He shoved her into the stable, and she stood there, unresisting while he saddled a horse. She could not see him, but she could hear him as he moved about; and presently he spoke shortly to her from a point close by:
"Here's a cayuse—saddled an' bridled. You want to get on him here, or outside?"
"Outside," she said, coldly.
In front of the stable door she mounted, Antrim helping her despite her scornful protest.
"Listen," he said, as he stood for an instant at the horse's head, dimly outlined. "You'd better go to Hamlin's—that's nearest. An' make arrangements to stay there. I'm burnin' the Circle L buildin's. There won't be a stick standin' when I get through! When I get through, I'm goin' back to my place on the Rabbit Ear. My men have all gone with the cattle, an' I'll be there alone. You can tell that damned son of yours that! Understand? He's aimin' to get even for what I'm doin' tonight, he'll find me at my place—alone—waitin' for him! Now, get goin'."
Mrs. Lawler did not answer. She took up the reins and sent the horse forward, past the bunkhouses and the corral and the ranchhouse—through the valley and up the long rise that led to the great plains above.
It took her a long time to reach the plains, and when she looked back she saw some leaping tongues of flame issuing from the doors of the bunkhouse. Two or three of the other buildings were on fire; and the windows of the ranchhouse were illuminated by a dull red glare. But the woman made no sound that would have betrayed the emotions that tortured her. She turned her back to the burning buildings and rode onward, toward the Hamlin cabin—trying, in this crisis, to live the code she had taught her son; endeavoring to vindicate the precepts that she had dinned into his ears all the days of his life—that courage in adversity is the ultimate triumph of character—the forge in which is fashioned the moral fiber which makes men strong and faithful.
CHAPTER XXX
A WOMAN LIES
Lawler had said little to Sheriff Moreton on the ride to Willets. Nor had he made any comment when, in the Circle L ranchhouse, in the presence of his mother, Moreton had shown him the statement signed by Della Wharton. He had silently passed it back to Moreton; and had walked to Mrs. Lawler—telling her why the sheriff had come; smilingly taking leave of her while Moreton, sweating profusely, turned his back and pretended to be interested in a picture on the wall.