"Afterward! Go on; oh, do go on!"
"At three o'clock, Fargus left the ranch, intending to make a mission five miles away. The next morning Stroba, in passing through a defile six miles on, the scene of a dozen hold-ups, found the bodies of the two horses. The packs were scattered on the ground alongside of the coat and hat of Fargus stained with blood, in fact everything to indicate a violent conflict, except—except not the slightest trace of Fargus or the half-breed."
She sprang up.
"But then," she cried all in one breath, "he could be alive!"
He looked at her, astonished again at her emotion.
"If it happened yesterday—perhaps," he admitted; adding quickly, with the emphasis a man gives to a statement of which he is determined to be convinced, "but this happened on the twenty-sixth of January and we are now the end of March. If he was taken by bandits, it was for ransom, and if he lived they would have served notice immediately. No, Fargus is dead—dead without a doubt. For me, I suspect the half-breed. He could have murdered him, buried the body, shot the horses, and arranged things to make it seem as though he had shared the same fate. Unfortunately," he added moodily, "unfortunately there is no conceivable way of proving that most necessary fact!"
The ominous significance of his last remark was lost on her. The flash of hope which had so mystified the lawyer disappeared in the dejection caused by his logic. There passed through her an immense breath, which like a tumultuous burst of wind seemed to whirl away a multitude of longings and desires. She remained silent, overwhelmed and convinced.
"But you said there were suspicious circumstances," she said at last. "What circumstances?"
"First," he replied, watching her, "why should he have taken such a journey, at such a risk?"
She shook her head.