chuckled the Red Fox.

"I did," said Hale coolly, and the old man chuckled again.

"She's a purty leetle gal--shore."

"Who is?" asked Hale, looking calmly at his questioner, and the
Red Fox lapsed into baffled silence.

The moon was brilliant and the night was still. Suddenly the Red
Fox cocked his ear like a hound, and without a word slipped
swiftly within the cabin. A moment later Hale heard the galloping
of a horse and from out the dark woods loped a horseman with a
Winchester across his saddle bow. He pulled in at the gate, but
before he could shout "Hello" the Red Fox had stepped from the
porch into the moonlight and was going to meet him. Hale had never
seen a more easy, graceful, daring figure on horseback, and in the
bright light he could make out the reckless face of the man who
had been the first to flash his pistol in town that day--Bad Rufe
Tolliver. For ten minutes the two talked in whispers--Rufe bent
forward with one elbow on the withers of his horse but lifting his
eyes every now and then to the stranger seated in the porch--and
then the horseman turned with an oath and galloped into the
darkness whence he came, while the Red Fox slouched back to the
porch and dropped silently into his seat.

"Who was that?" asked Hale.

"Bad Rufe Tolliver."