I’m goin’. You heard what Benson told me. Alloway wouldn’t give me the benefit of any doubts. Buck, a last word–look out fer thet Bland woman!”

Duane merely nodded, and then, saying that the horses were ready, he strode away through the grove. Accounting for the short cut across grove and field, it was about five minutes’ walk up to Bland’s house. To Duane it seemed long in time and distance, and he had difficulty in restraining his pace. As he walked there came a gradual and subtle change in his feelings. Again he was going out to meet a man in conflict. He could have avoided this meeting. But despite the fact of his courting the encounter he had not as yet felt that hot, inexplicable rush of blood. The motive of this deadly action was not personal, and somehow that made a difference.

No outlaws were in sight. He saw several Mexican herders with cattle. Blue columns of smoke curled up over some of the cabins. The fragrant smell of it reminded Duane of his home and cutting wood for the stove. He noted a cloud of creamy mist rising above the river, dissolving in the sunlight.

Then he entered Bland’s lane.

While yet some distance from the cabin he heard loud, angry voices of man and woman. Bland and Kate still quarreling! He took a quick survey of the surroundings. There was now not even a Mexican in sight. Then he hurried a little. Halfway down the lane he turned his head to peer through the cottonwoods. This time he saw Euchre coming with the horses. There was no indication that the old outlaw might lose his nerve at the end. Duane had feared this.

Duane now changed his walk to a leisurely saunter. He reached the porch and then distinguished what was said inside the cabin.

“If you do, Bland, by Heaven I’ll fix you and her!” That was panted out in Kate Bland’s full voice.

“Let me looser I’m going in there, I tell you!” replied Bland, hoarsely.

“What for?”

“I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! It’ll be fun to have the laugh on her new lover.”

“You lie!” cried Kate Bland.

“I’m not saying what I’ll do to her AFTERWARD!” His voice grew hoarser with passion. “Let me go now!”

“No! no! I won’t let you go. You’ll choke the–the truth out of her–you’ll kill her.”

“The TRUTH!” hissed Bland.

“Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You needn’t–murder her–for that.”

Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling sound of bodies in violent straining contact–the scrape of feet–the jangle of spurs–a crash of sliding table or chair, and then the cry of a woman in pain.

Duane stepped into the open door, inside the room. Kate Bland lay half across a table where she had been flung, and she was trying to get to her feet.