“We can catch him!” shouted Ben, hoarsely.

  “Nope. We cain’t,” replied Nevada, tragically.

  Ben felt something burst within him — a knot of bound emotion — or riot of blood — or collapse of will — he never knew what. But with the spring of a panther he was out of his saddle, confronting Nevada.

  “We’ve got four men here. With us it makes seven!”

  “Aw, my Gawd! Ben, you wouldn’t—”

  “I would,” hissed Ben. “I’ll have that red horse. Say you’ll help me.”

  “I’m damned if I will!” yelled Nevada, shrilly. His dark face grew dusky red and his eyes dilated.

  “I never reminded you of your debt to me,” went on Ben, in swift inexorable speech. “I remind you now.”

  “Hell, yes!” roared Nevada, “if you put it that way. But, you locoed idiot — I’ll never forgive you.”

  “Lighten your horses — untie your lassoes,” ordered Ben, and then, drawing his clasp knife, he opened it and strode back to Hall. He knew that he was under the sway of a passion of power of which he had never before been aware. It made him unstable as water. At the same time it strung him to unquenchable spirit and incalculable strength.

  “Hall, there’s a wild stallion out here on the ice. I’ve wanted him for years. If I promise to let you and your men go free will you help me catch him?”

  Hall bent his shaggy head to peer the closer into Ben’s face, as if he needed scrutiny to corroborate hearing.

  “Yes, I will,” he boomed.

  Without more ado Ben cut his bonds and passed on to the next rustler. Soon he had released them all.

  “You needn’t go,” he said to the cripple.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I will,” replied this man, cheerfully. “I can’t ride hard, but I can yell an’ fill up a hole. I’ve chased wild horses.”

  Ben ran back to his mount and with nimble fingers lightened his saddle, tightened the cinch, and untied his rope. The rustlers got off to stretch their legs.

  “Cinch up,” he panted. “Nevada, take two men — and go around to the left. Keep out of sight. I’ll take — Hall and another man — with me. We’ll cross — the river. Modoc, you stay here — till we both show on the banks. Then ride in.... We’ll close in on Red slow.... Soon as he gets to running he’ll slip — on the ice.... He’ll fall and slide... That’ll demoralise him.... Rest — will be — easy!”

  Nevada rode off with two of the men, while Ben, calling Hall and Jenks, wheeled back toward the barn and went down to the river. The ice cracked and swayed, but held the horses. Once across, Ben led the way at a swift gallop round to the west of the lake, keeping out of sight of the wild horses. When he reached a point far enough along the lake he swerved to the height of ground. As he surmounted it he saw Nevada with his two riders come into sight across the lake, and another glance showed Modoc, with his followers, emerging by the mouth of the river.

  California Red was a mile out on the ice, coming directly toward Ben. His stride was a stilted trot, and he lost it at every other step. His red mane curled up in the wind. The six horses were strung out behind him. Discovering Ben, the stallion let out a piercing whistle and wheeled. Then his feet flew out from under him and he fell. Frantically he tried to rise, but his smooth hoofs on the slippery ice did not catch hold.

  “Ah, my beauty!”’ yelled Ben, wildly, with all his might. “It’s no square chase — but you’re mine — you’re mine.”

  The other wild tiorses wheeled without losing their footing, and soon drew from the slipping, sliding stallion. At last he got up on four feet and turned toward his band. It seemed that he knew he dared not run. At every step one of his hoofs slipped out from under him. Ben caught the yells of his helpers. They were running their horses down the sandy slope toward the ice. Another wild horse went down and then another. It was almost impossible for them to rise. They slid around like tops.

  Meanwhile, swift as the wind, Ben was running his fast horse down to the lake, distancing his followers, who came yelling behind. Hall’s heavy voice pealed out, full of the wild spirit of the chase. Ben reached the ice. The sharp iron shoes of his horse cut and broke through the first few rods, but reaching solid ice, they held. Ben reined in to wait for the men to spread and form a circle. Nevada was far out on the ice now, and he had closed the one wide avenue to the west. Soon the eight riders had closed in to a half-mile arc, with the open lake as an aid.

  California Red turned back from the narrowing gap between Nevada and the lake. When he wheeled to the west Modoc’s group left a gateway for the wild horses nearest. They plunged and ran and slid and fell — got up to plunge again, and at least earned their freedom. This left two besides the stallion on the ice. He appeared at terrible disadvantage. Wild and instinct with wonderful speed, he could not exercise it. The riders closed in. Nevada rode between Red and the open water. Another of the horses escaped through a gap.

  “Close in, slow now,” bawled Ben, swinging the noose of his lasso.

  The moment was fraught with a madness of rapture. How sure the outcome! Presently the great stallion would stampede and try to run. That was all Ben wanted. For when Red tried to run on that glassy ice his doom was sealed.

  He was trotting here, there, back again, head erect, mane curled, tail sweeping a living flame of horse-flesh. Terror would soon master him. His snorts seemed more piercingly acute, as if he protested against the apparent desertion of his band.

  “Farther around, Modoc,” yelled Ben. “Same for you, Nevada — on other side. Keep him in triangle.... Now, men, ride in — yell like hell. And block him when he runs.”

  Suddenly the red horse gathered himself in a knot. How grandly he sprang! And he propelled his magnificent body into a convulsive run, with every hoof sliding from under him. Straight toward Ben he came, his nostrils streaming white, his hoofs cracking like pistol shots. It seemed that his wild spirit enabled him to overcome even this impossible obstacle of ice, for he kept erect until he was shooting with incomparable speed.

  At the height of it he slipped, plunged on his side with a snort of terror, turned on his back, and as he slid with swift momentum over the ice, his hoofs in the air, Ben’s lasso uncurled like a striking snake. The noose fell over the forelegs and tightened.

  Lusty yells from leather lungs! California Red had run into a rope. Ben hauled in his skilful horse. The great stallion flopped back on his side. The rope came taut to straighten out his legs, and stop him short. He could not rise. When he raised his beautiful head the Indian’s rope circled his neck. His race was run.

  Nevada came trotting up, noose in hand, white of face and fierce of eye.

  “Pard, he’s ruined us, but he’s worth it or I’m a livin’ sinner,” he shouted.

  Ben gazed almost in stupefaction down upon the heaving graceful animal. California Red lay helpless, beaten, robbed of his incomparable speed. Every red line of him spoke to Ben’s thrilling soul.

  “Wal, Ide,” boomed Bill Hall, slapping Ben on the shoulder, “I’m glad you ketched this grand hoss.... You’re a good sport. Put her thar!... If I had time I’d tell you somethin’. But I see riders comin’ along the lake an’ we must rustle.”

  CHAPTER XIV

  AS DAY AFTER day passed at the Blaine ranch, Ina watched and prayed for the return of her father. She dreaded the thought of Setter coming back to find her alone. She no longer feared him, but he could make the situation there most exasperating, if not actually distressing. Moreover, there was always the uncertainty.

  Two of Blaine’s cowboys rode in with pack-horses for another week’s supplies. They reported a most unsatisfactory situation at the head of Forlorn River, and that in consequence Blaine was in bad temper. Marvie caught a few words not meant for his ears, to the effect that Strobel had conflicted with the cowboys.

  Sunday, about noon. Setter arrived. It was Marvie who brought the news to Ina. She and the lad had grown closer than ever in the opposition to Less Setter and the forces that seemed bent upon destroying Ben Ide.

  Ina fortified herself against something inevitable and disastrous. Her mother and Marvie were adequate protectors in a way but she could not be with either all the time. Marvie had his work and his play, and to have been deprived of his fishing would have broken his heart. Twice he had returned from Forlorn River with smashed fishing tackle and most extraordinary tales.

  From the camp Ina kept pretty close watch on the ranch. She possessed a field-glass, which she brought to bear upon other places than Forlorn River. Setter passed under her sight several times that day, manifestly in serious council with the sheriff, Judd, and his deputy, Walker. From her tent Ina watched them, and after each look her resentment augmented. How she hated this sleek coarse man of intrigue!

  Naturally she expected Setter to approach her sometime that afternoon or early evening. When he did not, she experienced relief, yet a sense of calamity. Marvie, who played eavesdropper outside Setter’s cabin an hour after dark, rather added to the complications of the case. He reported that Setter and the two officers talked endlessly, but too low for him to get at the drift of their conversation. Marvie protested, however, that they must be hatching some plot.

  Next morning he tapped on Ina’s tent door while she was dressing. She peeped out. “Hello, early fisher bird! Are you after worms?”

  “Naw, they’re snakes,” he retorted, with his bright smile. “Look, Sis. There goes Judd an’ Walker, with pack outfits. On the Forlorn River trail!”

  After a moment’s survey of the grey waste beyond the ranch, Ina made out four horses headed down toward the lake.

  “Wonder what they’re up to?” she mused.

  “After Ben,” muttered Marvie, darkly. “An’ they’re goin’ to ransack Ben’s ranch before huntin’ him.... Ina, if you’ll lie to dad for me, case it’s necessary, I’ll ride around the other side of the lake an’ see what Judd is up to.”

  “I’ll say I sent you and fight for you, Marvie. Go. Take my field-glass and keep out of sight,” she replied, resolutely.

  An hour after breakfast, as had been her custom since her father’s absence, Ina went down to the ranch office. She had completed the small tasks he had grudgingly permitted her to undertake, but she did not let that keep her from going. Indeed, she needed to precipitate whatever it was that seemed inevitable.

  As some of the ranch hands were always within call, the office was perhaps the safest place for Ina. Ina was sitting at her father’s desk with open record book before her and pen in hand when Setter’s frame filled the doorway.

  “Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said, blandly.

  Ina did not look up or reply, and went on writing.

  Setter laughed and there was something in his laugh that rankled deep in Ina, dissipating indifference if not self-control. He advanced slowly and sat upon the desk near her.

  “Ina, aren’t you goin’ to say good mornin’?” he went on, pleasantly.

  “Not to you,” she replied, and rose to face him, outwardly composed. His appearance had vastly improved since she last saw him, though his features still bore the marks of the beating Ben had given him. There was visible, too, more of that strange confidence in his utter mastery of this situation. It inflamed Ina — baffled her — roused her to battle.

  “Mr. Setter, will you please leave the office?” she requested coldly. “I’ve work, and I can’t do it with you here.”

  “Why not get used to me?” he retorted, subtly.

  “Nothing could induce me to.”

  “Sharp of tongue this mornin’,” he muttered, eyeing her speculatively with his bold gaze. “What’s come over you?”

  “My feelings are none of your business,” flashed Ina. “Will you get out of here?”

  “No. An’ you can’t put me out,” he returned insolently. “If you’ve got to be told, this office belongs more to me than to Hart Blaine.”

  Ina betrayed no surprise. This was precisely what she had expected and wanted to hear. Affronting this man might lead her into an embarrassing if not hazardous situation, but it certainly was productive of information.

  “Indeed? But I think you’re a liar,” she said, just as insolently.

  “It’s no lie,” he returned, louder, and his olive-skinned face began to take on a heated tinge. “I’ve got your father’s paper. The McAdam deal fell through. Amos Ide finally refuses the backing he promised. The Hammell bank holds Blaine notes for two hundred thousand. An’ when I say so they shut down on him. That’ll take his ranch, an’ I’ve got his cattle.”

  “Well, assuming all this is true — what then?” queried Ina.

  “You marry me or I’ll ruin him,” snapped Setter, leaning toward her.

  “Mr. Setter, do you still harp on that?” asked Ina, in pretended amaze.

  “On what?” he rasped.

  “Marriage. It’s too ridiculous. Even if I didn’t despise you I wouldn’t marry you.”

  “I tell you I’ll ruin your father,” shouted Setter, angrily. “I can make him a pauper.”

  “Do it, then,” flashed Ina, passionately. “Who’d care? My mother and I would welcome poverty. We hate this sudden wealth. That has ruined father, as much as crooked men like you.”

  “Bah! I don’t swaller that, Miss Ina Blaine,” said Setter. But it was plain that her unexpected repudiation of his offer and indifference to her father’s ruin staggered him, and therefore made him furious.

  “I don’t care what you ‘swaller’,” rejoined Ina. “But get out of here or let me out.”

  “Just you wait till I’m through talkin’,” he went on, with calculating eyes. “I didn’t tell you I can put your father in jail for hirin’ rustlers. Wal, I can.”

  Ina saw in his face that he was telling the truth, if not all the truth. This, then, had been the secret of his veiled power; and he unmasked himself before her because he believed she dared not betray him. Indeed, the thought of disgrace and imprisonment for her father filled her with exceeding bitterness, but she did not weaken under it. After a momentary faltering she was again strong, with keen mind revolving and grasping the possibilities Setter’s brutal candour laid open.

  “Oh, I see!” she spoke up, mockingly. “A while back it was poor Ben Ide who was an accomplice of rustlers. Now it’s my dad.... I suppose you mean that dad and Ben Ide are partners in crime.”

  “I’ll run Ben Ide out of the country or put him in jail,” hissed Setter.

  “You will not!”

  “Oh-ho! You flare up about Ben, eh? More than about your father. I begin to see a nigger in the woodpile.”

  “If my father has been such a fool — such a greedy fool as to let you make him dishonest — he deserves disgrace, and jail too,” declared Ina, hotly. “But Ben Ide is as good as gold. He’s been driven away from home and friends. He’s honest. He’s true. And the truth will prevail. Your vile insinuations, your lying evidences, can be torn to tatters by any honest magistrate.... It’s you, Less Setter, who’d better run out of the country. For I’ll stand by Ben Ide until he’s vindicated.”

  “The hell you say!” ejaculated Setter, stridently, and with swift movement he grasped her arm. “What’s Ben Ide to you?”

  “Let go of me! That’s none of your business either, but you’re welcome to know,” cried Ina, suddenly ceasing her effort to get away from him. “I love Ben Ide.... I’m engaged to him.... I intend to marry him.”

  “Ben Ide!... You white-faced cat!” he returned hoarsely, in a rage of defeat and amaze. Livid, savage, he dragged her to him. “Then Ben Ide will get what I leave!”

  Instead of weakening under his rude clutch and vile kisses, Ina became endowed with almost superhuman strength. Clenching her fists she pounded his face, aiming at his sore and discoloured eye. Her aim went true. She hurt him terribly, for he uttered a kind of hoarse bawl and momentarily lost his equilibrium. Then Ina wrestled away from him and pushed him with all the violence she could summon. Setter tripped on a chair and fell heavily. Ina darted out at the open door, and hurrying toward camp, panting and hot, shaking in every muscle, she swore that if Setter attacked her again she would kill him.

  Marvie did not return until after dark. He said he had watched Judd and Walker through the glass, and had been able to gather that they pretty well took possession of Ben’s cabin and were not going to leave soon. Marvie had seen them carry what looked like a sack out into the barn and then reappear empty-handed. They left barn doors and corral gates open.

  “Likely they’ll stay there until Ben returns,” said Marvie.

  “Ben won’t come soon,” rejoined Ina, broodingly.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “Marvie, you mustn’t breathe it. Ben went away to catch the very rustlers he’s supposed to work secretly with.”

  “Bill Hall’s outfit? The cowboys say Ben is in cahoots with Hall.... It looks funny — Ben goin’ off now just when they’re lookin’ for him. An’, Ina, how’n earth could Ben with only two pardners ketch a whole rustler gang? Dang it!”

  And evidently Marvie went away labouring under a doubt. What he had said found lodgment in the fertile seeking soil of Ina’s mind. Despite her uttermost faith in Ben, she could not but admit that even a boy’s logic was incontestable. Loyally and prayerfully she tried not to ponder and brood over things she could not understand. Her duty was clear.

  Next morning to Ina’s extreme surprise Setter rode away from the ranch alone, leading a pack-horse. He, too, took the direction of Forlorn River. Was he going to join the officers from Redlands or her father? Ina calculated that Setter would do both. Thus the plot revolving around Ben Ide thickened and lengthened its ramifications.

  Camp life during the August days was delightful, except perhaps in the very early morning, when at this altitude the air was too cold. The days passed, and Ina accommodated herself to the best obtainable from them. As before, she found work and play preferable to idle moments. These were conducive to the dominance of the hydra-headed dread that would not stay quiet. It was well, she thought, that Hettie Ide had postponed her visit. She could not have kept the truth from Hettie, either the love of Nevada or Ben’s terrible predicament.