"It's up to him," answered the cattleman, his jaw set like a vise.
"Persuade him to git out, and there'll be no blood shed."

"You have no right to ask it of him. You ought not----" She stopped,
aware of the futility of urging a moral consideration upon the man,
and fell back upon the practical. "He couldn't travel that soon, even
if he wanted to. He's not strong enough. You know that."

"All right. We'll call it a week. If he's still here a week from
to-day, there will be trouble."

With that, he turned on his heel and left the room. They heard his
spurs trailing across the porch and jingling down the steps, after
which they caught a momentary vision of him, dark and sinister, as his
horse flashed past the window.

The ranger smiled, but rather seriously. "The fat's in the fire now,
sure enough, ma'am."

She turned anxiously upon him. "Why did you tell him all that? Why did
you let him go away, believing you were here as a spy to trap him and
his friends?"

"I let him have the truth. Anyhow, I couldn't have made good with a
denial. He had the evidence. I can't keep him from believing what he
wants to."

"He'll tell all his friends. He'll exaggerate the facts and stir up
sentiment against you. He'll say you came here as a detective, to get
evidence against the Squaw Creek raiders." "Then he'll tell the