“And he sticks on it. It’s a game
with him, boys. He plays at it like a big kid!”
In the hush of astonishment, the eyes of Kate misted.
Something in that last speech had stung her cruelly.
Something had to be done, and quickly, to save young
Terry Hollis. But what power could influence him?
It was that thought which brought her to the hope
for a solution. A very vague and faraway hope
to which she clung and which unravelled slowly in
her imagination. Before she left the kitchen,
her plan was made, and immediately after breakfast,
she went to her room and dressed for a long journey.
“I’m going over the hills to visit the
Stockton girls,” she told her father. “Be
gone a few days.”
His mind was too filled with hope for the future to
understand her. He nodded idly, and she was gone.
She roped the toughest mustang of her “string”
in the corral, and ten minutes later she was jogging
down the trail. Halfway down a confused group
of riders—some dozen in all—swarmed
up out of the lower trail. Sheriff McGuire rode
out on a sweating horse that told of fierce and long
riding and stopped her.
His salutation was brief; he plunged into the heart
of his questions. Had she noticed anything unusual
this morning? Which of the men had been absent
from the house last night? Particularly, who went
out with Black Jack’s kid?
“Nobody left the house,” she said steadily.
“Not a soul.”
And she kept a blank eye on the sheriff while he bit
his lip and studied her.
“Kate,” he said at length, “I don’t
blame you for not talking. I don’t suppose
I would in your place. But your dad has about
reached the end of the rope with us. If you got
any influence, try to change him, because if he don’t
do it by his own will, he’s going to be changed
by force!”
And he rode on up the trail, followed by the silent
string of riders on their grunting, tired horses.
She gave them only a careless glance. Joe Pollard
had baffled officers of the law before, and he would
do it again. That was not her great concern on
this day.
Down the trail she sent her mustang again, and broke
him out into a stiff gallop on the level ground below.
She headed straight through the town, and found a
large group collected in and around the bank building.
They turned and looked after her, but no one spoke
a greeting. Plainly the sheriff’s suspicions
were shared by others.
She shook that shadow out of her head and devoted
her entire attention to the trail which roughened
and grew narrow on the other side of the town.
Far away across the mountains lay her goal—the
Cornish ranch.
