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Coming out of the mesa the following Sunday, Lin Ballou arrived in front of Hank Colqueen's ranch to find that slow-moving, sunburned giant still tugging away at his fence wire, some distance farther down the Snake River Road. Halting to exchange gossip, Lin was shrewd enough to perceive that the man was far less amiable than on preceding occasions, a fact he stored away in his memory as just another omen of his own increasing unpopularity. This, however, he found not to be the whole reason, for he had not passed a dozen words when Hank turned to the ever-present subject of water and the irrigation project.

"Working on it already?" Lin asked, a little surprised. "Why, it hasn't been more than a week since you fellows got the idea in your heads."

"Sooner we start, the sooner we'll get water," Colqueen replied, abandoning his wire-puller. "Got the makings? I ain't been to Powder for supplies nigh onto a month." He took sack and papers from Lin, his fiery red face all furrowed in scowls.

"I saw a whole line of wagons striking across the desert," Lin said. "Looks like they're taking a powerful lot of supplies into Lake Esprit."

Colqueen stopped midway in the process of building his cigarette and turned a fretful countenance on Lin. "Yeah, they are taking a lot of supplies in. You know why?"

"Uh-uh."

"Well, I'll tell you," Colqueen said, displaying rare belligerence for a man who usually was so serene and imperturbable. "The damn fools up there got careless and had a fire. Burned down their storehouse. Lost all the tools and grub. Three thousand dollars went up in smoke, night before last." He stared across the flat waste of land. "It makes me plumb sick to think of it. Three thousand dollars, Lin! Why, that's a small fortune to us fellows. And nary a cent's good come of it. Yes, sir, when I heard of it I pushed my dinner plate away and almost bawled. Money ain't that easy to get."

"You got stock in the proposition?" Lin asked.

"Sure have. I raised five hundred dollars."

"Hank, you must have been hoarding all that wealth."

"Slapped a mortgage on the place," Plank said gloomily. "Took me five years to clear it of debt and then I go and get myself right back in. Bank in Powder wouldn't take it, but there was an agent from a Portland corporation hereabouts that swung the deal for me and a bunch of other folks. Oh, I don't regret the money. It's for a good cause. But sometimes I have my doubts about the management."

"Why?" Lin said swiftly.

"Well, they might have hired valley folks to do the digging and general work. That would have kept the money circulating here. But no, they wouldn't do that. Had to go over to the Coast and import a lot of Chinamen. Work lots cheaper, they said."

"Whose idea was that?"

"Lestrade's, I reckon. We made him general manager, with Judge Henry as sort of a president of the board. The judge, he balked on that idea, too, but come around to Lestrade's way of thinking, finally. Oh, maybe the man's right. I try to keep an open mind on the subject. Cheapest way is the best way—but damn it, a fellow don't like to see foreigners lopping around the landscape, taking the bread and butter out of his mouth."

"Huh," Lin said reflectively.

He went on, forgetting to take the makings with him, forgetting to ask the news of the outside world. Here was fodder enough for his mind to keep him in a dark study all the way down the road to his own place. He was still turning it over, with increasing distrust for the whole affair, when, some time in the afternoon he drew up before the Henry ranch.

Gracie and the judge were sitting in the shade of the porch, and it made Lin forget the troublous news when he saw her. He carried the picture of this girl with him always. It made little difference whether he rode in the heat of the day or camped at night beside some solitary fire on the high mesa; this straight and sturdy figure with the clear, frank eyes and the welcoming smile was an almost constant companion in his mind. Not that Lin Ballou was an overly sentimental fellow; he distinctly was not. His early training had brought him so close to the hardships and cruelties of a new, raw land that he had been whipped into a hard, self-reliant, practical man. But even so, Gracie Hemy meant a lot to him and his spirits always rose when he came to the Henry place. A broad, cheerful grin lighted his face as he swung down, dusted himself and walked over to the porch.

"Howdy, folks. Gracie, you look prettier than any picture. Always do. You're the one gal in this climate who seems to thrive on sand and heat."

Gracie tucked an arm around his elbow. "If you had to see me every day you'd not be so complimentary. Any girl's face looks good after a week of jackrabbits."

"Now that," Lin said, "is a shocking statement for you to make. Judge, you're the same amiable gentleman as always. Hope the new water system progresses in a satisfactory manner."

"Hem," the judge said irritably.

Lin's pleasantry had been purely for effect. It took but a single glance to see that the judge had aged perceptibly in the short term of a week. The skin of his puffy face looked more sallow than usual, and a heavy cloud of worry dulled his eyes. He was not the type to bear up well under great responsibility. The man's egotism fed on neighborly praise, and now that he was hearing from certain disgruntled settlers like Hank Colqueen, he grew morose and more sarcastic.

"Understand there's been a slight bonfire up the line," Lin continued by way of making talk. He settled himself on the porch steps in a manner that he might command Gracie's face as she rocked in the chair.

"What of it?" Judge Henry snapped, "Godamighty, don't fires come to all places? Unavoidable accident."

"Sure, sure," Lin soothed. "Some of the boys, I hear, don't like the Chinese coming in."

"Can't please everybody," was Henry's tart reply. "I thought the men of this valley were responsible people. Half of them are nothing but children. Always complaining. We are doing the best we can—myself and Mr. Lestrade. When this project's finished they'll have me to thank for most of it, but I doubt if they'll ever give me any thanks. That's gratitude for you! Another time and I shall know better than to try to help such fools."

"Father," Gracie said quietly, "that's an unkind word to use on your neighbors."

"Fools!" Judge Henry repeated with more emphasis.

"Who," Lin asked after some moments of thought, "takes care of the money?"

"It's in the Powder bank," the judge said. "Mr. Steel is paymaster. A suggestion I made."

The girl rose. "You're going to town, aren't you, Lin? Well, you wait a minute while I saddle Vixen and I'll go with you. I have some shopping to do."

The judge spoke out with unusual vigor and frankness. "Gracie, you want to remember I've got a reputation to maintain. There's entirely too much talk—"

Gracie hushed him with a single, swift, half-angry glance. So unusual was it for her to lose her temper that the judge subsided, grumbling. Lin checked a hot volley of words and walked to his horse. He had put up with a great deal of unfriendliness from the judge and a great deal of outright scorn. Of late, that unfriendliness had greatly increased, and Lin, in spite of his attempt at an easygoing manner with the man, had been sorely galled. Only Gracie's presence and Gracie's timely intervention kept him discreet.

Gracie rode up, and together they swung away from the house and down the highway.

"Your dad," Lin said, "has got too much on his chest. This water deal won't help him any."

"Don't I know it!" Gracie replied strongly. "He hasn't been himself a moment since it started. Lin, I'm worried. Every day it seems something's gone wrong or some one of the valley folks comes to quarrel. How I wish Mr. Lestrade had never employed the Chinese. You can't imagine how bitter it made everyone feel. It may save money, but it won't save tempers."

They turned around a clump of poplars and came upon a tall, sprawling piece of machinery planted not far from the road. It was an immense ditch digger with long arms and an endless chain of buckets. A plume of steam hissed out of a pipe and a group of men loitered on its shady side. Behind it trailed a wake of upturned earth.

"There," Gracie said, "is another piece of trouble. Mr. Lestrade had a construction company rush that down here immethately. It dug a few yards of ditch and broke. Now they've got to wait for spare parts from Portland, while the whole crew sits in the shade and draws pay."

"Meanwhile, also," Lin noted as they passed by, "it bums fuel in a completely unnecessary manner."

"They say they must keep the boiler in shape."

Lin nodded. "They would say that. Gracie, girl, there's more in this than meets the naked eye."

"What do you mean, Lin?"

He didn't answer, and for the rest of the trip into Powder they were altogether silent. Once in town they separated, agreeing to meet again at the end of twenty minutes. Lin tied his horse by the general store and crossed to the postoffice for his mail. This time, he noted, the hatchet-faced purveyor of letters literally threw the mail through the wicket and slammed it shut, all without comment. Being an equable-minded fellow, Lin mustered a slight grin and went out to the street. With the exception of one particular letter, he dismissed the collection as unimportant. This letter he held up to the light, and then tucked it into his pocket without opening it.

Company's directions to Bill, I guess, he surmised.

His next move was to loiter down the street to a point opposite James J. Lestrade's office and stare through the window in an absent-minded manner. The place was empty, but in the adjoining office he had a glimpse of Dan Rounds, half asleep with his feet cocked up on the table.

Somebody mentioned Dan as being lawyer for this irrigation project, he recalled. Well, there's one honest man connected with this deal, anyhow.

Mulling over this haphazard conjecture, he passed to the shady side of the street and walked by the bank. It so happened that the cashier, Archer Steele, was near the plate glass window, idly staring into the dusty thoroughfare. He looked sharply at Lin Ballou. His sharp, pretematurally sober face kept its expression, and the slaty, cautious eyes did not betray even a flicker of recognition. Lin passed on with a small excitement rising in his breast. The suspicion which had been slowly working in him all during the day rose to higher pitch, and he found himself saying over and over again, to himself, Treasurer, is he? That man's crooked—dead crooked! He's crooked, damn it!

Dropping into the store, he gave an order for supplies as usual. This time, after the sack had been filled and passed to him, Stagg, the proprietor, cleared his throat and spoke somewhat nervously.

"Mr. Ballou—Lin—you know times is pretty hard with us folks. Let's see, your account's run two months now, ain't it? I was wondering if you could pay something down. Of course—"

Lin stared at Stagg in a manner that confused him and made him forget the gist of his request.

"If you mean pay up," Lin said, "why don't you come round to it in less words? Habit in these parts is to pay three-month stretches, ain't it? That's the way you and I have done business for eight years."

"Times," the storekeeper repeated doggedly, "are getting hard."

"Far as this valley is concerned," Lin remarked, reaching into his pocket, "they never were anything but hard. Don't worry, Stagg, you'll never lose a cent from me—or get another one." He threw two gold pieces on the counter, and the groceryman's hand fell eagerly over them.

The man pawed around a till for the proper change, meanwhile protesting, "Don't take it unkindly, Lin. But—you know—"

"I know there's a good deal of talk going around which concerns me," Lin said. "If that's biting you, all right. This valley is so soured on itself that a bee would die of poisoning if it stung anybody."

With that pronouncement he walked out in no favorable frame of mind. Nor was he to fare better outside, for on emerging from the store he came directly upon Gracie Henry and W. W. Offut. Gracie broke off in the middle of a sentence to speak to Lin.

"I'm through now if you are."

"All set," Lin said.

Offut straightened his great body and directed a steady gaze at Lin. The man had an extremely serious face and a pair of steel-blue eyes. When he turned them on any particular object they had all the effect of a brace of guns. Extremely few people had withstood those eyes, and none wished to arouse the temper behind them. No other man in the breadth and length of the country was quite so much respected as W. W. Offut. He was rigidly honest, rigidly fair, and in the course of a long life he had personally tracked down a score of outlaws and cattle thieves. The rumor was that Offut, when a very young man, had killed an opponent with a single blow of his fist. No one knew the truth of the tradition, and no one ventured to ask. As for emotion, he rarely displayed it. He maintained a kind of stiff courtesy in all his dealings with others, except in one matter. Every time a baby was born in the county, W. W. Offut sent the parents twenty dollars' worth of groceries, and at some time, sooner or later, he was sure to come personally and tickle the infant with his own immense finger.

So much for the man who, by a single act, had sent rumors flying through the valley as to Lin Ballou's honesty. At the present moment his eyes rested unwaveringly on Lin, while the latter returned the glance with a clouded brow. Finally the cattleman nodded and doffed his hat to the girl, speaking courteously.

"Miss Gracie, you give your dad my particular respects and tell him I hope he will find his business goes along in good style." Inclining his head once more, he clapped on his hat and strolled away.

Gracie gathered her bundles and jumped into the saddle. Lin got to his own horse and they rode silently out of town. The girl maintained a puzzled, worried air and her cheeks glowed pink with some kind of emotion which she seemed to be fighting. At last, when they were a good mile down the highway she turned toward Lin and spoke frankly.

"If I hadn't seen with my own eyes I never, never would have believed it. All this foolish talk around the valley I would never listen to. But, Lin, you've got to be honest with me. Why should Mr. Offut treat you like that?"

"Not being on speaking terms with him, I couldn't tell you, Gracie."

"That's no answer. You must have an idea."

"Oh, I've got lots of ideas," Lin said, smiling a little.

"Well, then," she prompted.

Lin turned sober. "Gracie, I want you to trust me without asking too many questions. Maybe sometime I can answer them. But not now."

"It's not fair," she said bitterly. "How am I to answer all the sneers and whispers I hear about you? Why, my own father speaks of you as a common thief! How can I answer him when you tell me nothing? Must I stand by and let them run your reputation into the ground?"

Lin bowed his head. For a moment humor and courage deserted him, and he was on the point of defending himself. But with the words on his tongue he regained control. "Guess you'd better let them talk, Gracie. Talk's cheap."

"But your reputation isn't cheap," Gracie cried. "Tell me this—have you ever found the slightest trace of gold in the hills to justify your keeping on with the search?"

"There may be gold in the mesa," Lin said candidly, "but I've never spent a minute trying to find it."

"Then that's a cover-up for something else?"

"Yes, Gracie."

"And you can't tell me, can't trust me?"

"No, Gracie, I can trust you. I'd trust you to the end of the world—but it's not my part to tell you."

They rode in silence for a long, long time. "I won't ask you to tell me," she said at last. "But what about your land and your house? You haven't touched them for months. What will become of the place? What of your future, Lin?"

"Does that matter to you?"

The question brought a flush to her cheeks. Yet she was a girl of courage and she answered bravely enough. "You ought to know it does."

Lin slapped the saddle resoundingly. "Out of a very, very sad world that comes as the one mighty cheering piece of news. You take heart, Gracie. Things are coming to a head now, I think. It won't be long before I can tell you everything."

They were approaching the Henry place. Gracie was as solemn and disturbed as he had ever seen her.

"I try to keep heart, Lin, but it seems as if every blessed thing is going wrong. Folks abuse you to my face. Dad's not himself, and somehow I mistrust everything Mr. Lestrade does or says. He comes too much to the place and every time he has some excuse to put his fat hand on my shoulder." The temper of this red-haired girl blazed up momentarily. "Some day I'll get a knife and cut his arm off!" Immediately she saw the utter foolishness of what she had said and smiled through her worries. "Oh, Lin, I don't mean to burden you with my troubles."

"I wish you could burden me more with them," Lin said. "Some day, if things go a little better, I'll ask that right."

"Lin," she said, a sudden gay laugh rippling up, "this is no place to propose, so be careful. I might fall on your neck. When will I see you again?"

He studied the high mesa, standing so isolated and cool in the distance. "Lord," he sighed, "I don't know. This week is going to be a humdinger. If all goes well, I'll be back in five-six days. If not—"

The tip of her finger rested on his hand a moment, cool and reassuring. "Good-bye, then. And good luck."

She rode into the yard with a last wave, and Lin went on, thoughtful, sober.

Back in Powder, W. W. Offut strolled into the general store for a handful of cigars. Suddenly he was arrested by the groceryman's outstretched palm, in which glittered two gold pieces.

"See those?" Stagg said. "I got those from Lin Ballou in payment of his bill."

"Yes, sir," Offut replied in a kind of cool courtesy. He helped himself to the cigars and threw the change on the counter.

The storekeeper was not discouraged. "Well, it's gold, ain't it? And where would Lin get ready money? He never hesitated a minute to pay when I asked him, and I saw his wallet half full of money. He's got a ready supply. Don't that look suspicious?"

"Suspicious? Where is the suspicion, sir?"

Stagg began to be discouraged by Offut's distant manner. He had expected the cattleman to show curiosity. "Well," he continued somewhat lamely, "it looks suspicious. What with all these rumors flying around and considering how little Ballou works for a living, it does seem strange."

"How strange, sir?"

This persistent questioning began to make the storekeeper fearful. It was not his policy to speak openly unless he knew his confidant to be sympathetic. Born and bred in this land, he understood only too well the dire penalty of attacking a man's reputation. So he mumbled, "Well, I thought mebbe you'd be interested."

"Let me see the money, sir," Offut said, and the groceryman handed it over. Offut's cold blue eyes studied the coins a moment and then he passed them back. He lit a cigar, turned, and at the same time issuing a warning. "Men often find themselves in dangerous water from a loose tongue," he said, and left the store.

Offut made his way slowly down the street to the county courthouse, a small wooden building that served, in the lower part, as a center for the public business, and in the upper part, as a jail. Entering this, he found three other men, all about his age and all of his unquestioned honesty. They, too, were cattlemen and had been in the country from the very first. These three, with Offut, constituted a self-elected cattlemen's committee, and they immediately went into a kind of formal meeting.

"Rumors fly around this town as thick as mosquitoes," Offut said. "Stagg just now showed me two gold pieces Lin Ballou had given him. He as much as said that Lin had got them through selling beef."

One of the others spoke up. "Ballou's pretty well tarred with that suspicion, ain't he?"

'"Yes. General opinion in the valley." Offut put on a pair of spectacles and drew a slip of paper from his pocket. "According to my foreman, I've lost something like thirty head of stock from the mesa these last four weeks. You boys are as bad off, I guess."

Another nodded. "Mine's a little less. Well, do we ride tonight?"

Offut nodded. "Lestrade says he's got a line on a party."

"Where did he get the dope?"

Offut shook his head. "Says he's got his own sources of information. Says he'll guarantee results. We'll ride with him. I'll bring along three-four of my own boys in case of trouble."

"Lestrade didn't mention names, eh?"

"None," Offut said. "Nor does he know of our particular agent in the matter."

The four of them exchanged significant glances, as if sharing a common, unspoken thought. Offut returned the paper to his pocket.

"We'd better start from my place soon as dark sets in. No need to caution you boys about quietness. Better take a little grub, too, because we'll have to lay over a day."

They filed out one by one and rode off into the valley by various roads, all aiming toward a common objective. Not long afterward James J. Lestrade galloped hastily into the town, spent a brief moment at his office and galloped as hastily out again, taking the trail toward Offut's ranch. He had strapped two revolvers around him.