white lodge was a town founded on excitement. counting its numerous shootings and consequent lynchings, and proportioning them to its population, white lodge had experienced more thrills than the largest of eastern cities. some ribald verse-writer, seizing upon white lodge's weakness as a theme, had once written:

we can put the card deck by us,

we can give up whiskey straight;

though we ain't exactly pious,

we can fill the parson's plate;

we can close the gamblin' places,

we can save our hard-earned coin,

but we want a man for breakfast

in the mor-r-rnin'.

but of course such lines were written in early days, and for newspaper consumption in a rival town. white lodge had grown distinctly away from its wildness. it had formed a chamber of commerce which entered bravely upon its mission as a lodestone for the attraction of eastern capital. but the lure of adventurous days still remained in the atmosphere. men who were assembled for the purpose of seeing what could be done about getting a horseshoe-nail factory for white lodge wound up the session by talking about the days of the cattle and sheep war. all of which was natural, and would have taken place in any town with white lodge's background of stirring tradition.

until the murder on the dollar sign road there had been little but tradition for white lodge to feed on. the sheriff's job had come to be looked upon as a sinecure. but now all was changed. not only white lodge, but the whole countryside, had something live to discuss. even old ed halsey, who had not been down from his cabin in the mountains for at least five years, ambled in on his ancient saddle horse to get the latest in mass theory.

so far as theorizing was concerned, opinion in white lodge ran all one way. the men who had been arrested were guilty, so the local newspaper assumed, echoing side-walk conversation. the only questions were: just how was the crime committed, and how deeply was each man implicated? also, were there any confederates? some of the older cattlemen, who had been shut out of leases on the reservation, were even heard to hint that in their opinion the whole tribe might have had a hand in the killing. anyway, fire bear's cohorts should be rounded up and imprisoned without delay.

lowell was not surprised to find that he had been drawn into the vortex of unfriendliness. more articles and editorials appeared in the "white lodge weekly star," putting the general blame for the tragedy upon the policy of "coddling" the indians.

"the whole thing," wound up one editorial, "is the best kind of an argument for throwing open the reservation to white settlement."

"that is the heart of the matter as it stands," said lowell, pointing out the editorial to his chief clerk. "this murder is to be made the excuse for a big drive on congress to have the reservation thrown open."

"yes," observed rogers, "the big cattlemen have been itching for another chance since their last bill was defeated in congress. they remind me of the detective concern that never sleeps, only they might better get in a few honest, healthy snores than waste their time the way they have lately."

lowell paid no attention to editorial criticism, but it was not easy to avoid hearing some of the personal comment that was passed when he visited white lodge. in fact he found it necessary to come to blows with one cowpuncher, who had evidently been stationed near lowell's automobile to "get the goat" of the young indian agent. the encounter had been short and decisive. the cowboy, who was the hero of many fistic engagements, passed some comment which had been elaborately thought out at the camp-fire, and which, it was figured by his collaborators, "would make anything human fight or quit."

"that big cowpuncher from sartwell's outfit sure got the agent's goat all right," said sheriff tom redmond, in front of whose office the affair happened. "that is to say, he got the goat coming head-on, horns down and hoofs striking fire. that young feller was under the cowpuncher's arms in jest one twenty-eighth of a second, and there was only two sounds that fell on the naked ear—one being the smack when lowell hit and the other the crash when the cowpuncher lit. if that rash feller'd taken the trouble to send me a little note of inquiry in advance, i could have told him to steer clear of a man who tied into a desperate man the way that young agent tied into jim mcfann out there on the reservation. but no public or private warnings are going to be necessary now. from this time on, young lowell's going to have more berth-room than a wildcat."

such matters as cold nods from former friends were disregarded by lowell. he had been through lesser affairs which had brought him under criticism. in fact he knew that a certain measure of such injustice would be the portion of any man who accepted the post of agent. he went his way, doing what he could to insure a fair trial for both men, and at the same time not overlooking anything that might shed new light on a case which most of the residents of white lodge seemed to consider as closed, all but the punishment to be meted out to the prisoners.

the hearing was to be held in the little court-room presided over by judge garford, who had been a figure at vigilante trials in early days and who was a unique personification of kindliness and firmness. both prisoners had refused counsel, nor had any confession materialized, as tom redmond had prophesied. mcfann had spent most of his time cursing all who had been concerned in his arrest. talpers had called on him again, and had whispered mysteriously through the bars:

"don't worry, jim. if it comes to a showdown, i'll be there with evidence that'll clear you flyin'."

as a matter of fact, talpers intended to play a double game. he would let matters drift, and see if mcfann did not get off in the ordinary course of events. meantime the trader would use his precious possession, the letter written by helen ervin, to terrify the girl. in case the girl proved defiant, why, then it would be time to produce the letter as a law-abiding citizen should, and demand that the searchlight of justice be turned on the author of a missive apparently so directly concerned with the murder. if it so happened that the letter in his hands proved to be a successful weapon, and if bill talpers were accepted as a suitor, he would let the matter drop, so far as the authorities were concerned—and jim mcfann could drop with it. if the half-breed were to be sacrificed when a few words from bill talpers might save him, so much the worse for jim mcfann! the affairs of bill talpers were to be considered first of all, and there was no need of being too solicitous over the welfare of any mere cat's-paw like the half-breed.

if jim mcfann had known what was passing in the mind of the trader, he would have torn his way out of jail with his bare hands and slain his partner in bootlegging. but the half-breed took talpers's fair words at face value and faced his prospects with a trifle more of equanimity.

fire bear continued to view matters with true indian composure. he had made no protestations of innocence, and had told lowell there was nothing he wanted except to get the hearing over with as quickly as possible. the young indian, to lowell's shrewd eye, did not seem well. his actions were feverish and his eyes unnaturally bright. at lowell's request, an agency doctor was brought and examined fire bear. his report to lowell was the one sinister word: "tuberculosis!"

when the men were brought into the court-room a miscellaneous crowd had assembled. cowpunchers from many miles away had ridden in to hear what the indian and "breed" had to say for themselves. the crowd even extended through the open doors into the hallway. late comers, who could not get so much as standing room, draped themselves upon the stairs and about the porch and made eager inquiry as to the progress of affairs.

helen ervin rode in to attend the hearing, in response to an inner appeal against which she had struggled vainly. she met lowell as she dismounted from the old white horse in front of the court-house. lowell had called two or three times at the ranch, following their ride across the reservation. he had not gone into the house, but had merely stopped to get her assurance that everything was going well and that the sick man was steadily progressing toward convalescence.

"why didn't you tell me you were coming over?" asked lowell. "i would have brought you in my machine. as it is, i must insist on taking you back. i'll have plenty buffalo lead your pony back to the ranch when he returns to the agency."

"i couldn't help coming," said helen. "i have a feeling that innocent men are going to suffer a great injustice. tell me, do you think they have a chance of going free?"

"they may be held for trial," said lowell. "no one knows what will be brought up either for or against them in the meantime."

"but they should not spend so much as a day in jail," insisted helen. "they—"

here she paused and looked over lowell's shoulder, her expression changing to alarm. the agent turned and beheld bill talpers near them, his gaze fixed on the girl. talpers turned away as lowell escorted helen upstairs to the court-room, where he secured a seat for her.

as the prisoners were brought in helen recognized the unfriendliness of the general attitude of white lodge toward them. hostility was expressed in cold stares and whispered comment.

the men afforded a contrasting picture. fire bear's features were pure indian. his nose was aquiline, his cheek-bones high, and his eyes black and piercing, the intensity of their gaze being emphasized by the fever which was beginning to consume him. his expression was martial. in his football days the "fighting face" of the indian star had often appeared on sporting pages. he surveyed the crowd in the court-room with calm indifference, and seldom glanced at the gray-bearded, benign-looking judge.

jim mcfann, on the contrary, seldom took his eyes from the judge's face. jim was not so tall as fire bear, but was of wiry, athletic build. his cheek-bones were as high as those of the indian, but his skin was lighter in color, and his hair had a tendency to curl. his sinewy hands were clenched on his knees, and his moccasined feet crossed and uncrossed themselves as the hearing progressed.

each man testified briefly in his own behalf, and each, in helen's opinion, told a convincing story. both admitted having been on the scene of the crime. jim mcfann was there first. the half-breed testified that he had been looking for a rawhide lariat which he thought he had dropped from his saddle somewhere along the dollar sign road the day before. he had noticed an automobile standing in the road, and had discovered the body staked down on the prairie. in answer to a question, mcfann admitted that the rope which had been cut in short lengths and used to tie the murdered man to the stakes had been the lariat for which he had been searching. he was alarmed at this discovery, and was about to remove the rope from the victim's ankles and wrists, when he had descried a body of horsemen approaching. he had thought the horsemen might be indian police, and had jumped on his horse and ridden away, making his way through a near-by gulch and out on the prairie without being detected.

"why were you so afraid of the indian police?" was asked.

the half-breed hesitated a moment, and then said:

"bootlegging."

there was a laugh in the court-room at this—a sharp, mirthless laugh which was checked by the insistent sound of the bailiff's gavel.

jim mcfann sank back in his chair, livid with rage. in his eyes was the look of the snarling wild animal—the same look that had flashed there when he sprang at lowell in his camp. he motioned that he had nothing more to say.

fire bear's testimony was as brief. he said that he and a company of his young men—perhaps thirty or forty—all mounted on ponies, had taken a long ride from the camp where they had been making medicine. the trip was in connection with the medicine that was being made. fire bear and his young men had ridden by a circuitous route, and had left the reservation at the greek letter ranch on the same morning that mcfann had found the slain man's body. they had intended riding along the dollar sign road, past talpers's and the agency, and back to their camp. but on the big hill between talpers's and the greek letter ranch they had found the automobile standing in the road, and a few minutes later had found the body, just as mcfann had described it. they had not seen any trace of mcfann, but had noticed the tracks of a man and pony about the automobile and the body. the indians had held a quick consultation, and, on the advice of fire bear, had quit the scene suddenly. it was the murder of a white man, off the reservation. it was a case for white men to settle. if the indians were found there, they might get in trouble. they had galloped across the prairie to their camp, by the most direct way, and had not gone on to talpers's nor to the agency.

helen expected both men to be freed at once. to her dismay, the judge announced that both would be held for trial, without bail, following perfunctory statements from plenty buffalo, walter lowell, and sheriff tom redmond, relating to later events in the tragedy. as in a dream helen saw some of the spectators starting to leave and redmond's deputy beckon to his prisoners, when walter lowell rose and asked permission to address the court in behalf of the government's ward, fire bear.

lowell, in a few words, explained that further imprisonment probably would be fatal to fire bear. he produced the certificate of the agency physician, showing that the prisoner had contracted tuberculosis.

"if fire bear will give me his word of honor that he will not try to escape," said the agent, "i will guarantee his appearance on the day set for his trial."

a murmur ran through the court-room, quickly hushed by the insistent gavel.

lowell had been reasonably sure of his ground before he spoke. the venerable judge had always been interested in the work at the agency, and was a close student of indian tradition and history. the request had come as a surprise, but the court hesitated only a moment, and then announced that, if the government's agent on the reservation would be responsible for the delivery of the prisoner for trial, the defendant, fire bear, would be delivered to said agent's care. the other defendant, being in good health and not being a ward of the government, would have to stand committed to jail for trial.

fire bear accepted the news with outward indifference. jim mcfann, with his hands tightly clenched and the big veins on his forehead testifying to the rage that burned within him, was led away between redmond and his deputy. there was a shuffling of feet and clinking of spurs as men rose from their seats. a buzz came from the crowd, as distinctly hostile as a rattler's whirr. words were not distinguishable, but the sentiment could not have been any more distinctly indicated if the crowd had shouted in unison.

judge garford rose and looked in a fatherly way upon the crowd. at a motion from him the bailiff rapped for attention. the judge stroked his white beard and said softly:

"friends, there is some danger that excitement may run away with this community. the arm of the law is long, and i want to say that it will be reached out, without fear or favor, to gather in any who may attempt in any way to interfere with the administration of justice."

to helen it seemed as if the old, heroic west had spoken through this fearless giant of other days. there was no mistaking the meaning that ran through that quietly worded message. it brought the crowd up with a thrill of apprehension, followed by honest shame. there was even a ripple of applause. the crowd started once more to file out, but in different mood. some of the more impetuous, who had rushed downstairs before the judge had spoken, were hustled away from the agent's automobile, around which they had grouped themselves threateningly.

"the judge means business," one old-timer said in an awe-stricken voice. "that's the way he looked and talked when he headed the vigilantes' court. he'll do what he says if he has to hang a dozen men."

when lowell and helen came out to the automobile, followed by fire bear, the court-house square was almost deserted. fire bear climbed into the back seat, at lowell's direction. he was without manacles. helen occupied the seat beside the driver. as they drove away, she caught a glimpse of judge garford coming down the court-house steps. he was engaged in telling some bit of pioneer reminiscence—something broadly pleasant. his face was smiling and his blue eyes were twinkling. he looked almost as any grandparent might have looked going to join a favorite grandchild at a park bench. yet here was a man who had torn aside the veil and permitted one glimpse at the old, inspiring west.

helen turned and looked at him again, as, in an earlier era, she would have looked at lincoln.