Lassiter looked at the grave and then out into space. At that
moment he seemed a figure of bronze.

Jane touched Venters's arm and led him back to the horses.

"Bern!" cried Jane, when they were out of hearing. "Suppose
Lassiter were Milly's husband--the father of that little girl
lost so long ago!"

"It might be, Jane. Let us ride on. If he wants to see us again
he'll come."

So they mounted and rode out to the cattle trail and began to
climb. From the height of the ridge, where they had started down,
Venters looked back. He did not see Lassiter, but his glance,
drawn irresistibly farther out on the gradual slope, caught sight
of a moving cloud of dust.

"Hello, a rider!"

"Yes, I see," said Jane.

"That fellow's riding hard. Jane, there's something wrong."

"Oh yes, there must be....How he rides!"

The horse disappeared in the sage, and then puffs of dust marked
his course.

"He's short-cut on us--he's making straight for the corrals."