of two gunmen till they meet. Thet fact holds a fascination

mebbe you'll learn some day. Bland would treat you civil onless
there was reason not to, an' then I don't believe he'd invite

himself to a meetin' with you. He'd set Chess or Rugg to put
you out of the way. Still Bland's no coward, an' if you came

across him at a bad moment you'd have to be quicker 'n you was
with Bosomer."

"All right. I'll meet what comes," said Duane, quickly. "The
great point is to have horses ready and pick the right moment,

then rush the trick through."
"Thet's the ONLY chance fer success. An' you can't do it

alone."
"I'll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me. Leave you

behind!"
"Wal, I'll take my chances," replied Euchre, gruffly. "I'm

goin' to help Jennie, you can gamble your last peso on thet.
There's only four men in this camp who would shoot me--Bland,

an' his right-hand pards, an' thet rabbit-faced Benson. If you
happened to put out Bland and Chess, I'd stand a good show with

the other two. Anyway, I'm old an' tired--what's the difference
if I do git plugged? I can risk as much as you, Buck, even if I

am afraid of gun-play. You said correct, 'Hosses ready, the
right minnit, then rush the trick.' Thet much 's settled. Now

let's figger all the little details."
They talked and planned, though in truth it was Euchre who

planned, Duane who listened and agreed. While awaiting the
return of Bland and his lieutenants it would be well for Duane

to grow friendly with the other outlaws, to sit in a few games
of monte, or show a willingness to spend a little money. The

two schemers were to call upon Mrs. Bland every day--Euchre to
carry messages of cheer and warning to Jennie, Duane to blind

the elder woman at any cost. These preliminaries decided upon,
they proceeded to put them into action.

No hard task was it to win the friendship of the most of those
good-natured outlaws. They were used to men of a better order

than theirs coming to the hidden camps and sooner or later
sinking to their lower level. Besides, with them everything was

easy come, easy go. That was why life itself went on so
carelessly and usually ended so cheaply. There were men among

them, however, that made Duane feel that terrible inexplicable
wrath rise in his breast. He could not bear to be near them. He

could not trust himself. He felt that any instant a word, a
deed, something might call too deeply to that instinct he could

no longer control. Jackrabbit Benson was one of these men.
Because of him and other outlaws of his ilk Duane could

scarcely ever forget the reality of things. This was a hidden
valley, a robbers' den, a rendezvous for murderers, a wild

place stained red by deeds of wild men. And because of that
there was always a charged atmosphere. The merriest, idlest,

most careless moment might in the flash of an eye end in
ruthless and tragic action. In an assemblage of desperate

characters it could not be otherwise. The terrible thing that
Duane sensed was this. The valley was beautiful, sunny,

fragrant, a place to dream in; the mountaintops were always
blue or gold rimmed, the yellow river slid slowly and

majestically by, the birds sang in the cottonwoods, the horses
grazed and pranced, children played and women longed for love,

freedom, happiness; the outlaws rode in and out, free with
money and speech; they lived comfortably in their adobe homes,

smoked, gambled, talked, laughed, whiled away the idle
hours--and all the time life there was wrong, and the simplest

moment might be precipitated by that evil into the most awful
of contrasts. Duane felt rather than saw a dark, brooding

shadow over the valley.
Then, without any solicitation or encouragement from Duane, the

Bland woman fell passionately in love with him. His conscience
was never troubled about the beginning of that affair. She

launched herself. It took no great perspicuity on his part to
see that. And the thing which evidently held her in check was

the newness, the strangeness, and for the moment the
all-satisfying fact of his respect for her. Duane exerted

himself to please, to amuse, to interest, to fascinate her, and
always with deference. That was his strong point, and it had

made his part easy so far. He believed he could carry the whole
scheme through without involving himself any deeper.

He was playing at a game of love--playing with life and deaths
Sometimes he trembled, not that he feared Bland or Alloway or

any other man, but at the deeps of life he had come to see
into. He was carried out of his old mood. Not once since this

daring motive had stirred him had he been haunted by the
phantom of Bain beside his bed. Rather had he been haunted by

Jennie's sad face, her wistful smile, her eyes. He never was
able to speak a word to her. What little communication he had

with her was through Euchre, who carried short messages. But he
caught glimpses of her every time he went to the Bland house.

She contrived somehow to pass door or window, to give him a
look when chance afforded. And Duane discovered with surprise

that these moments were more thrilling to him than any with
Mrs. Bland. Often Duane knew Jennie was sitting just inside the

window, and then he felt inspired in his talk, and it was all
made for her. So at least she came to know him while as yet she

was almost a stranger. Jennie had been instructed by Euchre to
listen, to understand that this was Duane's only chance to help

keep her mind from constant worry, to gather the import of
every word which had a double meaning.

Euchre said that the girl had begun to wither under the strain,
to burn up with intense hope which had flamed within her. But

all the difference Duane could see was a paler face and darker,
more wonderful eyes. The eyes seemed to be entreating him to

hurry, that time was flying, that soon it might be too late.
Then there was another meaning in them, a light, a strange fire

wholly inexplicable to Duane. It was only a flash gone in an
instant. But he remembered it because he had never seen it in

any other woman's eyes. And all through those waiting days he
knew that Jennie's face, and especially the warm, fleeting

glance she gave him, was responsible for a subtle and gradual
change in him. This change he fancied, was only that through

remembrance of her he got rid of his pale, sickening ghosts.
One day a careless Mexican threw a lighted cigarette up into

the brush matting that served as a ceiling for Benson's den,
and there was a fire which left little more than the adobe

walls standing. The result was that while repairs were being
made there was no gambling and drinking. Time hung very heavily

on the hands of some two-score outlaws. Days passed by without
a brawl, and Bland's valley saw more successive hours of peace

than ever before. Duane, however, found the hours anything but
empty. He spent more time at Mrs. Bland's; he walked miles on

all the trails leading out of the valley; he had a care for the
condition of his two horses.

Upon his return from the latest of these tramps Euchre
suggested that they go down to the river to the boat-landing.

"Ferry couldn't run ashore this mornin'," said Euchre. "River
gettin' low an' sand-bars makin' it hard fer hosses. There's a

greaser freight-wagon stuck in the mud. I reckon we might hear