speaking to 
 Sheila in a low voice. " You've been there 
 before, and you won't get lost going the rest 
 of the way alone. Do what you can for 
 Doubler. I'm going down to my shack. 
 I've done a heap of riding to-day, and I 
 don't feel exactly like I want to keep going 
 on, unless it's important. Besides, maybe 
 Doubler will get along a whole lot better if 
 I don't hang around there. At least, he'll 
 do as well." 
 
 80S 
 
304 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Sheila had turned her head from him. He 
 was exhibiting a perfectly natural aversion 
 toward visiting the man he had nearly killed, 
 she assured herself with a shudder, and she 
 felt no pity for him. He had done her a 
 service, however, in appearing at the Double 
 R at a most opportune time, and she was 
 grateful. Therefore she lingered, finding it 
 hard to choose words. 
 
 " I am sorry," she finally said. 
 
 " Thank you," He maneuvered his pony 
 until the moonlight streamed in her face. " I 
 reckon you've got the same notion as your 
 father — that I shot Doubler?" he said, 
 watching her narrowly. " You are willing 
 to take Duncan's word for it?" 
 
 " Duncan's word, and the agreement 
 which I found in the pocket of your vest," 
 she returned, without looking at him, " I 
 suppose that is proof enough? " 
 
 " Well," he said with a bitter laugh, " it 
 does look bad for me, for a fact. I can't 
 deny that. And I don't blame you for think- 
 ing as you do. But you heard what I told 
 your father about the shooting of Doubler 
 being a plant." 
 
PARTING ON RIVER TRAIL 305 
 
 "A plant?" 
 
 " A scheme, a plot — to make an innocent 
 man seem guilty. That is what has been 
 done with me. I didn't shoot Doubler. I 
 wouldn't shoot him." 
 
 She looked at him now, unbelief in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Of course you would deny it," she said. 
 
 " Well," he said resignedly, " I reckon 
 that's all. I can't say that I expected any- 
 thing else. I've done some things in my 
 life that I've regretted, but I've never told a 
 lie when the truth would do as well. There 
 is no reason now why I should lie, and so I 
 want you to know that I am telling the truth 
 when I say that I didn't shoot Doubler. 
 Won't you believe me? " 
 
 " No," she returned, unaffected by the 
 earnestness in his voice. " You were at 
 Doubler's cabin when I heard the shot — I 
 met you on the trail. You killed that man, 
 Blanca, over in Lazette, for nothing. You 
 didn't need to kill him ; you shot him in pure 
 wantonness. But you killed Doubler for 
 money. You would have killed my father 
 had I not been there to prevent you. Per- 
 
306 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 haps you can't help killing people. You 
 have my sympathy on that account, and I 
 hope that in time you will do better — will 
 reform. But I don't believe you." 
 
 " You forgot to mention one other crime," 
 he reminded her in a low voice, not without 
 a trace of sarcasm. 
 
 " I have not forgotten it. I will never 
 forget it. But I forgive you, for in com- 
 parison to your other crimes your sin against 
 me was trivial — though it was great enough." 
 
 Again his bitter laugh reached her ears. 
 " I thought," he began, and then stopped 
 short. " Well, I reckon it doesn't make 
 much difference what I thought. I would 
 have to tell you many things before you 
 would understand, and even then I suppose 
 you wouldn't believe me. So I am keeping 
 quiet until — until the time comes. Maybe 
 that won't be so long, and then you'll un- 
 derstand. I'll be seeing you again." 
 
 " I am leaving this country to-morrow," 
 she informed him coldly. 
 
 She saw him start and experienced a sen- 
 sation of vindictive satisfaction. 
 
 " Well," he said, with a queer note of re- 
 
PARTING ON RIVER TRAIL 307 
 
 gret in his voice, "that's too bad. But I 
 reckon I'll be seeing you again anyway, if 
 the sheriff doesn't get me." 
 
 " Do you think they will come for you to- 
 night?" she asked, suddenly remembering 
 that her father had told her that Duncan 
 had gone to Lazette for the sheriff. " What 
 will they do?" 
 
 " Nothing, I reckon. That is, they won't 
 do anything except take me into custody. 
 They can't do anything until Doubler dies." 
 
 "If he doesn't die?" she said. "What 
 can they do then? " 
 
 " Usually it isn't considered a crime to 
 shoot a man — if he doesn't die. Likely they 
 wouldn't do anything to me if Doubler gets 
 well. They might want me to leave the 
 country. But I don't reckon that I'm go- 
 ing to let them take me — whether Doubler 
 dies or not. Once they've got a man it's 
 pretty easy to prove him guilty — in this 
 country. Usually they hang a man and 
 consider the evidence afterward. I'm not 
 letting them do that to me. If I was guilty, 
 I suppose I might look at it differently, but 
 maybe not." 
 
308 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Sheila was silent; he became silent, too, 
 and looked gravely at her. 
 
 "Well," he said presently, "I'll be go- 
 ing." He urged his pony forward, but 
 when it had gone only a few steps he turned 
 and looked back at her. " Do your best to 
 keep Doubler alive," he said. 
 
 There was a note of the old mockery in 
 his voice, and it lingered long in Sheila's 
 ears after she had watched him vanish into 
 the mysterious shadows that surrounded the 
 trail. Stiffling a sigh of regret and pity, 
 she spoke to her pony, and the animal 
 shuffled down the long slope, forded the 
 river, and so brought her to the door of 
 Doubler's cabin. 
 
 The doctor was there ; he was bending over 
 Doubler at the instant Sheila entered the 
 cabin, and he looked up at her with grave, 
 questioning eyes. 
 
 " I am going to nurse him," she informed 
 the doctor. 
 
 "That's good," he returned softly; "he 
 needs lots of care — the care that a woman 
 can give him. 
 
 Then he went off into a maze of medical 
 terms and phrases that left her confused, 
 
PARTING ON RIVER TRAIL 309 
 
 but out of which she gathered the fact that 
 the bullet had missed a vital spot, that Doub- 
 ler was suffering more from shock than 
 from real injury, and that the only danger 
 — his constitution being strong enough to 
 withstand the shock — would be from blood 
 poisoning. He had some fever, the doctor 
 told Sheila, and he left a small vial on a 
 shelf with instructions to administer a num- 
 ber of drops of its contents in a spoonful 
 of water if Doubter became restless. The 
 bandages were to be changed several times 
 a day, and the wound bathed. 
 
 The doctor was glad that she had come, 
 for he had a very sick patient in Mrs. More- 
 land, and he must return to her immediately. 
 He would try to look in in a day or two. 
 No, he said, in answer to her question, she 
 could not leave Doubter to-morrow, even 
 to go home — if she wanted the patient to get 
 well. 
 
 And so Sheila watched him as he went 
 out and saddled his horse and rode away 
 down the river trail. Then with a sigh she 
 returned to the cabin, closed the door, and 
 took up her vigil beside the nester. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 SHERIFF ALLEN TAKES A HAND 
 
 THE sheriff's posse — three men whom 
 he had deputized in Lazette and him- 
 self—had ridden hard over the twenty- 
 miles of rough trail from Lazette, for Dun- 
 can had assured Allen that he would have 
 to get into action before Dakota could dis- 
 cover that there had been a witness to his 
 deed, and therefore when they arrived at the 
 edge of the clearing near Dakota's cabin at 
 midnight, they were glad of an opportunity 
 to dismount and stretch themselves. 
 
 There was no light in Dakota's cabin, no 
 sign that the man the sheriff was after was 
 anywhere about, and the latter consulted 
 gravely with his men. 
 
 " This ain't going to be any picnic, boys," 
 he said. " We've got to take our time and 
 keep our eyes open. Dakota ain't no spring 
 chicken, and if he don't want to come with 
 
 310 
 
SHERIFF TAKES A HAND 311 
 
 us peaceable, he'll make things plumb lively." 
 A careful examination of the horses in 
 the corral resulted in the discovery of one 
 which had evidently been ridden hard and 
 unsaddled but a few minutes before, for 
 its flanks were in a lather and steam rose 
 from its sides. 
 
 However, the discovery of the pony told 
 the sheriff nothing beyond the fact that Da- 
 kota had ridden to the cabin from some- 
 where, some time before. Whether he was 
 asleep, or watching the posse from some 
 vantage point within or outside of the cabin 
 was not quite clear. Therefore Allen, the 
 sheriff, a man of much experience, advised 
 caution. After another careful reconnoiter, 
 which settled beyond all reasonable doubt 
 the fact that Dakota was not secreted in the 
 timber in the vicinity of the cabin, Allen 
 told his deputies to remain concealed on the 
 edge of the clearing, while he proceeded 
 boldly to the door of the cabin and knocked 
 loudly. He and Dakota had always been 
 very friendly. 
 
 At the sound of the knock, Dakota's voice 
 came from within the cabin, burdened with 
 mockery. 
 
312 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " Sorry, Allen," it said, " but I'm locked 
 up for the night. Can't take any chances 
 on leaving my door unbarred — can't tell 
 who's prowling around. If you'd sent 
 word, now, so I would have had time to dress 
 decently, I might have let you in, seeing it's 
 you. I'm sure some sorry." 
 
 " Sorry, too." Allen grinned at the door. 
 " I told the boys you'd be watching. Well, 
 it can't be helped, I reckon. Only, I'd like 
 mighty well to see you. Coming out in the 
 morning? " 
 
 " Maybe. Missed my beauty sleep al- 
 ready." His voice was dryly sarcastic. 
 " It's too bad you rode this far for nothing; 
 can't even get a look at me. But it's no 
 time to visit a man, anyway. You and your 
 boys flop outside. We'll swap palaver in 
 the morning. Good night." 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 Allen returned to the edge of the clear- 
 ing, where he communicated to his men the 
 result of the conference. 
 
 " He ain't allowing that he wants to be 
 disturbed just now," he told them. " And 
 he's too damned polite to monkey with. 
 
SHERIFF TAKES A HAND 313 
 
 We'll wait. Likely he'll change his mind 
 over-night." 
 
 " Wait nothing," growled Duncan. " Bust 
 the door in! " 
 
 Allen grinned mildly. " Good advice," 
 he said quietly. " Me and my men will set 
 here while you do the busting. Don't im- 
 agine that we'll be sore because you take the 
 lead in such a little matter as that." 
 
 " If I was the sheriff " began Duncan. 
 
 " Sure," interrupted Allen with a dry 
 laugh ; " if you was the sheriff. There's a 
 lot of things we'd do if we was somebody 
 else. Maybe breaking down Dakota's door 
 is one of them. But we don't want anyone 
 killed if we can help it, and it's a dead sure 
 thing that some one would cash in if we tried 
 any monkey business with that door. If 
 you're wanting to do something that 
 amounts to something to help this game 
 along, swap your cayuse for one of Dakota's 
 and hit the breeze to the Double R for grub. 
 We'll be needing it by the time you get 
 back." 
 
 Duncan had already ridden over sixty 
 miles within the past twenty-four hours, and 
 
314 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 he made a grumbling rejoinder. But in the 
 end he roped one of Dakota's horses, sad- 
 dled it, and presently vanished in the dark- 
 ness. Allen and his men built a fire near 
 the edge of the clearing and rolled into their 
 blankets. 
 
 At eight o'clock the following morning, 
 Langford appeared on the river trail, lead- 
 ing a pack horse loaded with provisions and 
 cooking utensils for the sheriff and his men. 
 Duncan, Langford told Allen while they 
 breakfasted, had sought his bunk, being 
 tired from the day's activities. 
 
 "You're the owner of the Double R?" 
 questioned Allen. 
 
 " You and Dakota friendly? " he ques- 
 tioned again, noting Langford's nod. 
 
 " We've been quite friendly," smiled 
 Langford. 
 
 "But you ain't now?" 
 
 "Not since this has happened. We must 
 have law and order, even at the price of 
 friendship." 
 
 Allen squinted a mildly hostile eye at 
 Langford. " That's a good principle to get 
 back of — for a weak-kneed friendship. But 
 
SHERIFF TAKES A HAND 315 
 
 most men who have got friends wouldn't let 
 a little thing like law and order interfere 
 between them." 
 
 Langford reddened. " I haven't known 
 Dakota long of course," he defended. 
 " Perhaps I erred in saying we were friends. 
 Acquaintances would better describe it I 
 think." 
 
 Allen's eye narrowed again with an emo- 
 tion that Langford could not fathom. " I 
 always had a heap of faith in Dakota's judg- 
 ment," he said. And then, when Langford's 
 face flushed with a realization of the subtle 
 insult, Allen said gruffly: 
 
 " You say Doubler's dead?" 
 
 " I don't remember to have said that to 
 you," returned Langford, his voice snap- 
 ping with rage. " What I did say was that 
 Duncan saw him killed and came to me with 
 the news. I sent him for you. Since then 
 my daughter has been over to Doubler's 
 cabin. He is quite dead, she reported," he 
 lied. " There can be no doubt of his guilt, 
 if that is what bothers you," he continued. 
 " Duncan saw him shoot Doubler in the back 
 with Doubler's own rifle, and my daughter 
 
316 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 heard the shot and met Dakota coming from 
 Doubler's cabin, immediately after. It's a 
 clear case, it seems to me," 
 
 " Yes, clear," said Allen, " The evidence 
 is all against him." 
 
 Yet it was not all quite clear to Langford, 
 To be sure, he had expected to receive news 
 that Dakota had accomplished the destruc- 
 tion of Doubler, but he had not anticipated 
 the fortunate appearance of Duncan at the 
 nester's cabin during the commission of the 
 murder, nor had he expected Sheila to be 
 near the scene of the crime. It had turned 
 out better than he had planned, for since 
 he had burned the agreement that he had 
 made with Dakota, the latter had no hold 
 on him whatever, and if it were finally 
 proved that he had committed the crime 
 there would come an end to both Dakota 
 and Doubler. 
 
 Only one thing puzzled him. Dakota 
 had been to his place, he knew that he was 
 charged with the murder and that the agree- 
 ment had been burned. He also knew that 
 Duncan and Sheila would bear witness 
 against him. And yet, though he had had 
 
SHERIFF TAKES A HAND 317 
 
 an opportunity to escape, he had not done 
 so. Why not? 
 
 He put this interrogation to Allen, care- 
 fully avoiding reference to anything which 
 would give the sheriff any idea that he pos- 
 sessed any suspicion that Dakota was not 
 really guilty. 
 
 " That's what's bothering me ! " declared 
 the latter. "He's had time enough to hit 
 the breeze clear out of the Territory. 
 Though," he added, squinting at Langford, 
 " Dakota ain't never been much on the run. 
 He'd a heap rather face the music. Damn 
 the cuss ! " he exploded impatiently. 
 
 He finished his breakfast in silence, and 
 then again approached the door of Dakota's 
 cabin, knocking loudly, as before. 
 
 " I'm wanting that palaver now, Dakota," 
 he said coaxingly. 
 
 He heard Dakota laugh. " Have you 
 viewed the corpse, Allen?" came his voice, 
 burdened with mockery. 
 
 " No," said Allen. 
 
 " You're a hell of a sheriff — wanting to 
 take a man when you don't know whether 
 he's done anything." 
 
318 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 "I reckon you ain't fooling me none," 
 said Allen slowly. The evidence is dead 
 against you." 
 
 "What evidence?" 
 
 " Duncan saw you fixing Doubler, and 
 Langford's daughter met you coming from 
 his cabin." 
 
 "Who told you that?" 
 
 " Langford. He's just brought some 
 grub over." 
 
 The silence that followed Allen's words 
 lasted long, and the sheriff fidgeted impa- 
 tiently. When he again spoke there was the 
 sharpness of intolerance in his voice. 
 
 " If talking to you was all I had to do, 
 I might monkey around here all summer," 
 he said. " I've give you about eight hours 
 to think this thing over, and that's plenty 
 long enough. I don't like to get into any 
 gun argument with you, because I know that 
 somebody will get hurt. Why in hell don't 
 you surrender decently? I'm a friend of 
 yours and you hadn't ought to want to make 
 any trouble for me. And them's good boys 
 that I've got over there and I wouldn't want 
 to see any of them perforated. And I'd 
 
SHERIFF TAKES A HAND 319 
 
 hate like blazes to have to put you out of 
 business. Why don't you act decent and 
 come out like a man? " 
 
 " Go and look at the corpse/ 5 insisted Da- 
 kota. 
 
 " There'll be plenty of time to look at the 
 corpse after you're took." 
 
 There was no answer. Allen sighed re- 
 gretfully. " Well," he said presently, " I've 
 done what I could. From now on, I'm look- 
 ing for you." 
 
 " Just a minute, Allen," came Dakota's 
 voice. To Allen's surprise he heard a fum- 
 bling at the fastenings of the door, and an 
 instant later it swung open and Dakota stood 
 in the opening, one of his six-shooters in 
 hand. 
 
 " I reckon I know you well enough to be 
 tolerably sure that you'll get me before you 
 leave here," he said, as Allen wheeled and 
 faced him, his arms folded over his chest as 
 a declaration of his present peaceful inten- 
 tions. " But I want you to get this busi- 
 ness straight before anything is started. 
 And then you'll be responsible. I'm giving 
 it to you straight. Somebody's framed up 
 
320 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 on me. I didn't shoot Doubler. When I 
 left him he was cleaning his rifle. After 
 I left him I heard shooting. I thought it 
 was him trying his rifle, or I would have 
 gone back. 
 
 " Then I met Sheila Langford on the 
 river trail, near the cabin. She'd heard the 
 shooting, too. She thinks I did it. You 
 think I did it, and Duncan says he saw 
 me do it. Doubler isn't dead. At least he 
 wasn't dead when I left the doctor with him 
 at sundown. But he wasn't far from it, 
 and if he dies without coming to it's likely 
 that things will look bad for me. But be- 
 cause I knew he wasn't dead I took a chance 
 on staying here. I am not allowing that 
 I'm going to let anyone hang me for a thing 
 I didn't do, and so if you're determined to 
 get me without making sure that Doubler's 
 going to have mourners immediately, it's a 
 dead sure thing that some one's going to get 
 hurt. I reckon that's all. I've given you 
 fair warning, and after you get back to the 
 edge of the clearing our friendship don't 
 count any more." 
 
 He stepped back and closed the door. 
 
SHERIFF TAKES A HAND 321 
 
 Allen walked slowly toward the clearing, 
 thinking seriously. He said nothing to 
 Langford or his men concerning his conver- 
 sation with Dakota, and though he covertly 
 questioned the former he could discover 
 nothing more than that which the Double 
 R owner had already told him. Several 
 times during the morning he was on the 
 point of planning an attack on the cabin, 
 but Dakota's voice had a ring of truth in it 
 and he delayed action, waiting for some more 
 favorable turn of events. 
 
 And so the hours dragged. The men 
 lounged in the shade of the trees and talked ; 
 Lan£ p ord — though he had no further ex- 
 cuse for staying — remained, concealing his 
 impatience over Allen's inaction by taking 
 short rides, but always returning; Allen, 
 taciturn, morose even, paid no attention to 
 him. 
 
 The afternoon waned ; the sun descended 
 to the peaks of the mountains, and there was 
 still inaction on Allen's part, still silence 
 from the cabin. Just at sundown Allen 
 called his men to him and told them to guard 
 the cabin closely, not to shoot unless forced 
 
322 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 by Dakota, but to be certain that he did not 
 escape. 
 
 He said they might expect him to return 
 
 by dawn of the following morning. Then, 
 
 during Langford's absence on one of his 
 
 ides, he loped his pony up the river trail 
 
 toward Ben Doubler's cabin. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 DOUBLER TALKS 
 
 AFTER the departure of the doctor 
 Sheila entered the cabin and closed 
 the door, fastening the bars and draw- 
 ing a chair over near the table. Doubler 
 seemed to be resting easier, though there 
 was a flush in his cheeks that told of the 
 presence of fever. However, he breathed 
 more regularly and with less effort than be- 
 fore the coming of the doctor, and as a con- 
 sequence, Sheila felt decidedly better. At 
 intervals during the night she gave him 
 quantities of the medicine which the doctor 
 had left, but only when the fever seemed to 
 increase, forcing the liquid through his lips. 
 Several times she changed the bandages, 
 and once or twice during the night when he 
 moaned she pulled her chair over beside him 
 and smoothed his forehead, soothing him. 
 
 328 
 
324 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 When the dawn came it found her heavy- 
 eyed and tired. 
 
 She went to the river and procured fresh 
 water, washed her hands and face, prepared 
 a breakfast of bacon and soda biscuit* — 
 which she found in a tin box in a corner of 
 the cabin, and then, as Doubler seemed to 
 be doing nicely, she saddled her pony and 
 took a short gallop. Returning, she entered 
 the cabin, to find Doubler tossing restlessly. 
 
 She gave him a dose of the medicine — an 
 extra large one — but it had little effect, 
 quieting him only momentarily. Evidently 
 he was growing worse. The thought 
 aroused apprehension in her mind, but she 
 fought it down and stayed resolutely at the 
 sick man's side. 
 
 Through the slow-dragging hours of the 
 morning she sat beside him, giving him the 
 best care possible under the circumstances, 
 but in spite of her efforts the fever steadily 
 rose, and at noon he sat suddenly up in the 
 bunk and gazed at her with blazing, vacuous 
 eyes. 
 
 " You're a liar ! " he shouted. " Dakota's 
 square!" 
 
DOUBLEB TALKS 325 
 
 Sheila stifled a scream of fear and shrank 
 from him. But recovering, she went to him, 
 seizing his shoulders and forcing him back 
 into the bunk. He did not resist, not seem- 
 ing to pay any attention to her at all, but he 
 mumbled, inexpressively: 
 
 " It ain't so, I tell you. He's just left 
 me, an' any man which could talk like he 
 talked to me ain't — I reckon not," he said, 
 shaking his head with a vigorous, negative 
 motion ; " you're a heap mistaken — you ain't 
 got him right at all." 
 
 He was quiet for a time after this, but 
 toward the middle of the afternoon Sheila 
 saw that his gaze was following her as she 
 paced softly back and forth in the cabin. 
 
 " So you're stuck on that Langford girl, 
 are you? " he demanded, laughing. " Well, 
 it won't do you any good, Dakota, she's — 
 well, she's some sore at you for something. 
 She won't listen to anything which is said 
 about you." The laughter died out of his 
 eyes ; they became cold with menace. " I 
 ain't listenin' to any more of that sorta talk, 
 I tell you! I've got my eyes open. Why! " 
 he said in surprise, starting up, " he's gone! " 
 
326 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 He suddenly shuddered and cursed. "In 
 
 the back," he said, " You — you " And 
 
 profanity gushed from his lips- Then he 
 collapsed, closing his eyes, and lay silent 
 and motionless. 
 
 Out of the jumble of disconnected sen- 
 tences Sheila was able to gather two things 
 of importance — perhaps three. 
 
 The first was that some one had told him 
 of Dakota's complicity in the plan to mur- 
 der him and that he refused to believe his 
 friend capable of such depravity. The sec- 
 ond was that he knew who had shot him ; he 
 also knew the man who had informed him 
 of Dakota's duplicity — though this knowl- 
 edge would amount to very little unless he 
 recovered enough to be able to supply the 
 missing threads. 
 
 Sheila despaired of him supplying any- 
 thing, for it seemed that he was steadily 
 growing worse, and when the dusk came she 
 began to feel a dread of remaining with him 
 in the cabin during the night. If only the 
 doctor would return! If Dakota would 
 come — Duncan, her father, anybody! But 
 nobody came, and the silence around the 
 
DOUBLEB TALKS 327 
 
 cabin grew so oppressive that she felt she 
 must scream. When darkness succeeded 
 dusk she lighted the kerosene lamp, placed a 
 bar over the window, secured the door fast- 
 enings, and seated herself at the table, de- 
 termined to take a short nap. 
 
 It seemed that she had scarcely dropped 
 off to sleep — though in reality she had been 
 unconscious for more than two hours — when 
 she awoke suddenly, to see Doubler sitting 
 erect in the bunk, watching her with a wan, 
 sympathetic smile. There was the light of 
 reason in his eyes and her heart gave an ec- 
 static leap. 
 
 " Could you give me a drink of water, 
 ma'am? " he said, in the voice that she knew 
 well. 
 
 She sprang to the pail, to find that it con- 
 tained very little. She had lifted it, and 
 was about to unfasten the door, intending 
 to go to the river to procure fresh water, 
 when Doubler's voice arrested her. 
 
 " There's some water there — I can hear it; 
 splashin': It'll do well enough just now. I 
 don't want much. You can get some fresh 
 after a while. I want to talk to you." 
 
328 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 She placed the pail down and went over 
 to him, standing beside him. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked. 
 
 " How long have you been here? I 
 knowed you was here all the time — I kept 
 seein' you, but somehow things was a little 
 mixed. But I know that you've been here 
 quite a while. How long? " 
 
 " This is the second night." 
 
 " You found me layin' there — in the door. 
 I dropped there, not bein' able to go any 
 further. I felt you touchin' me — draggin' 
 me. There was someone else here, too. 
 Who was it?" 
 
 " The doctor and Dakota/' 
 
 " Where's Dakota now? " 
 
 " At his cabin, I suppose. He didn't stay 
 here long — he left right after he brought the 
 doctor. I imagine you know why he didn't 
 stay. He was afraid that you would recog- 
 nize him and accuse him." 
 
 " Accuse him of what, ma'am? " 
 
 "Of shooting you." 
 
 He smiled. " I reckon, ma'am, that you 
 don't understand. It wasn't Dakota that 
 shot me." 
 
DOUBLER TALKS 329 
 
 Who did, then?" she questioned eag- 
 erly. "Who? 
 
 VV11U UL1U, 
 
 " Duncan." 
 
 " Why — why P she said, sitting sud- 
 denly erect, a mysterious elation filling her, 
 her eyes wide with surprise and delight, and 
 a fear that Doubler might have been mis- 
 taken — " Why, I saw Dakota on the river 
 trail just after you were shot." 
 
 "He'd just left me. He hadn't been 
 gone more than ten minutes or so when Dun- 
 can rode up — comin' out of the timber just 
 down by the crick. Likely he'd been hidin' 
 there. I was cleanin' my rifle; we had 
 words, and when I set my rifle down just 
 outside the shack, he grabbed it an* shot 
 me. After that I don't seem to remember 
 a heap, except that someone was touchin* 
 me — which must have been you." 
 
 " Oh ! " she said. " I am so glad ! " 
 
 She was thinking now of Dakota's part- 
 ing words to her the night before on the 
 crest of the slope above the river, — of his 
 words, of the truth of his statement denying 
 his guilt, and she was glad that she had not 
 spoken some of > the spiteful things which 
 
330 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 had been in her mind. How she had mis- 
 judged him! 
 
 " I reckon it's something to be glad for," 
 smiled Doubler, misunderstanding her ela- 
 tion, " but I reckon I owe it to you — I'd 
 have pulled my freight sure, if you hadn't 
 come when you did. An' I told you not to 
 be comin' here any more." He laughed. 
 "Ain't it odd how things turn out — some- 
 times. I'd have died sure," he repeated. 
 
 " You are going to live a long while," she 
 said. And then, to his surprise, she bent 
 over and kissed his forehead, leaving his side 
 instantly, her cheeks aflame, her eyes alight 
 with a mysterious fire. To conceal her emo- 
 tion from Doubler she seized the water pail. 
 
 " I will get some fresh water," she said, 
 with a quick, smiling glance at him. " You'll 
 want a fresh drink, and your bandages must 
 be changed." 
 
 She opened the door and stepped down 
 into the darkness. 
 
 There was a moon, and the trail to the 
 river was light enough for her to see plainly, 
 but when she reached the timber clump in 
 which Doubler had said Duncan had been 
 
DOUBLER TALKS 331 
 
 hiding, she shuddered and made a detour to 
 avoid passing close to jUt. This took her 
 some distance out of her way, and she reached 
 the river and walked along its bank for a 
 little distance, searching for a deep acces- 
 sible spot into which she could dip the pail. 
 
 The shallow crossing over which she had 
 ridden many times was not far away, and 
 when she stooped to fill the pail she heard 
 a sudden clatter and splashing, and looked 
 up to see a horseman riding into the water 
 from the opposite side of the river. 
 
 He saw her at the instant she discovered 
 him, and once over the ford he turned his 
 horse and rode directly toward her. 
 
 After gaining the bank he halted his pony 
 and looked intently at her. 
 
 " You're Langford's daughter, I reckon," 
 he said. 
 
 " Yes," she returned, seeing that he was 
 a stranger; " I am." 
 
 "I'm Ben Allen," he said shortly; "the 
 sheriff of this county. What are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 " I am taking care of Ben Doubler," she 
 said; " he has been " 
 
332 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " Then he ain't dead, of course," said Al- 
 len, interrupting her. It seemed to Sheila 
 that there was relief and satisfaction in his 
 voice, and she peered closer at him, but his 
 face was hidden in the shadow of his hat 
 brim. 
 
 " He is very much better now," she told 
 him, scarcely able to conceal her delight. 
 " But he has been very bad." 
 
 "Able to talk?" 
 
 " Yes. He has just been talking to me." 
 She took a step toward him, speaking earn- 
 estly and rapidly. " I suppose you are 
 looking for Dakota," she said, remembering 
 what her father had told her about sending 
 Duncan to Lazette for the sheriff. " If you 
 are looking for him, I want to tell you that 
 he didn't shoot Doubler. It was Duncan. 
 Doubler told me so not over five minutes 
 ago. He said " 
 
 But Allen had spurred his pony forward, 
 and before she could finish he was out of 
 hearing distance, riding swiftly toward the 
 cabin. 
 
 Sheila lingered at the water's edge, for 
 now suddenly she saw much beauty in the 
 
DOUBLER TALKS 333 
 
 surrounding country, and she was no longer 
 lonesome. She stood on the bank of the 
 river, gazing long at the shadowy rims of 
 the distant mountains, at their peaks, rising 
 majestically in the luminous mist of the 
 night; at the plains, stretching away and 
 fading into the mysterious shadows of the 
 distance; watching the waters of the river, 
 shimmering like quicksilver — a band of 
 glowing ribbon winding in and out and 
 around the moon-touched buttes of the can- 
 yons. 
 
 " Oh! " she said irrelevantly, " he isn't so 
 bad, after all!" 
 
 Stooping over again to fill the pail, she 
 heard a sharp clatter of hoofs behind her. 
 A horseman was racing toward the river — 
 toward her — bending low over his pony's 
 mane, riding desperately. She placed the 
 pail down and watched him. Apparently 
 he did not see her, for, swerving suddenly, 
 he made for the crossing without slacken- 
 ing speed. He had almost reached the 
 water's edge when there came a spurt of 
 flame from the door of Doubler's cabin, fol- 
 lowed by the sharp whip like crack of a rifle 1 
 
334 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 In the doorway of the cabin, clearly out- 
 lined against the flickering light of the in- 
 terior, was a man. And as Sheila watched 
 another streak of fire burst from the door, 
 and she heard the shrill sighing of the bul- 
 let, heard the horseman curse. But he did 
 not stop in his flight, and in an instant he 
 had crossed the river. She saw him for an 
 instant as he was outlined against the clear 
 sky in the moonlight that bathed the crest 
 of the slope, and then he was gone. 
 
 Dropping the pail, Sheila ran toward the 
 cabin, fearing that Doubler had suddenly 
 become delirious and had attacked Allen. 
 But it semed to her that it had not been 
 Allen who had raced away from the cabin, 
 and she had not gone more than half way 
 toward it when she saw another horseman 
 coming. She halted to wait for him, and 
 when he halted and drew up beside her she 
 saw that it was the sheriff. 
 
 "Who was it?" she demanded, breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 "Duncan!" Allen cursed picturesquely 
 and profanely. " When I got to the shack 
 he was inside, standing over Doubler, Strang- 
 
DOUBLER TALKS 335 
 
 ling him. The damned skunk! You was 
 right," he added; "it was him who shot 
 Doubler ! " He continued rapidly, grimly, 
 taking a piece of paper from a pocket and 
 writing something on it. 
 
 "My men have got Dakota corraled in 
 his cabin. If he tries to get away they will 
 do for him. I don't want that to happen; 
 there's too few square men in the country 
 as it is. Take this " — he held out the paper 
 to her — "and get down to Dakota's cabin 
 with it. Give it to Bud — one of my men — 
 and tell him to scatter the others and try to 
 head off Duncan if he comes that way. I'm 
 after him!" 
 
 The paper fluttered toward her, she 
 snatched at it, missed it, and stooped to take 
 it from the ground. When she stood erect 
 she saw Allen and his pony silhouetted for 
 an instant on the crest of the ridge on the 
 other side of the river. Then he vanished. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 FOR DAKOTA 
 
 THOUGH in a state of anxiety and ex- 
 citement over the incident of Dun- 
 can's attack on Doubler and the sub- 
 sequent shooting, together with a realization 
 of Dakota's danger, Sheila did not lose her 
 composure. She ran to the river and se- 
 cured the water, aware that it might be 
 needed now more than ever. Then, hurry- 
 ing as best she could with the weight of the 
 pail, she returned to the cabin. 
 
 She was relieved to find that Doubler had 
 received no injury, and she paused long 
 enough to allow him to tell her that Duncan 
 had entered the cabin shortly after she had 
 left it. He had attacked Doubler, but had 
 been interrupted by Allen, who had sud- 
 denly ridden up. Duncan had heard him 
 coming, and had concealed himself behind 
 
 336 
 
FOR DAKOTA 337 
 
 the door, and when Allen had entered Dun- 
 can had struck him on the head with the butt 
 of his six-shooter, knocking him down. The 
 blow had been a glancing one, however, 
 and Allen had recovered quickly, seizing 
 Doubler's rifle and trying to bring down the 
 would be murderer as he fled. 
 
 While attending to Doubler's bandages, 
 Sheila repeated the conversation she had 
 had with Allen concerning the situation in 
 which he had left Dakota, and instantly the 
 nester's anxiety for his friend took prece- 
 dence over any thoughts for his own immedi- 
 ate welfare. 
 
 "There'll be trouble sure, now that Al- 
 len's left there," he said. "Dakota won't 
 be a heap easy with them deputies." 
 
 He told Sheila to let the bandaging go 
 until later, but she refused. 
 
 "Dakota'll be needin' you a heap more 
 than I need you," he insisted, refusing to al- 
 low her to touch the bandages. " There'll 
 be the devil to pay if any of them deputies 
 try to rush Dakota's shack. I want you to 
 go down there right now. If you wait, it'll 
 mebbe be too late." 
 
338 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Sheila hesitated for a moment, and then, 
 yielding to the entreaty in Doubler's eyes, 
 she was at his side, pressing his hand. 
 
 " Ride ma'am ! " he told her, when she was 
 ready to go, his cheeks flushed with excite- 
 ment, his eyes bright. 
 
 Her pony snorted with surprise when she 
 brought her riding whip down against its 
 flanks when turning from the corral gates, 
 but it needed no second urging, and its pace 
 when it splashed through the shallow water 
 of the crossing was fully as great as that of 
 Duncan's pony, which had previously passed 
 through it. 
 
 Once on the hard sand of the river trail 
 it settled into a long, swinging gallop, un- 
 der which the miles flew by rapidly and 
 steadily. Sheila drew the animal up on the 
 rises, breathing it sometimes, but on the lev- 
 els she urged it with whip and spur, and in 
 something more than an hour after leaving 
 Doubler's cabin, she flashed by the quick- 
 sand crossing, which she estimated as being 
 not more than twelve miles from her jour- 
 ney's end. 
 
 She was tired after her long vigil at Doub- 
 
FOE DAKOTA 339 
 
 ler's side, but the weariness was entirely 
 physical, for her brain was working rapidly, 
 filling her thoughts with picturesque con- 
 jectures, drawing pictures in which she saw 
 Dakota being shot down by Allen's deputies. 
 And he was innocent! 
 
 She did not blame herself for Dakota's 
 dilemma, though she felt a keen regret over 
 her treatment of him, over her unjust sus- 
 picions. He had really been in earnest 
 when he had told her the night before on the 
 river trail that he was not guilty — that 
 everybody had misjudged him. Vivid in 
 her recollection was the curious expression 
 on his face when he had said to her just be- 
 fore leaving her that night: 
 
 " Won't you believe me? " 
 
 And that other time, when he had taken 
 her by the shoulders and looked steadily 
 into her eyes — she remembered that, too; 
 she could almost feel his fingers, and the 
 words he had uttered then were fresh in her 
 memory: "I've treated you mean, Sheila,; 
 about as mean as a man could treat a 
 woman. I am sorry. I want you to believe 
 that. And maybe some day — when this 
 
340 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 business is over — you'll understand, and for- 
 give me." 
 
 There had been mystery in his actions 
 ever since she had seen him the first time, 
 and though she could not yet understand it, 
 she had discovered that there were forces at 
 work in his affairs which seemed to indicate 
 that he had not told her that for the pur- 
 pose of attempting to justify his previous 
 actions. 
 
 Evidently, whatever the mystery that sur- 
 rounded him, her father and Duncan were 
 concerned in it, and this thought spurred her 
 on, for it gave her a keen delight to think 
 that she was arrayed against them, even 
 though she were on the side of the man who 
 had wronged her. He, at least, had not 
 been concerned in the plot to murder Doub- 
 ler. 
 
 When she reached the last rise — on the 
 crest of which she had sat on her pony on 
 the morning following her marriage to Da- 
 kota in the cabin and from which she had 
 seen the parson riding away — she was 
 trembling with eagerness and dread for fear 
 that something might happen before she 
 
FOR DAKOTA 341 
 
 could arrive. It was three miles down the 
 slope, and when she reached the level there 
 was Dakota's cabin before her. 
 
 She drew her pony to a walk, for she saw 
 men grouped in front of the cabin door, 
 saw Dakota there himself, standing in the 
 open doorway, framed in the light from 
 within. There were no evidences of the con- 
 flict which she had dreaded. She had ar- 
 rived in time. 
 
 Convinced of this, she felt for the first 
 time her physical weariness, and she leaned 
 forward on her pony, holding to its mane 
 for support, approaching the cabin slowly. 
 
 Her father was there, she observed, as 
 she drew nearer; and three strangers — and 
 Allen! And near Allen, sitting on his 
 horse dejectedly, was Duncan! 
 
 One of Duncan's arms swung oddly at 
 his side, and Sheila thought instantly of his 
 curse when he had been riding near her at 
 the river crossing. Evidently Allen's bul- 
 let had struck him. 
 
 Sheila's presence at Dakota's cabin was 
 now unnecessary, for it was evident that an 
 understanding had been reached with Allen, 
 
342 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 and Sheila experienced a sudden aversion 
 to appearing among the men. Turning her 
 pony, she was about to ride away, intending 
 to return to Doubler's cabin, when Allen 
 turned and saw her. He spurred quickly 
 to her side, seizing the pony by the bridle 
 rein and leading it toward the cabin door* 
 
 " It's all right, ma'am," he said, " I got 
 him. Holy smoke!" he exclaimed as she 
 came within the radius of the light. " You 
 certainly rode some, didn't you, ma'am?" 
 
 She did not answer. She saw her father 
 look at her, noted his start, smiled scorn- 
 fully when she observed a paleness over- 
 spreading his face. She looked from him 
 to Duncan, and the latter flushed and turned 
 his head. Then Allen's voice reached her, 
 as he spoke to Dakota. 
 
 " This young woman has rode twenty 
 miles to-night — to save your hide — you 
 durned cuss. If you was anyways hospit- 
 able, you'd " 
 
 Allen's voice seemed to grow distant to 
 Sheila, the figures of the men in the group 
 blurred, the light danced, she reeled in the 
 saddle, tried to check herself, failed, and 
 
FOR DAKOTA 343 
 
 toppled limply forward over her pony's 
 neck. She heard an exclamation, saw Da- 
 kota spring suddenly from the doorway, felt 
 his arms around her. She struggled in his 
 grasp, trying to fight him off, and then she 
 drifted into oblivion. 
 
CHAPTEK XIX 
 
 SOME MEMORIES 
 
 WHEN" Sheila recovered conscious- 
 ness she was in Dakota's cabin — 
 in the bunk in which she had lain 
 on another night in the yesterday of her life 
 in this country. She recognized it instantly. 
 There was the candle on the table, there were 
 the familiar chairs, the fireplace, the shelves 
 upon which were Dakota's tobacco tins and 
 matches; there was the guitar, with its 
 gaudy string, suspended from the wall. If 
 it had been raining, she might have imagined 
 that she was just awakening from a sleep 
 in that other time. She felt a hand on her 
 forehead, a damp cloth, and she opened her 
 eyes to gaze fairly into Dakota's. 
 
 " Don't, please," she said, shrinking from 
 him. 
 
 It occurred to her that she had uttered 
 
 344 
 
SOME MEMORIES 345 
 
 the same words to him before, and, closing 
 her eyes for a moment, she remembered. It 
 had been when he had tried to assist her out 
 of the water at the quicksand crossing, and 
 as on that occasion, his answer was the same. 
 
 " Then I won't." 
 
 She lay for a long time, looking straight 
 up at the ceiling, utterly tired, wondering 
 vaguely what had become of her father, 
 Duncan, Allen, and the others. She would 
 have given much to have been able to lie 
 there for a time — a long time — and rest. But 
 that was not to be thought of. She struggled 
 to a sitting position, and when her eyes had 
 become accustomed to the light she saw her 
 father sitting in a chair near the fireplace. 
 The door was closed — barred. Sheila 
 glanced again at her father, and then ques- 
 tioningly at Dakota, who was watching her 
 from the center of the room, his face in- 
 scrutable. 
 
 "What does this mean? Where are the 
 others?" she demanded. 
 
 " Allen and his men have gone back to 
 Lazette," returned Dakota quietly. " This 
 means " — he pointed to Langford — " that 
 
346 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 we're going to have a little talk — about 
 things." 
 
 Sheila rose. " I don't care to hear any 
 talk ; I am not interested." 
 
 " You'll be interested in my talk," said 
 Dakota. 
 
 Curiously, he seemed to be invested with 
 a new character. Just now he was more 
 like the man he had been the night she had 
 met him the first time — before he had forced 
 her to marry him — than he had been since. 
 Only, she felt as she watched him standing 
 quietly in the middle of the room, the reck- 
 lessness which had marked his manner that 
 other time seemed to have entirely disap- 
 peared, seemed to have been replaced bjr 
 something else — determination. 
 
 Beneath the drooping mustache Sheila 
 saw the lines of his lips; they had always 
 seemed hard to her, and now there were lit- 
 tle curves at the corners which hinted at 
 amusement — grim amusement. His eyes, 
 too, were different; the mockery had de- 
 parted from them. They were steady and 
 unwavering, as before, and though they still 
 baffled her, she was certain that she saw a 
 
SOME MEMORIES 347 
 
 slumbering devil in them — as though he pos- 
 sessed some mysterious knowledge and pur- 
 posed to confound Sheila and her father 
 with it, though in his own way and to suit 
 his convenience. Yet behind it all there 
 lurked a certain gravity — a cold delibera- 
 tion that seemed to proclaim that he was in 
 no mood to trifle and that he proposed to 
 follow some plan and would brook no inter- 
 ference. 
 
 Fascinated by the change in him Sheila re- 
 sumed her seat on the edge of the bunk, 
 watching him closely. He drew a chair over 
 near the door, tilted it back and dropped 
 into it, thus mutely announcing that he in- 
 tended keeping the prisoners until he had 
 delivered himself of that mysterious knowl- 
 edge which seemed to be in his mind. 
 
 Glancing furtively at her father, Sheila 
 observed that he appeared to have formed 
 some sort of a conclusion regarding Dako- 
 ta's actions also, for he sat very erect on his 
 chair, staring at the latter, an intense inter- 
 est in his eyes. 
 
 Sheila had become interested, too; she had 
 forgotten her weariness. And yet Dakota's 
 
348 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 first words disappointed her — somehow they 
 seemed irrevelant. 
 
 " This isn't such a big world, after all, 
 is it? " He addressed both Sheila and her 
 father, though he looked at neither. His 
 tone was quietly conversational, and when 
 he received no answer to his remark he looked 
 up with a quiet smile. 
 
 " That has been said by a great many 
 people, hasn't it? I've heard it many times. 
 I reckon you have, too. But it's a fact, 
 just the same. The world is a small place. 
 Take us three. You " — he said, pointing 
 to Langf ord — " come out here from Albany 
 and buy a ranch. You " — he smiled at 
 Sheila — " came with your father as a matter 
 of course. You " — he looked again at 
 Langf ord — " might have, bought a ranch in 
 another part of the country. You didn't 
 need to buy this particular one. But you 
 did. Take me. I spent five years in Da- 
 kota before I came here. I've been here five 
 years. 
 
 " A man up in Dakota wanted me to stay 
 there ; said he'd do most anything for me if I 
 would. But I didn't like Dakota; some- 
 
SOME MEMORIES 349 
 
 thing kept telling me that I ought to move 
 around a little. I came here, I liked the 
 place, and I've stayed here. I know that 
 neither of you are very much interested in 
 what has happened to me, but I've told you 
 that much just to prove my contention about 
 the world being a small place. It surely 
 isn't so very big when you consider that three 
 persons can meet up like we've met — our 
 trails leading us to the same section of the 
 country." 
 
 " I don't see how that concerns us," said 
 Langf ord impatiently. 
 
 " No," returned Dakota, and now there 
 was a note of sarcasm in his voice, "you 
 don't see. Lots of folks don't see. But 
 there are trails that lead everywhere. Fate 
 marks them out — blazes them. There are 
 trails that lead us into trouble, others that 
 lead us to pleasure — straight trails, crooked 
 ones, trails that cross — all kinds. Folks 
 start out on a crooked trail, trying to get 
 away from something, but pretty soon an- 
 other trail crosses the one they are on — 
 maybe it will be a straight one that crosses 
 theirs, with a straight man riding it. 
 
850 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " The man riding the crooked trail and 
 the man riding the straight one meet at the 
 place where the trails cross. Such trails 
 don't lead to any to-morrow; they are yes- 
 terday's trails, and before the man riding 
 the crooked trail and the man riding the 
 straight trail can go any further there has 
 got to be an accounting. That is what has 
 happened here. You " — he smiled gravely 
 as he looked at Langford — " have been rid- 
 ing a crooked trail. I have been hanging onto 
 the straight one as best I could. Now we've 
 got to where the trails cross." 
 
 "Meaning that you want an explanation 
 of my action in burning that signed agree- 
 ment, I suppose? " sneered Langford, look- 
 ing up. 
 
 " Still trying to ride the crooked trail?" 
 smiled Dakota, with the first note of mock^ 
 ery that Sheila had heard in his voice since 
 he had begun speaking. " I'm not worry- 
 ing a bit about that agreement. Why, man, 
 I'd have shot myself before I'd have shot 
 Doubler. He's my friend — the only real 
 friend I've had in ten years." 
 
 " Then when you signed the agreement 
 
SOME MEMORIES 351 
 
 you didn't mean to keep it?" questioned 
 Langford incautiously, disarmed by Dako- 
 ta's earnestness, 
 
 " Ten years ago a boy named Ned Keegles 
 went to Dakota. I am glad to see that you 
 are familiar with the name/' he added with 
 a smile as Langford started and stiffened 
 in his chair, his face suddenly ashen. " You 
 knowing Keegles will save me explaining a 
 lot," continued Dakota. "Well, Keegles 
 went to Dakota — where I was. He was 
 eighteen and wasn't very strong, as young 
 men go. But he got a job punching cows 
 and I got to know him pretty well — used to 
 bunk with him. He took a liking to me be- 
 cause I took an interest in him. 
 
 " He didn't like the work, because he had 
 been raised differently. He lived in Albany 
 before he went West. His father, William 
 Keegles, was in the hardware business with 
 a man named Langford — David Dowd 
 Langford. You see, I couldn't be mistaken 
 in the name of the man; it's such an uncom- 
 mon one." 
 
 He smiled significantly at Sheila, and an 
 odd expression came into her face, for she 
 
352 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 remembered that on the night of her com- 
 ing he had made the same remark. 
 
 " One day Ned Keegles got sick and took 
 me into his confidence. He wasn't in the 
 West for his health, he said. He was a 
 fugitive from the law, accused of murdering 
 his father. It wasn't a nice story to hear, 
 but he told it, thinking he was going to die." 
 
 Dakota smiled enigmatically at Sheila 
 and coldly at the now shrinking man seated 
 in the chair beside the fireplace. 
 
 " One day Keegles went into his father's 
 office. His father's partner, David Dowd 
 Langford, was there, talking to his father. 
 They'd had hard words. Keegle's father 
 had discovered that Langford had appro- 
 priated a large sum of the firm's money. 
 By forging his partner's signature he had 
 escaped detection until one day when the 
 elder Keegles had accidentally discovered 
 the fraud — which was the day on which Ned 
 Keegles visited his father. It isn't neces- 
 sary to go into detail, but it was perfectly 
 plain that Langford was guilty. 
 
 " There were hard words, as I have said. 
 The elder Keegles threatened to prosecute. 
 
SOME MEMORIES 353 
 
 Langford seized a sample knife that had 
 been lying on the elder Keegle's desk, and 
 stabbed him, killing him instantly. Then, 
 while Ned Keegles stood by, stunned by the 
 suddenness of the attack, Langford coolly 
 walked to a telephone and notified the police 
 of the murder. Hanging up the receiver, he 
 raised the hue and cry, and a dozen clerks 
 burst into the office, to find Ned Keegles 
 bending over his father, trying to withdraw 
 the knife. 
 
 "Langford accused Ned Keegles of the 
 murder. He protested, of course, but see- 
 ing that the evidence was against him, he 
 fought his way out of the office and escaped. 
 He went to Dakota — where I met him." 
 He hesitated and looked steadily at Lang- 
 ford. " Do you see how the trails have 
 crossed? The crooked one and the straight 
 one?" 
 
 Langford was leaning forward in his 
 chair, a scared, wild expression in his eyes, 
 his teeth and hands clenched in an effort to 
 control his emotions, 
 
 " It's a lie! " he shouted. " I didn't kill 
 him! Ned Keegles " 
 
354 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " Wait! " Dakota rose from his chair and 
 walked to a shelf, from which he took a box, 
 returning to Langford's side and opening it. 
 He drew out a knife, shoving it before 
 Langford's eyes and pointing out some rust 
 spots on the blade, 
 
 " This knife was given to me by Ned 
 Keegles," he said slowly. " These rust spots 
 on the blade are from his father's blood. 
 Look at them! " he said sharply, for Lang- 
 ford had turned his head. 
 
 At the command he swung around, his 
 gaze resting on the knife. " That's a pretty 
 story," he sneered. 
 
 Dakota's laugh when he returned the 
 knife to the box chilled Sheila as that same 
 laugh had chilled her when she had heard it 
 during her first night in the country — in this 
 same cabin, with Dakota sitting at the table 
 — a bitter, mocking laugh that had in it a 
 savagery controlled by an iron will. He 
 turned abruptly and walked to his chair, 
 seating himself. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " it's a pretty story. But 
 it hasn't all been told. With a besmirched 
 name and the thoughts which were with him 
 
SOME MEMORIES 355 
 
 all the time, life wasn't exactly a joyful one 
 for Ned Keegles. He was young, you see, 
 and it all preyed on his mind. But after a 
 while it hardened him. He'd hit town with 
 the rest of the boys, and he'd drink whiskey 
 until he'd forget. But he couldn't forget 
 long. He kept seeing his father and Lang- 
 ford; nights he'd start from his blankets, 
 living over and over again the incident of 
 the murder. He got so he couldn't stay in 
 Dakota. He came down here and tried to 
 forget. It was just the same — there was no 
 forgetfulness. 
 
 " One night when he was on the trail near 
 here, he met a woman. It was raining and 
 the woman had lost the trail. He took the 
 woman in. She interested him, and he ques- 
 tioned her. He discovered that she was the 
 daughter of the man who had murdered his 
 father — the daughter of David Dowd Lang- 
 ford!" 
 
 Langford cringed and looked at Sheila, 
 who was looking straight at Dakota, her 
 eyes alight with knowledge. 
 
 " Ned Keegles kept his silence, as he had 
 kept it for ten years," resumed Dakota. 
 
356 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 " But the coming of the woman brought 
 back the bitter memories, and while the 
 woman slept in his cabin he turned to the 
 whiskey bottle for comfort. As he drank 
 his troubles danced before him — magnified. 
 He thought it would be a fine revenge if he 
 should force the woman to marry him, for 
 he figured that it would be a blow at the 
 father's pride. If it hadn't been for a cow- 
 ardly parson and the whiskey the marriage 
 would never have occurred — Ned Keegles 
 would not have thought of it. But he didn't 
 hurt the woman; she left him pure as she 
 came — mentally and physically." 
 
 Langford slowly rose from his chair, his 
 lips twitching, his face working strangely, 
 his eyes wide and glaring. 
 
 " You say she married him — Ned Kee- 
 gles?" he said, his voice Jiigh keyed and 
 shrill. He turned to Sheila after catching 
 Dakota's nod. "Is this true?" he de- 
 manded sharply. "Did you marry him as 
 this man says you did?" 
 
 " Yes ; I married him," returned Sheila 
 dully, and Langford sank limply into his 
 chair. 
 
SOME MEMORIES 357 
 
 Dakota smiled with flashing eyes and 
 continued: 
 
 " Keegles married the woman/' he said 
 coldly, " because he thought she was Lang- 
 ford's real daughter." He looked at Sheila 
 with a glance of compassion. " Later, when 
 Keegles discovered that the woman was only 
 Langford's stepdaughter, he was mighty 
 sorry. Not for Langford, however, because 
 he could not consider Langford's feelings. 
 And in spite of what he had done he was 
 still determined to secure revenge. 
 
 " One day Langford came to Keegles with 
 a proposal. He had seen Keegles kill one 
 man, and he wanted to hire him to kill an- 
 other — a man named Doubler. Keegles 
 agreed, for the purpose of getting Lang- 
 ford into " 
 
 Dakota hesitated, for Langford had risen 
 to his feet and stood looking at him, his eyes 
 bulging, his face livid. 
 
 "You!" he said, in a choking, wailing 
 voice ; " you — you, are Ned Keegles ! You 
 
 — you Why " he hesitated and 
 
 passed a hand uncertainly over his forehead, 
 looking from Sheila to Dakota with glazed 
 
358 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 eyes. " You — you are a liar ! " he suddenly 
 screamed, his voice raised to a maniacal 
 pitch. " It isn't so ! You — both of you — 
 have conspired against me ! " 
 
 " Wait! " Dakota got to his feet, walked 
 to a shelf, and took down a small glass, a 
 pair of shears, a shaving cup, and a razor. 
 While Langford watched, staring at him 
 with fearful, wondering eyes, Dakota deftly 
 snipped off the mustache with the shears, 
 lathered his lip, and shaved it clean. Then 
 he turned and confronted Langford. 
 
 The latter looked at him with one, long, 
 intense gaze, and then with a dry sob which 
 caught in his throat and seemed to choke 
 him, he covered his face with his hands, 
 shuddered convulsively, and without a 
 sound pitched forward, face down, at 
 Dakota's feet. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 INTO THE UNKNOWN 
 
 AFTER a time Sheila rose from the 
 /-\ bunk on which she had been sitting 
 and stood in the center of the floor, 
 looking down at her father. Dakota had 
 not moved. He stood also, watching Lang- 
 ford, his face pale and grim, and he did not 
 speak until Sheila had addressed him twice. 
 
 " What are you going to do now? " she 
 said dully. " It is for you to say, you know. 
 You hold his life in your hands." 
 
 "Do?" He smiled bitterly at her. 
 " What would you do? I have waited ten 
 years for this day. It must go on to the 
 end." 
 
 "The end?" 
 
 " Yes ; the end," he said gravely. " He 
 — Dakota pointed to the prostrate figure — 
 u must sign a written confession." 
 
 359 
 
 99 
 
360 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " He will return to answer for his crime." 
 
 Sheila shuddered and turned from him 
 with bowed head. 
 
 "Oh!" she said at last; "it will be too 
 horrible! My friends in the East — they 
 will " 
 
 " Your friends," he said with some bitter- 
 ness. " Could your friends say more than 
 my friends said when they thought that I 
 had murdered my own father in cold blood 
 and then run away? " 
 
 " But I am innocent," she pleaded. 
 
 "I was innocent," he returned, with a 
 grave smile. 
 
 " Yes, but I could not help you, you 
 know, for I wasn't there when you were 
 accused. But you are here, and you can 
 help me. Don't you see," she said, coming 
 close to him, " don't you see that the dis- 
 grace will not fall on him, but on me. I 
 will make him sign the confession," she of- 
 fered, " you can hold it over him. He will 
 make restitution of your property. But do 
 not force him to go back East. Let him 
 go somewhere — anywhere — but let him live. 
 
INTO THE UNKNOWN 361 
 
 For, after all, he is my father — the only one 
 I ever knew." 
 
 " But my vengeance," he said, the bitter- 
 ness of his smile softening as he looked down 
 at her. 
 
 " Your vengeance? " She came closer to 
 him, looking up into his face. " Are we to 
 judge — to condemn? Will not the power 
 which led us three together — the power 
 which you are pleased to call ' Fate ' ; the 
 power that blazed the trail which you have 
 followed from the yesterday of your life; — 
 will not this power judge him — punish him? 
 Please," she pleaded, " please, for my sake, 
 for — for " — her voice broke and she came 
 forward and placed her hands on his shoul- 
 ders — " for your wife's sake." 
 
 He looked down at her for an instant, the 
 hard lines of his face breaking into gentle, 
 sympathetic curves. Then his arms went 
 around her, and she leaned against him, her 
 head against his shoulder, while she wept 
 softly. 
 
 • •••• 
 
 An hour later, standing side by side in 
 the open doorway of the cabin, Sheila and 
 
362 THE TRAIL TO YESTERDAY 
 
 Dakota watched in silence while Langford, 
 having signed a confession dictated by Da- 
 kota, mounted his pony and rode slowly up 
 the river trail toward Lazette. 
 
 He slowly passed the timber clump near 
 the cabin, and with bowed head traveled up 
 the long slope which led to the rise upon 
 which, in another time, Sheila had caught 
 her last glimpse of the parson. It was in 
 the cold, bleak moment of the morning when 
 darkness has not yet gone and the dawn not 
 come, and Langford looked strangely deso- 
 late out there on the trail alone — alone with 
 thoughts more desolate than his surround- 
 ings. 
 
 Sheila shivered and snuggled closer to 
 Dakota. He looked down at her with a 
 sympathetic smile. 
 
 " It is so lonesome," she said. 
 
 "Where? "he asked. 
 
 " Out there — where he is going." 
 
 Dakota did not answer. For a long time 
 they watched the huddled form of the rider. 
 They saw him approach the crest of the rise 
 — reach it. Then from the mountains in the 
 eastern distance came a shaft of light, strik- 
 
INTO THE UNKNOWN 363 
 
 ing the summit of the rise where the rider 
 bestrode his pony — throwing both into bold 
 relief. For a moment the rider halted the 
 pony, turned, glanced back an instant, and 
 was gone. 
 
 THE END 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
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