Leander having disposed of his last dish-towel, squinted at it through his
half-closed eyes, like an artist "sighting" a landscape, saw apparently
that it was in drawing, and next brought his vision to bear on the back
premises of his own dwelling, where he saw there was no wifely figure in
evidence.

"Sh-sh-h!" he said, creeping towards Mary, his dull face transfigured with
the consciousness that he had news to tell. "Sh-sh—her brother’s a
rustler. If ’twan’t for her"—Leander went through the grewsome pantomime
of tying an imaginary rope round his neck and throwing it over the limb of
an imaginary tree. "They’re goin’ to get him for shore this time, soon as
he comes out of jail; but would you guess it from her bluff?"

There was no mistaking the fate of a rustler after Mr. Dax’s grisly
demonstration, but of the quality of his calling Mary was as ignorant as
before.

"And why should they do that?" she inquired, with tenderfoot simplicity.

"Stealin’ cattle ain’t good for the health hereabouts," said Leander, as
one who spoke with authority. "It’s apt to bring on throat trouble."

But Mary did not find Leander’s joke amusing. She had suddenly remembered
the pale, gaunt man who had walked into the eating-house the previous
morning and walked out again, his errand turned into farce-comedy by the
cowardice of an unworthy antagonist. The pale man’s grievance had had to
do with sheep and cattle. His name had been Rodney, too. She understood
now. He was Judith Rodney’s brother, and he was in danger of being hanged.
Mary Carmichael felt first the admiration of a girl, then the pity of a
woman, for the brave young creature who so stoutly carried so unspeakable