"Figgered I'd give m'self a vacation an' go see the flesh- pots. What's the use o' bein' jef if yo' can't cut a caper? Been engaged in a little lead traffic, fella?"
"Some. Well, get it off your chest."
"Get what off?" mumbled Quagmire defensively. "Nothin' on it but a dirty shirt."
Tom shook his head and waited. Quagmire turned to the girl. "Ain't he a gloomy fool? Why should I have bad news? Ain't we got enough? An' if I got bad news why can't it wait? Anyhow, they's lots o' land in Dakota even if we been told to move from present headquarters. Never did think much of our range—let Grist an' his Eastern bosses have it if they want it so cussed bad. Of course, a writ o' eviction has got to be obeyed, but mebbe they's ways to flank it. Me, I allus thought we'd filed on the water we said we filed on, but if they's been a mistake made in figgers—like they claim—why, then whose fault is it, the surveyor's, ours, or the land agent's? I'm askin'."
"Spoken like a lawyer," muttered Tom gravely. "Come in and find a chair. Now that you're empty you might float away."
"Wait," interrupted the girl. "What are you telling us, Quagmire? That Tom is being forced off his ranch?"
"Yeah," drawled Quagmire.
"Come inside," repeated Tom. The three of them went into the house. Gillette sat on the bunk and rolled himself a cigarette, never saying a word, but the girl observed a cloud passing across his eyes, and she felt infinitely sorry for him.
"But how can they do that?" she demanded. "Haven't you filed on it? How can they take it away from you?"
"Which is what I'm wanting to know," said Gillette.
Quagmire raised his two hands, palms up. "What I sorter gathered was they was a mistake in figgers, and the water yo' filed on ain't the water you're roostin' on."
"I've heard of such jugglin' before," murmured Tom. "Well, Grist said he'd get me, one way or another. Rustlin' didn't work, so he's turned to another kind of crookedness."
"Yo' better hit home right off," said Quagmire. "The marshal said he'd wait till yo' returned, but mebbe that Grist fella can force the transaction."
"I'll have to scotch it," agreed Gillette.
"Yes, but you can't travel for another week, Tom," objected Lorena. "You're not fit."
"An', by the way," put in Quagmire with marked casualness, "this Grist hombre's also got a warrant agin yo' fo' killin' his range boss."
Gillette swung his head. That seemed to touch him more than anything else. "The man's ridin' for a fall, Quagmire! By Judas, he's pressin' too far. I'll fight that outfit until something breaks—and there's gospel."
The girl, meanwhile, had gone about getting a meal. But in the midst of this chore she had a sudden idea, and she abandoned everything and entered the discussion again. "Tom, are you sure the P.R.N. is behind all this?"
"Absolutely sure."
"Well, isn't all this land in the hands of the government—doesn't the government have control of the disposal of it?"
"That's right, too."
She stood in the doorway, looking down the trail. "I have heard my father say some queer things about the P.R.N: If they are crooked, why doesn't the government stop them?"
"Because it's a long way to Washington," said Gillette. "The people behind the P.R.N. are pretty smart—and evidently they've got plenty of influence. Money will go a long way, Lorena."
"It isn't right," she murmured. "I don't believe the government would allow it."
Quagmire looked at Gillette; the two of them exchanged faint smiles. "It won't do us any good to squeal, Lorena. We can't squeal loud enough. We've got to battle it out the best we can."
"It isn't right," she insisted. "I'm going outside a little while."
She hurried away from the cabin and toward Deadwood again, just a little anxious lest Gillette should divine her intention and call her back. The truth was, Lorena believed implicitly in the honesty and the pervading powerfulness of the law. She had none of a man's cynicism concerning it, and whenever she saw those two symbolic letters—U. S.—she had a picture of solemn men sitting in a row, covered by black robes and with a flag hanging above them. She knew state law could be evaded; her own father had done it. But a national law was something different, and it seemed incredible that any corporation could openly steal government land and not be prosecuted.
"It's just that nobody knows," she told herself. "If I can only see..."
She reached town and went quickly to the hotel. The lobby was crowded with men, reeking with tobacco smoke. Senator Costaine sat in a chair at a far corner, listening to some sort of a delegation. Lorena drew her nether lip between her teeth and mustered her courage. What would all these men think of her for breaking in—what would the Senator say to her for the interruption? She almost lost heart as she watched the man. He looked so grim and inaccessible, be represented something so great. And, after all, she was but a girl. Then she thought of Tom Gillette, and she squared her small shoulders and slipped through the crowd.
The Senator saw her standing in front of him. Being a man of courtesy, he rose, interrupting a flood of talk with a motion of his arm. For Lorena with her piquant features and her black eyes made a striking picture—even more striking at the moment because of a certain nervous snapping of those eyes. She made a pleasant distraction. The Senator, as a matter of literal fact, was tired of the smoke and the heavy jests and the dingdong of figures and facts and the representations and the pleadings. All this was an old story. It never varied. He smiled at the girl, whereat his features became almost pleasant.
"Senator Costaine," said the girl, conscious of a hundred eyes watching her, "I—I would like a word with you."
"Certainly," agreed the Senator. He took her by the arm and moved away to a more secluded angle of the room. "You must not be flustered by men in the mass," he reassured her. "They have no more power to hurt you than singly."
"But they have," said Lorena, turning. "That's why I've come to see you. Senator, could you spare an hour and walk a half mile up the hillside to see a man?"
"My dear lady, if I tried to escape from these gentlemen my life would be worth nothing. Perhaps if you could state, more or less briefly, what the occasion was..."
"I know you are very busy," she apologized. "But there is a man up the slope just recovering from an attempt made on his life. He isn't able to come here, and even if he were able, I don't believe he would. I do this on my own responsibility. He has a ranch over near Nelson. Several Texans migrated there this year. All were bought out by a certain corporation, except Tom—except this man. He refused to bargain. The corporation has tried to run him away, they have tried to rustle his stock. And now they are tampering with his water right through the local land office. Senator Costaine, why doesn't the government stop such things?"
The question brought a remote smile to his fighter's face. "If I could answer that question I would be a great man. The government is composed of human beings, and it is human to err."
An immaculately dressed young man drew near the Senator, speaking urgently. "You've only a half hour for lunch, Senator. We are due to ride into the hills directly after."
"Yes—yes," muttered the Senator. He looked to the girl. "As to this gentleman's affairs, that is a matter for court action. If there is fraud—provable fraud—then I'm sure it will be taken care of."
She saw he was about to slip away. "Can you always prove the unjust things that happen? You know you can't."
"True. But how can you expect the United States government to do much better? I should like to help you, but I'm certain I couldn't do much good. It's a matter for the district attorney over there. And now, if you'll excuse me..."
"Senator, do you know of the P.R.N. Land Company?"
His attention had wandered; at the question it came back to her and his steel-coloured eyes seemed