running" she said, goodnaturedly. "They've been bothering a lot this cold weather."
Lingle mumbled that he "presumed so."
"I suppose you are the new herder?"
"I came out with him," the deputy replied evasively.
"Didn't Uncle Joe come?" Kate's face fell in disappointment.
Lingle shifted his weight and looked elsewhere.
"He's in town yet," he answered.
Lingle knew instinctively that she thought Mormon Joe was drinking heavily.
Then, fixing her troubled eyes upon him she asked hesitatingly:
"Did he say when I could expect him?"
The merciless hound of the law, who had dismounted, shuffled his feet uneasily and looked down to see if his badge was showing.
"Er—he didn't mention it." In the panic which seized him he could not frame the words in which to tell her, and he felt an illogical wrath at Bowers—the coward—for not coming with him. For a moment he considered resigning, then walked over to where her horse was feeding to collect himself while her wondering gaze followed him.
Lingle ran his hand along the horse's neck, the hair of which was stiff with dried sweat, lifted the saddle blanket and looked at its legs, where streaks of lather had hardened. He regarded her keenly as he turned to her.
"You been smokin' up your horse, I notice."
"I ran a coyote for two miles this morning—emptied my magazine at him and then didn't get him." The truth shining in her clear eyes was unmistakable.
Lingle broke off a handful of sagebrush and used it as a makeshift currycomb, while Kate, a little surprised at
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