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rode fretted the man sorely, and it was with a keen sense of relief that he felt the horse veer off to the left some thirty minutes later. The trail widened here, and Pepper loped along. Gradually, he quartered on the wind. In a short while Gault realized that the violence of the storm had lessened. By this token, he knew they were descending the wide draw which led to the coulee. Before they reached it, Pepper caught up with the flock.
    Without conscious effort, a plan of what he must do had formulated in Gault’s mind. He intended to be far away by daylight; but when the sheep had been rounded up, so strong was habit in him, he stopped to help the dogs bunch the flock for the night. From his patience and the even tenor of his droning song, one would have little suspected that he had aught to hurry him.
    Half an hour must have passed as he continued to circle around the flock. The old ewes were the first to heed his song. Their example had a salutary effect upon the rest of the flock, and after the rams had impressed their households with their watchfulness and superior intelligence, they, too, bedded down. The tired dogs sat about, their eyes half closed. It was sign enough that the flock was safe.
    Gault did not attempt to find the trail of the man, or men, who had stampeded the sheep. The storm would have long since destroyed any sign. He knew the guilty ones were far away by now, for they would not have lingered after seeing the flock rushing down the mountain.
    Pepper had not eaten since noon, and so, when Gault left the coulee, he went directly to the barn and fed the horse. Much was to depend on Pepper in the next twelve hours. He loosened the cinches of his saddle as the animal ate and, before leaving the barn, he filled a small bag with oats and fastened it to a ring in the saddlebow. If he moved slowly it was because he dreaded to face Margarida.
    He had brought to her already such grief and misery as comes to few women, but the blow he was to deal her now made what had gone before seem as nothing. He knew she would meet it bravely. She ever had been the braver of the two. But why had God always demanded braveness of her? What had she done to deserve the load she had been made to carry?
    And this thing to-night! Gault knew she would have to bear the brunt of it. If he got away, he would come back some day to prove himself innocent. Failing that, he had only to die, hut she would have to stay here, poor, shamed—raising her son in a country where every man’s hand would be raised against him. God! Was there aught of justice in this?
    Gault raised his clenched fists to heaven, and a terrible oath escaped his lips. His honest, God-fearing nature had rebelled at last.
    â€œGod—if there is a God—why You a-doin’ this to her?” he demanded in awful tones. “Why do You want to break her heart ?—and that’s what hit’s a-goin’ to mean! I ain’t never asked nuthin’ for myself; You ain’t had much to do for either of us; but I’m a-askin’ You now—how You a-goin’ to take care of her? What You a-goin’ to do for her and Joseph when I ain’t here no more?—You got to look out for ‘em, God! You got to take moughty good care of ‘em; ‘cause if Ye don’t—I ain’t a-goin’ to believe there’s any God! Don’t let no man’s hand touch my boy. He’s clean, and You got to keep him clean! Do all You can for him and his mammy, and if You can’t do nuthin’ for me—I won’t mind.”
    Margarida, worn out with anxiety, had dozed off in her chair beside the table. She sprang to her feet as her husband opened the door. “Joseph!” she cried as she ran toward him, her voice singing her relief at seeing him safely home.
    Gault appeared unusually tall in the flickering rays of the lamp, his face gaunt and drawn, his eyes bloodshot from the storm. Margarida caught the grim set